I Lost My Chance to Work at Vogue Over a Roast Chicken
Chile Oil-Drenched Chicken-in-a-Pot with Vidalia Onion Rings, Whole Lemons, and Quickie Zippie Mayo
I have Dorie Greenspan to thank for teaching me how to follow a recipe.
In 2017, I was hired to style her 7,346th book. My task was simple, and defined the job description of a food stylist: cook recipes (in this case, 100 of them), make the food look great and accessible to the home cook, and style final images for photography with aforementioned fab food.
But I really resisted following Dorie’s written words. I wanted to interpret, riff, and noodle over the recipes. Poor Dorie, jeez. She asked simply that I work in lockstep with her wrought-over (and incredibly airtight) recipes. And for the most part, I did… except for when I didn’t.
Allow me to reference one incident specifically, involving a raw chicken. Dorie, if you’re reading, do you remember pleading– understandably– “Nora, PLEASE just follow the recipe?”
OOH did I get sassy on this particular chicken number. And OOH was she patient with me, that Dorie Greenspan.
Her recipe instructions sounded like chalkboard screech to me: throw a chicken in a pot with a bunch of aromatics, white wine, and chicken stock, COVER WITH A LID, and transfer to a FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY DEGREE OVEN FOR NINETY MINUTES. I’ll repeat: COVERED.
THE ARGUMENT
I made my case: “Why oh WHY would anyone “roast” a chicken this way? An hour and a half at 450 degrees? YEEEEK! And covered?! That’s steaming! Or stewing! And how fugly is this bird bound to look on camera?! Let’s remove the cover and take it out of that pot. Get me some burnished chicken skin! Isn’t that the point?” (Turns out it’s definitely not.)
THE EATING OF THE WORDS
Readers, you know where this is going. This misjudged recipe resulted in a chicken that was [insert many multiples of gastronomical exclamations of praise coupled with a generous number of expletives].
It was lacking nothing, that chicken. The aromatics pressure cooked their flavors into the meat and melted into the chicken fat. The breast was juicy and tender and mysteriously not overcooked.
And the ladle after ladleful of concentrated cooking jus left in the pot, perfect for sopping and drenching? Completely unheard of in a roast chicken recipe! This is the gem of this roasting technique: pure liquid gold, and a glass of it I’m raising to Dorie, for standing her ground on this one.
But what about the crispy chicken skin? Nowhere in sight.
Because WHO CARES.
THE TRUTH ABOUT CHICKEN SKIN
I could go on and on about how roasting a chicken to the point of crispy skin often yields overcooked breast meat; or how roast chicken skin turns soggy as it rests; or how it’s only the cook in the kitchen who is able to snag some shattering chicken shkin the moment the roast exits the oven; or worst of all, how recipes instruct you to tent your roasted bird with foil to keep it warm before carving, thus creating so much steam that the crispy skin you worked so hard to nurture de-crisps.
In short, the conundrums and catastrophes with respect to roasting a whole chicken abound. Why not revel in the juiciness derived from roasting a chicken in a somewhat wonky way, and just accept the fact that you can’t have it all? Dorie and I have.
THE NOODLE
If the way I feel about this 90-minute, 450 degree, chicken-in-a-covered-pot roasting technique could be considered obsessive, then my relationship with the Trader Joe’s Calabrian Chile Bomba sauce should be deemed a fatal attraction.
So why not marry the two, for a ha-ha-ha-heated and seriously saucy meal?
The Bomba condiment is TJ’s version of the massively trending sauce of fermented Calabrian chiles with olive oil. (Tutto Calabria brand also makes a delicious version.) The iteration coming out of the Trader Joe’s mystery-shrouded pantry is pretty perfect, though. Its spice doesn’t overpower flavor! You can actually taste the chile peppers… YAY. I dunk and douse everything in it: eggs, pizza crust, tuna salad, crispy rice, potatoes of all makes and models, sautéed greens, vanilla milkshakes, whatever.
If you can’t find a Calabrian chile oil condiment, make your own: use whole Calabrian chiles in the jar (they’re typically already in oil) and finely chop them yourself, adding enough olive oil until you reach a thick, paste-like consistency.
THE PROCESS
To nearly one cup of the chile oil sauce, you’ll add anchovies, lots of grated garlic, salt, honey, lemon zest, and thyme. Funky, Spicy, salty, sweet, sour. You’ll rub this marinade under the chicken skin and all around the exterior and let it sit. Even a two-hour hour marinade is sufficient with flavors this punchy.
Before roasting, layer thick slices of Vidalia onions in the base of the pot, sopper-uppers of the prolific roasting sauce. And then, The Lemons. Photos of this dish exude sentiments of the “Calabrian Chile Oil-Drenched” portion of the recipe title. But the actual taste of the dish— and the copious volumes of cooking jus— is just as much lemon-forward as it is anything else. Why, and how? Follow this technique.
Removing the lemon peel entirely leaves only lemon flesh and membrane, which carry the purest iteration of fresh lemon flavor. Be gone, pucker of the pith! That said, I did noodle with a few versions that included the lemon rind while roasting; if you’d like a sauce with some of the spirit of preserved lemon– bracing and bitter– do it. Or use one peeled, and one unpeeled. DIY to your liking.
Another option? Top with classic, no-frills martini olives to play off the lemon and play up the punch
.THE SUPPORTING ACT
Make the dish complete with Quickie Lemon-Garlic Mayo that comes together in a couple of minutes and steps in as the great equalizer of acid and spice. I like serving everything atop rice, but greens, toasty bread, or a fun slaw are all winner options, too.
