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I will never make a chef.
This morning - for my first dinner of two weeks Home Alone - I roasted the whole chicken we had, as per my mother's instructions. It roasted beautifully; the fun started when it came to taking just a quarter for today's dinner (that chicken is meant to last me for 4 days).
Trying to cut off a large piece with the big knife always foundered against bones. Attempts to separate the thighs by hand to put in the freezer for later were soon abandoned as the bird, fresh from the oven, was simply too hot to handle. And I had to eat soon before the veg went cold (and BB was coming on the telly).
So I carried my plate with the veg on it through to the living room/dining room, then went back to the kitchen for the roasting dish. The chicken was too large for the dish, so the top third of the chicken was poking out at a 45 degree angle and the whole thing was dripping garlic and fat. Even carrying it through a tea towel, the dish was pretty hot to handle, so I was glad to arrive at the table...only to find there wasn't a place mat there.
But my Private Eye was there. I put the roasting dish down on that and let the Eye absorb the garlicky fat. (Fortunately, it was still legible after.) I wiped up the spats of fat I'd dropped en route then sat down, cut bits off the chicken and transferred them to my plate till I had about a quarter of the bird, and finally tucked in to Sunday dinner over BB...
This morning - for my first dinner of two weeks Home Alone - I roasted the whole chicken we had, as per my mother's instructions. It roasted beautifully; the fun started when it came to taking just a quarter for today's dinner (that chicken is meant to last me for 4 days).
Trying to cut off a large piece with the big knife always foundered against bones. Attempts to separate the thighs by hand to put in the freezer for later were soon abandoned as the bird, fresh from the oven, was simply too hot to handle. And I had to eat soon before the veg went cold (and BB was coming on the telly).
So I carried my plate with the veg on it through to the living room/dining room, then went back to the kitchen for the roasting dish. The chicken was too large for the dish, so the top third of the chicken was poking out at a 45 degree angle and the whole thing was dripping garlic and fat. Even carrying it through a tea towel, the dish was pretty hot to handle, so I was glad to arrive at the table...only to find there wasn't a place mat there.
But my Private Eye was there. I put the roasting dish down on that and let the Eye absorb the garlicky fat. (Fortunately, it was still legible after.) I wiped up the spats of fat I'd dropped en route then sat down, cut bits off the chicken and transferred them to my plate till I had about a quarter of the bird, and finally tucked in to Sunday dinner over BB...