Early in April, a hacker got into my author's page on the popular social media platform Facebook, changed the profile and wallpaper pictures, and then changed the name to "We Added Suspended Issue See Why." After immediately resetting my password, I was able to block the person who hacked in (yup, they left fingerprints) and restored the pictures. Unhappily, I was stuck with that name for two months. Despite repeated attempts to report the hack and get help, Facebook not only never responded, its "help" tutorials were absolutely no help at all. Worst of all, it wouldn't allow me to change the name of the page back because the rule is that it can only be changed every sixty days—even if you weren't the one who changed it.
I'll still be using Facebook, but with the knowledge that a service that's offered as "free" rarely is: Usually it comes with a price of some kind. The price in that case is that it's all too easy for hackers to violate your space in that medium and it won't offer you any help when they do. Also, if you are "reported" for violating a community standard, even and especially when you haven't done any such thing, God help you.
But I digress (what else is new?): The result was that I couldn't use the page for two months. Since my newspaper column ended, I hadn't been posting to it nearly as often anyway (which is probably one reason it got hacked), but that was by choice. It was not, however, without some benefit. What this episode did was force me to take a step back and think about what I was doing in the kitchen and at my computer—and whether or not I even needed to keep sharing it.
What occurred to me was that no longer having anything to promote was only part of the reason I'd not been posting frequently. Yes, some of my cookbooks are still in print, but social media doesn't really help sell those. Most people using a free venue are looking for recipes that are likewise free. They balk (and often rudely) at the suggestion that they pay for the work an individual put into developing that recipe.
The main reason I was rarely posting was that I'm older, have slowed down, simplified, and am nowadays sticking mostly to cooking that is familiar and comforting, things I'd already written about a dozen times. Who wants to hear about any of that yet again?
Then the light went on. Those were the very reasons I still had something worthwhile to share: half a century of experience; kitchen patterns that have changed because of that experience; and the fact that simplifying has taught me to pay more attention and appreciate the things I'd begun taking for granted.
One of the biggest challenges for an aging cook is keeping up one's interest in it, especially when we're cooking just for ourselves or for a single loved one. Some of my most popular columns for the newspaper addressed the plight of the single cook. I now realize, however, that those columns were written from the perspective of someone younger who had learned to cook by doing it just to please himself. I really didn't understand an older person losing interest in the kitchen because "it's just me: I have no one to cook for." Now, my friends, I get it. I do still love cooking to please myself and have another palate to please as well but it's a palate that likes to play safe—and the older I get, so does mine.
All that's to say that if you're looking for novel ways to cook for an audience with reckless abandon, I'm afraid there won't be much for you here. But if you're looking for ways to simplify, bring joy to the familiar, and perhaps be a little more thoughtful about what goes into your pan and then your mouth, have a seat: We're going to have a lot of fun.
Oven-Roasted Chicken
Because it's just two of us in the house, I had gotten out of the habit of roasting a whole chicken unless we had company, which was rare. But last week, as I was eyeing a nice fat bird in the market, I remembered that leftover roast chicken in the fridge is something that is always welcome, even the fridge of someone who lives alone. Suddenly, I remembered how much I used to love roasting a chicken—and how I loved eating it even more.
My work in culinary history taught me that real roasting involves a rotating spit and an open flame: We can't really roast fowl of any kind in a modern oven, though it can be imitated by fiddling with the oven temperatures and by rotating the bird. For years, every bird I cooked from a Cornish hen to the Thanksgiving turkey, was begun breast up, turned breast-down for most of the cooking time, then finished breast up to color and crisp the skin.
That was before arthritis and dwindling strength attacked my hands and dwindling patience took hold of my brain. I can still turn a small bird, but have trouble handling a big one. I can, however, handle a baster. And steady basting actually helps me keep my aging brain from wandering and leaving the bird to overcook. I've come to the conclusion that as long as I pay attention and keep an eye on the bird's internal temperature, the results may not be quite as juicy, but it's juicy enough and just as delicious, which is all that really matters.
Serves 3-5 people, depending on the size of the chicken and the appetites of those at your table
1 4-5 pound young chicken, these days usually labeled "roasting chicken"
2-3 cups chicken broth, preferably homemade
Salt, whole black pepper in a mill
Several sprigs fresh sage, thyme, and/or rosemary (optional)
Softened unsalted butter
1-2 tablespoons instant-blending flour (such as Wondra)
1. Unwrap the chicken and remove the packet of giblets and neck from its cavity. Let it sit on a platter or rimmed pan for at least half an hour at room temperature. Meanwhile, put the giblets (except for the liver) and the neck in a 2-2½-quart saucepan and add the broth. Bring it to a simmer over medium heat, skimming away the scum that rises to the surface, then add the liver. Simmer about 5 minutes, or until the liver is just barely cooked through, then remove it. In my house, the liver becomes the cook's treat, but you can save and chop it to add to the gravy if you like. Adjust the heat under the pan to a slow simmer and let it simmer for at least 30-45 minutes; longer won't hurt it. If the liquid gets low, replenish it with simmering water, not more broth.
2. Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat it to 450-500° F. Wipe the chicken inside and out with paper towels and then liberally season the cavity with salt and pepper. If you have them and are so inclined, put several sprigs of herbs into the cavity and truss the bird, tying the legs together and tucking its wing tips behind its shoulder blades. Rub softened butter over the bottom of a roasting pan that will hold the chicken comfortably without leaving too much open pan around its edges. Put in the bird breast up and brush it generously with softened butter.
3. Put it into the center of the oven and let it roast 20 minutes, or until the skin is just beginning to color. Baste it with more butter and reduce the temperature to 400 degrees. Roast 15 minutes and baste it with a little of the broth and the accumulated fat in the pan. Reduce the temperature again to 375 degrees and roast, basting every 10-12 minutes with the accumulated pan juices, until a reliable meat thermometer registers 165 degrees when inserted into the thickest inside part of the thigh.
4. Transfer the bird to a clean plate or platter (not the one it sat on before it was cooked) and let it rest at least 10 minutes. Meanwhile, pour the juices left in the roasting pan into a fat separator. Put the pan over direct medium heat and deglaze it with some of the broth. Pour that into the fat separator. Skim a couple of tablespoons of the fat from the surface of the pan juices and return them to the pan. Sprinkle in 1-2 tablespoons of instant-blending flour and stir until it's smooth and bubbly. Slowly stir in the contents of the fat separator, stopping when the fat begins to come up its spout, then slowly stir in a cup or so of the broth until you have enough gravy to suit you and it's lightly thick. Bring it to a simmer and cook 3-4 minutes. Add any accumulated juices from the plate or platter where the chicken is resting, let it simmer again, then taste and adjust the seasoning. If you like, chop the reserved liver and stir it in, then pour the gravy into a warmed sauce boat.
5. Carve as much of the chicken as will satisfy your appetite and those who'll share your table and serve it with the gravy passed separately.