Mark Diacono
MORE RECIPES
Chicken and blueberry salad with coriander dressing; Roast jerk chicken; Tea-brined chicken; Chicken and cider stew with rosemary dumplings; Roasted chilli mole; Pheasant with olives and preserved lemons; Coriander pork chops
SOURCING
providencefarm.co.uk; rutlandorganics.co.uk; woolleyparkfarm.co.uk
Chicken is the nation’s favourite meat. According to the British Poultry Council, 870 million birds were bred, raised and slaughtered in the UK in 2013. In addition, we imported getting on for half that number from other countries, in one form or another. That’s a whole lot of birds, and a whole lot of lives.
Of those hundreds of millions of birds raised for our tables, around 90 per cent will never see daylight, will be unable to exhibit their natural behaviours – dust-bathing, roosting, etc. – and will never walk on grass or have the opportunity to browse, peck, scratch and graze as wild birds would. In almost every sense, they live a life not meant for a chicken. Intensive stocking rates – up to 18 or so birds per square metre – mean they have little room to move. They expend very little energy and so convert their feed, which is constantly available to them, very quickly and cheaply into flesh.
Extraordinarily, many chickens make the journey from egg to Sunday-roast-ready bird in around 5 weeks – hatched, fed, treated, housed, killed, dressed, packaged, transported and on our shop shelves, selling for less than a pint of beer.
In an effort to blur the reality of what life is like for nine out of ten chickens, clear, sound information is sadly lacking on much chicken packaging. Ignore anything other than the words ‘free-range’, ‘organic’ or ‘RSPCA Assured’. Without any of these, you should assume that the chicken has been raised in a standard intensive system. Phrases such as ‘farm fresh’, ‘farm assured’, and even the Red Tractor logo, do not indicate higher welfare.
Free-range chickens have more space, with the freedom to roam outside with proper vegetation provided. They are also able to express their natural behaviours. Many producers of free-range chicken choose slower-growing birds, which usually means a longer (8 weeks minimum) and happier life. Organic chickens are kept to free-range standards as a minimum but additionally enjoy organic, GM-free feed and have a longer life of over 11 weeks. ‘RSPCA Assured’ chickens enjoy better conditions and lower stocking rates than intensively raised birds, but may still have been raised indoors.
The choices we make when we buy chicken are hugely significant. The decision to buy one chicken over another sends a powerful message to the producers and the retailers who put those birds on the shelves about what we, the consumers, are prepared to accept. The money you spend is also reflected in the quality of what you are eating. However, I wouldn’t want to encourage you to buy a cheap, intensively reared bird so that you can compare and contrast it with an organic one. So please take my word for it: the better the life – the more varied the diet, the more exercise allowed, the less stress suffered – the better the flavour.
Another thing to be aware of is how the chicken is plucked. Conventional poultry processing involves immersing the dead birds in simmering water to loosen the feathers. This can make the skin ‘soggy’ and, as many birds are immersed in the same water, it may lead to a build-up of bacteria therein, which transfers to the birds’ skin. Because of this, wet-plucking shortens shelf-life considerably.
Dry-plucking, which is more costly and labour-intensive, gives better results when the bird is cooked and, because it is more hygienic, allows the potential for hanging birds for anything up to 2 weeks to improve flavour and tenderness. Some would argue that because chickens are killed young (and are therefore naturally tender) hanging them doesn’t make a real difference. I would say that dry-plucking and at least a brief hanging of a good organic bird (which will be a little more mature anyway) can only lead you closer to chicken nirvana.
Smear a good chicken in olive oil, sprinkle with plenty of salt and black pepper and roast until golden brown. Nothing beats it. And, as much as I love the breast, and indeed the wings and legs, the part I’ll savour the most is that crisp, golden skin.
Start with a good, well-raised chicken and you have the basis for perhaps a dozen individual meals. A family of four will demolish most of a fairly large bird but leave perhaps enough meat for a leftover chicken curry for the following night. If you then make stock from the bones (and why on earth wouldn’t you?) you’ll have the core ingredient for soups, risottos and stews. Even if your chicken is organic, that makes for pretty good value.
