SPATCHCOCK CHICKEN WITH LEMON AND ROSEMARY

I am almost embarrassed to tell you how often I eat this. So often in fact that I always have a couple of chickens, spatchcocked, in the marinade and vacuum-sealed (I’m a girl who can’t resist a gadget) in plastic bags, waiting in the fridge, ready for the off at any given moment. The great thing about spatchcocked chicken – and forgive me if I’ve bored you with this before – is that it takes less time to cook than it does unflattened (so you’re never more than three-quarters of an hour away from a proper dinner; another roasting tinful of diced new potatoes, mished around in a little olive or garlic-infused oil can cook away in the rack underneath at the same time) and you don’t need to be good at carving. I just take a huge knife at it, and hack it into four greedy portions.

Obviously, you change the marinade as you wish. For one thing, I often leave out the onion altogether. And then, I sometimes steep the chicken just in a small amount of chopped tarragon, grated lemon zest and olive oil or go all-out fiery with smashed garlic, olive oil, a splosh of red wine vinegar and a small handful of crushed black peppercorns.

Any good butcher will spatchcock a chicken for you, or you could ask the butchery section at the supermarket to do it, but it’s easy enough for you to manage yourself at home and I have to say I love a bit of DIY surgery. Just get a pair of poultry shears or tough scissors (I use a pair sold by someone on one of those door-to-door yellow duster trails, made for cutting through tins and tough stuff) and lay the chicken, breast side down, on a surface and cut through all along one side of the backbone. Then cut along the other side of the backbone and – hey presto – the backbone can be removed and you then turn the bird the other way up and press down as you open it out. You have in front of you a perfectly spatchcocked chicken, thirstily ready for its marinade. But if you’re not up to this, life is not going to fall apart if you buy four chicken quarters instead.

1 spatchcocked chicken (approx. 2–2.25kg)

3 long sprigs fresh rosemary

juice of 1 lemon, plus more lemons to serve

1 red onion

100ml olive oil

Maldon salt

Put your spatchcocked chicken into a large freezer bag. Pull the waxily aromatic needles off 2 of the sprigs of rosemary and drop them on top. Now, cut the lemon in half and squeeze in the juice, chucking the empty shells in afterwards. Cut the onion into eighths (I can never be bothered to peel it) and add these to the bag, too. Pour in the olive oil and then tie up the bag and give it a good squidge around before sitting it in the fridge. And this is when, if you have the technology (and actually, as you might have guessed, my vacuum-sealer has been relegated to the cellar for some time now so, princess-like, I get my butcher to marinate and vacuum-pack my chickens for me) you can, instead of tying, vacuum-seal your bag and keep the chicken in the fridge like that for up to three weeks.

Marinate the chickens for a couple of hours out on the counter, or overnight – or for a couple of days – in the fridge.

To make a quick, brick-red Chilli Chicken, brush the skin of the spatchcocked bird with some sambal oelek, that hot and sharp chilli paste which you can find in every supermarket now, loosened up with a little vegetable oil.

When you’re hungry, preheat the oven to 210°C/gas mark 7, and if you’ve marinated the chickens in the fridge, let them come to room temperature. Lay your flattened chicken, skin side up, on a tin lined with foil, along with the lemon husks and onion pieces, and add the remaining sprig of rosemary torn into a couple of pieces, tucking them between leg and breast. Cook for about 45 minutes by which time the chicken should be crisp skinned and tender within; you can even turn the oven down to about 150°C/gas mark 2 and let it remain in the oven long after it’s cooked through. Somehow, this doesn’t seem to make it stringily overcooked but, rather, infused with golden tenderness.

Take the tin out of the oven, cut the chicken into four pieces and arrange these on a plate, along with the onion bits, then pour over any syrupy golden juices from the tin and sprinkle generously with Maldon salt. Cut a lemon or two into quarters and scatter these clumpily about the chicken.

Serves 4 (and sometimes, I’m afraid, 2).