20 August, 2012

Saturday night's dinner.

That was an improvised chicken a l'orange. I didn't have any solid dinner plans and I made up my mind as to what to make on my way to the Bow on Saturday morning.
They had a sale on chicken at the Bow - ½ off - so I was able to pick up a six pound bird for something stupid like five and a half beans. I needed the bigger bird because, well, basically, I needed something with an asshole large enough to accommodate the orange and those three and a half pounders can barely champ a half an onion.
I peeled two navel oranges and split them each in half, putting the first half up the chicken's butt (I know it's not the butt but it's just funnier to talk about putting things up butts.) (Don't tell me that you don't get a little laugh when you talk about putting things up butts.), followed that with a quarter of a red onion, some minced garlic, a lime wedge, and then the other half of the first orange. And then I tied the legs together because I had a hankering to turn dinner into a bondage joke.
I put it in the crock and surrounded the bird with slices from the other navel orange and two cloves of garlic. I seasoned the bird with sea salt, mixed fresh ground pepper corns, paprika, mustard powder, about a half dozen sage leaves, then some thyme and oregano and a whole stick of butter.
About three hours later, I juiced two valencia oranges into the crock and turned the bird over to sink the breast meat into the juice.
How did it turn out? Well, it certainly looked pretty. I mean, look at it. And it smelled great, too. But would you believe that after six hours with four oranges - sitting in the juices from two with whole slices sitting on top all the while with one up its ass - it didn't taste like oranges? What kind of happy horse shit was that? It wasn't bad by any means but it wasn't the chicken a l'orange that I had gotten myself all jazzed up over.
So, yeah, sometimes I fail. At least when I fail, I fail photogenically.
I mean, look at it.

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