John Ralph and I enjoy entertaining (for those of you worrying that you haven't gotten your Christmas Party 2011 invite, rest easy, John Ralph hasn't made the Facebook group yet). We both consider ourselves to be relatively descent cooks. I don't want to toot my own horn, but I think the meals we've made at the apartment have been better than some of the ones we've gotten at restaurants here.
Does your husband help with dishes? Mine does.
So, yesterday, after visiting the grocery store, we decided to bake a chicken and have a friend of our over for dinner.
This picture does not do it justice, but our little chicken still had some feathers on it. At one point, after we had been plucking for quite some time, John Ralph asked "How is it that America is so much better at everything...even getting feathers off their chickens?" Good Question.
Anyway, I made up a butter rub with some herbs and we slathered it on, and put it in a pan with some onions and potatoes. While it cooked, it smelt so delicious, and we couldn't wait to cut into it.
Well, apparently, you aren't supposed bake chickens you buy at the grocery store. We couldn't even cut into it it was so tough. I finally pulled a leg off and tried to bite into it, but I couldn't even rip the meat off the bone.
Worried that our dinner guest would think we were the worst cooks ever, I quickly ran to the computer and Googled "Are Italian chickens different from American chickens?". And the answer is yes, as a matter of fact, they are.
To get a baking chicken, you're supposed to go to the butcher, and get the "yellowest" chicken, head, feathers, and all. What am I supposed to do with a chicken that still has a head, feet, and feathers? Apparently the chicken we purchased was for making chicken stock. Isn't that what Swanson is for?
You win, Italy. I think we'll be sticking to a vegetarian diet for a while now. Lesson learned.
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