Sunday night means Roast Chicken for dinner.
Regular readers will know how it’s been my nemesis for so long; trying to get everything to line up. Potatoes that are fluffy on the outside and with a glass like exterior. Roasted chicken with a crisp skin and juicy, seasoned interior. Carrots that are perfectly roasted or glacéd, a sauce that has balance, gloss, and the right viscosity. It’s a real challenge.
Except the pressure is only coming from one place, myself. Sometimes you can just chuck the bird in the oven, along with some spuds and carrots, and come back an hour later.
Is it exquisite , refined, and elevated? No. But it’s done, the washing up is already 80% there, and I got to spend the free time making a toy train and reading about tigers with O.
That’s something.