Roasting a chicken well is easy, but needs a little more thought than simply popping it in the oven until it’s cooked. Season the cavity and add a couple of spent lemon halves, a few bashed garlic cloves or half an onion and a few sprigs of thyme if you have some to hand. The ‘butter-under-the-skin’ trick is a bit cheffy for some, but it does nurse that delicate flesh tenderly through the roasting process. If you want to give it a go, loosen the breast skin, easing it away from the flesh with your fingers in order to form a pocket, then fill with butter and massage it across the meat; this almost guarantees a succulent chicken. Plain butter is ample, but a herb butter (tarragon and thyme are particularly good) with a little grated lemon zest and/or garlic, will imbue the flesh with fine flavour.
The roasting time is all-important. There’s a delicate balance to strike between crisping the skin magnificently and avoiding any danger of the flesh drying out. Start by letting the bird come up to cool room temperature. I give a moderately large (1.5–2kg) bird 20–25 minutes at 210°C/Fan 190°/Gas 7 to start the skin crisping and get heat travelling into the meat, then pour a small glass of wine into the dish, and give it a further 40–50 minutes at 170°C/Fan 150°C/Gas 3. Laying strips of bacon across the roasting bird helps to keep the meat moist, but do allow the chicken its 20-minute sizzle before you lay the bacon across the breast, or the skin will stay pale.
A knife inserted into the joint between leg and body should release juices that run clear, with no hint of blood: if not, cook for another 5–10 minutes and test the other leg. Once it’s done, I let the bird rest in the oven, turned off with the door open, for about 10 minutes. I find that the crisp skin can get a little soft if left much longer than that, and I’d rather the dog had the bird than let that catastrophe occur. Some resting is important though, allowing the meat to relax so it retains its juices once cut. Adjust the cooking times a little for a larger or smaller bird.
When it comes to serving your bird, it’s very simple: the winey pan juices are a delicious sea into which the carved meat can fall. No other gravy is needed.
In our house, most chicken leftovers go into chicken curry (usually with spinach and cauliflower), chicken pie, or what has become known as ‘chicken push-around’. This is a moveable feast, but usually features plenty of slowly softened onions as a base, to which we add shreds and chunks of cooked chicken and whatever is in the fridge, plus a few good storecupboard flavours to liven things up. Chunks of bacon, pancetta or chorizo, leftover potatoes, cooked chard, broccoli or spinach, cherry tomatoes, lemon zest, thyme, tarragon and a little cream are among the usual suspects that might get pushed around the pan until the whole ensemble is cooked through.
While chicken stock underpins many of the soups I make, it gets to take a more prominent role in the broth I make most often in winter. A good home-made stock (see Stock) turns a handful of bits and bobs into, if not quite the elixir of life, then certainly the antidote to man-flu and the winter cold. Simmer 300g in total of peeled, finely diced carrots, parsnips and/or celeriac in about 1.5 litres chicken stock for a couple of minutes. Add a handful or two of smallish pasta shapes such as macaroni and cook for a further 4 minutes or so, then add some shredded greens or cabbage plus a little leftover cooked chicken if you have it (though this is by no means essential). Cook for another 2–3 minutes, season with plenty of pepper and a few pinches of salt and a nourishing feast results. A few handfuls of pearl barley or spelt are fabulous in place of the pasta, though they need a little longer simmering (refer to the packet) before you add the diced vegetables.
Jointing a chicken
This is one of the simplest but most useful and rewarding kitchen skills you can master, opening the door to casseroles, fried, barbecued or baked chicken pieces and wonderful one-pot suppers such as chicken basquaise, with its chorizo, rice, peppers and olives. Jointing a whole chicken yourself is much cheaper than buying it in pieces – and it leaves you with a basic carcass which, though small, makes particularly tasty stock because you cook it from raw.
A clean, sturdy chopping board and a good, sharp knife are essential. First, pull one leg slightly out from the body and cut through the skin (and only the skin) along the line between the leg and the body. Pull the leg further away from the body and downwards, pushing the ball at the base of the leg out of and slightly away from the socket. Cut through the flesh that joins the body to the top of the thigh. If you want to separate the drumstick from the thigh, bend the leg at the knee, cutting through where the crease forms. Repeat with the other leg.
Take hold of a wing and pull it out from the body in a circular motion to free the wing and make the join between it and the body more apparent. Cut through the skin and the ligaments – avoid cutting through bones, there’s no need. Repeat with the other wing.
For the breasts, place the chicken on its back. Run your knife from the head end tight alongside the long, central breastbone, feeling the knife tip clicking along the ribs as you move towards the tail end. Ease your knife under the meat and gently work away to release one breast from the ribcage, then repeat for the other.
