Dear readers, I have a confession.
Prior to embarking on this project [checks notes] nine days ago, I had cracked open Salt Fat Acid Heat and attempted to read it cover-to-cover multiple times. And every time I got to the section on chicken preparation, more specifically, how to deconstruct a whole chicken for various dishes, I thought, “That’s nice, but no. I will not be cutting up a chicken myself. I can buy chicken in pieces, thank you very much.”
Initially, I dismissed this as disinterest, laziness, and the modern convenience of our relationship to meat, that stuff that comes cut and parsed into the pieces you want, pre-packaged in styrofoam or plastic, and tightly sealed complete with a price tag neatly stuck in the corner. It wasn’t until I decided to start this project, until I was all in, that it dawned on me the actual reason I responded with such aversion to instructions on how to break down a chicken. It was out of fear. If I bought a whole chicken and took it apart, with a knife and cleaver, then I would have to get into the literal bones of the animal, breaking it into pieces with my bare hands.
Though I’ve dipped my toes into vegetarianism—briefly in college, briefly again after reading Jonathan Safron Foer’s Eating Animals—it wasn’t until last fall while reading the introduction to Sunaura Taylor’s book Beasts of Burden: Animal and Disability Liberation that I realized that meat is animals. Or let me correct. I knew that meat is animals, but I didn’t consider the transformation that animals undergo in our minds to take them from, say, cow to beef. I suppose that a huge part of the erasure or disconnect is due to how we consume meat: as processed, packaged, and so far from the source that when eating a burger, it’s hard to imagine that this flavorful, fatty, juicy bite was once a living breathing being like me.
Yet here we are. It is January 10th, and in the last week I have spatchcocked a chicken, cut off wings (twice!), and broken a whole chicken down into breasts, legs ‘n thighs, and a carcass for stock. Samin Nosrat’s recipes don’t merely instruct you to buy a spatchcocked chicken or buy 2 lbs of bone-in skin-on chicken thighs, no, they encourage you to turn to page 318 for illustrated instructions on how to take a chicken from whole to eight pieces with a sharp knife and your hands. How to cut out the spine and press down on the breastbone using your body weight to flatten the chicken, salting it overnight, resulting in a crispy and quickened method for Crispiest Spatchcocked Chicken.
Upon reflection, I chuckle at how fearful I was about these instructions having cooked countless chickens and chicken parts over the last ten years, considering myself pretty good with a knife and fairly confident in the kitchen. Though a little over a week ago, I would have balked at the idea of processing a chicken myself, intimidated by the very thought of it. Which goes to show, if you set your mind on something, find a pretty good YouTube tutorial, and psych yourself up just enough you can do just about anything! For me this meant facing my fear of the inside of a chicken, the crunch and sharp edge of the bones as I cut through them with my kitchen shears. Taking a moment to look at the tiny kidneys and heart that were still inside of the body, taking a moment to give gratitude for this animal, for what it can teach me and how it can nourish me. Pausing to make sure I could strategically use every part of this animal, saving the bones, carcass, and innards for stock, shredding the leftovers for chicken salad and BBQ chicken pizza.
All of this is to say, try the thing you’ve been putting off because it seems scary or like too much effort. We’re in season three of the pandemic and there’s not an end in sight. What recipe did you want to try, what skill are you considering picking up, what complicated puzzle are you too intimidated to start? What book has been sitting on your shelf mocking you because you haven’t cracked it? What art form have you feigned interest in because you didn’t think it was for you? I implore you to find your metaphorical chicken and figure out how to spatchcock it, fear, kidneys, crunch and all. Because what awaits you on the other side is the knowledge that you tried, that it might not have been perfect, but you did it nonetheless. And the reward is knowing that you can keep growing and stretching and doing the weird and new and foreign stuff that you thought you never could do. For me, lately, that’s going on very silly Peloton power walks in the bitter cold with a big grin on my face just for showing up. And using Todd’s cleaver to not so gracefully chop into not-so-perfect pieces what’s for dinner tonight: Glazed Five-Spice Chicken.
A salted spatchcocked chicken in a cast iron skillet chills overnight in my crowded refrigerator
A roast chicken right out of the oven with crispy golden skin sits in a cast iron skillet.