Any meat left on the carcass should be picked off and popped into a freezer bag if you haven’t an immediate plan for it – you’d be surprised at what a difference even a few morsels of chicken can make to a broth, soup or salad.
Keeping chickens for meat
Keeping chickens is a pleasurable and largely stress-free business, but if you’re rearing them for meat rather than keeping hens for eggs there is the very real difference of a planned end to their lives. Learn how to dispatch a bird – it’s quick and simple – and despite this inevitable conclusion, you can be assured that your chickens will have a happier, healthier and almost certainly a longer life than if raised in commercial conditions – and you’ll get incredible meat.
Your birds will need a house, food (including a proper, protein-rich feed), clean fresh water, space to forage, protection from predators (including domestic animals) and shelter from extremes of weather, but you can give them this even in the confines of a small garden.
Chickens can be raised from eggs (bought in or fertilised eggs from your own flock) or young chicks, though you will need an incubator to raise them from eggs and a heat lamp to keep chicks warm as they grow. There are numerous breeds that have been bred to grow well for meat – Sasso and Hubbards, for example. However, dual-purpose birds such as Sussex and Orpingtons grow well for meat but also lay well, giving you the option of raising the hens for eggs and cocks for meat.
This is a great way to use the breast and thigh meat from a chicken you’ve jointed yourself. (The drumsticks and wings can be roasted, and the carcass used for stock.) Or use the meat from a guinea fowl. To accommodate all the ingredients, you do need a really big pan – at least 32cm in diameter. Serves 4–6
2 free-range chicken breasts, skinned
2 free-range chicken thighs, taken off the bone, skinned
1 tbsp olive oil
100g cooking chorizo, cut into small chunks or slices
1 medium red pepper, halved, deseeded and cut into strips
1 onion, thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
300g paella rice
A glass of white wine
1 litre hot chicken stock
A pinch of saffron strands
200g cleaned small squid
200g live clams or mussels, scrubbed (optional)
100g chard leaves, off the stalk, roughly torn (use the stalks for another dish)
1–2 tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 lemon, halved
Sea salt and black pepper
Extra virgin olive oil, to finish
Cut the chicken breasts and thighs into 4–5cm pieces. Place a paella pan or large shallow frying pan over a medium heat. Add the oil, followed by the chicken and chorizo. Season with salt and pepper and fry for 4–5 minutes, stirring from time to time or until the chicken is browned.
Scatter in the red pepper, onion and garlic and cook for a further 8–10 minutes. Add the rice, fry for a minute or two, then add the wine and let it simmer for a few minutes.
Add the stock and the saffron, bring to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring regularly, for 20–30 minutes. The rice will take up the stock as it simmers away.
Meanwhile, slice the squid pouches into rings and cut the tentacles into 2 or 3 pieces each.
When most of stock has been taken up and the rice is almost tender, add the squid to the pan with the clams or mussels, if using. Add the chard and chopped parsley and stir well.
Cover and cook for a further 4–5 minutes or until all the clams or mussels have opened (discard any that refuse to open) and the greens are nicely wilted. You can add a splash more water or stock if necessary but the paella should have a relatively ‘dry’ consistency, rather than being soupy like a risotto.
Now turn off the heat and squeeze over some lemon juice. Taste and adjust the seasoning with more lemon, salt and pepper as needed. Cover the paella with a lid or tea towel and leave to stand for 5–10 minutes. Serve trickled with a little extra virgin olive oil, with more lemon wedges for squeezing.
CHICKEN BROTH WITH PARSLEY AND CELERY SEED SPAETZLE
Somewhere between dumplings and noodles, spaetzle are made by dropping little squiggles of dough directly into a simmering broth. Serves 4
100g plain flour
1 medium egg
1 tbsp finely chopped parsley
½ tsp celery seeds
½ tsp fine sea salt
750ml good chicken stock
Sea salt and black pepper
Extra virgin olive oil, to serve
In a large bowl, combine the flour with the egg, parsley, celery seeds and salt. Add enough water (30–40ml) to form a thick batter.
Bring the chicken stock to a simmer in a medium pan. Taste and add salt and pepper if it is needed. Set a colander with large holes over the simmering stock.
Spoon the spaetzle batter into the colander and use a rubber spatula to push lengths of dough through the holes and into the simmering broth. Cook for 3–4 minutes or until the spaetzle rise to the surface. Ladle into bowls, trickle with a little oil, and serve.