A NOTE ON HEAT
I can’t explain it, but this dish is NOT as spicy as you’d think! I had a few self-proclaimed spice-sensitive tasters grabbing and gobbling with the rest of ‘em.
FINALLY
Jeffrey Steingarten, if you’re reading, I finally have an answer to the question you posed during a three-hour long job interview to be your assistant at Vogue nearly 20 years ago. Our conversation had been going well. And then you asked me the following: “Tell me, silly wannabe chef” (or so I heard it), “what’s the best way to roast a chicken?” To my horror, I froze, and then heard my never-a-chicken-roasted self mutter the following reply, the question mark at the end nearly audible: “On a spit?” The interview ended promptly.
That I bombed my big break to work at Vogue magazine for one of the country’s most renowned food journalists haunted me for a very long time. But in this very moment, I’m feeling pretty pleased.
Mr. Steingarten, please see below, for my revised response.
Calabrian Chile Oil-Drenched Chicken-in-a-Pot with Vidalia Onion Rings, Whole Lemons, and Quickie Zippie Mayo
Serves 4-6
If you can, seek out the Trader Joe’s Bomba Calabrian Chile Oil condiment. It’s what inspired this recipe in the first place – and is super affordable compared to other Calabrian chile sauces out there.
Remember! This recipe isn’t about the crispy skin, but you won’t miss it, because you’re never going to get this caliber of juicy chicken plus pan sauce anywhere else.
One (6.7-ounce) jar chopped Calabrian chiles in oil, preferably Trader Joe’s Bomba sauce, about ¾ cup
7 garlic cloves, peeled and finely grated with a microplane, divided
5 anchovies, chopped
1 heaping tablespoon honey
¼ cup olive oil, divided, plus additional for drizzling
Kosher salt
3 lemons, plus additional for serving, if desired
One (3 ½- to 4 ½-pound) chicken
6 sprigs thyme
½ cup mayonnaise
2 large Vidalia onions, peeled and thickly cut into ½-inch rings
½ cup Spanish olives with pimentos, for serving (optional)
1. In a medium bowl, stir to combine the chile oil, 6 of the grated garlic cloves, anchovies, honey, 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, and 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon salt. Zest 1 lemon and add the zest to the marinade, reserving the zest-less lemon for later.
2. Slide your pointer finger underneath the skin of the breasts and legs, separating the skin from the meat, and spread a few spoonfuls of the marinade into the pockets you’ve just created. Place the chicken in a gallon-sized, resealable plastic bag, and add the thyme sprigs. Pour the rest of the marinade all over the exterior of the chicken, press out the air and seal the bag, and use the plastic bag to smoosh and squish the marinade to coat every inch of the bird. (Also use the bag to distribute the marinade that you spooned under the skin, if you haven’t already.) Transfer to the refrigerator and let sit at least 2 hours and up to 2 days in advance.
3. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
4. Make the Quickie Zippy Mayo: Zest and then juice the second lemon. Place the zest into a medium bowl, along with the mayonnaise, the remaining clove of grated garlic (you can start with half of the clove and increase to taste), and 1 tablespoon of the lemon juice. Reserve all additional lemon juice to throw in the pot when it’s time to roast the chicken. Stir to combine and season with salt. Refrigerate until serving.
5. Using a sharp knife, cut off ½-inch from both ends of the reserved, zest-less lemon that you used for the marinade, as well as the remaining whole lemon. Set one of the lemons (doesn’t matter which) on the cut end, so that it stands up straight. With your knife, remove the entire exterior of the lemon, following its rounded shape, so that you are left with only the lemon flesh: no peel, and no white pith. Slice the lemon crosswise into 4 or 5 rounds. Repeat with the remaining lemon.
6. Place onion slices in a large Dutch oven with a tight-fitting lid. Note: do not use a cast iron pot unless it’s an enamel one, like a Le Creuset; the acid from the lemon will react in funky ways! Drizzle onions with the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil and season with salt. Transfer the chicken, along with the thyme sprigs and any remaining marinade in the bag, on top of the onions. Scatter the peeled lemon rounds around the bird, tossing a couple of them into the cavity. Add ¼ cup water to the pot, plus any reserved lemon juice you have from the lemon you squeezed for the mayo. Lightly drizzle the chicken with olive oil and season the exterior with a bit of salt.
7. Cover the pot and transfer to the oven. Roast, without opening the lid, for 1 hour and 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and let rest, 10 minutes. Uncover, and transfer chicken to a cutting board by lifting it out with a wooden spoon inserted into the cavity. (Before transferring the chicken to the board, tip the bird as you’re holding it with the spoon to let any cooking juices drain into the pot.) Carve, seasoning chicken pieces and cooking liquid to taste, and serve, with plenty of sauce, onion rounds, lemony mayo, and if desired, Spanish olives and additional lemon wedges.
You answered all of my protests before I could make them—I'd say you covered your bases. I'm just going to have to swallow my desire for crispy skin and just MAKE THIS recipe.
(And you're right, the momentary bliss of crispy skin is usually joined by the sadness of dry chicken breast, which I then try to hide in a mayo-heavy chicken salad to cover my sins. *That* is what I've made peace with up until now, but I am willing to be a big(ger) person and change for this chicken.)
Nora this looks SO FRIGGIN GOOD!!! I have a jar of that stuff in the fridge right now because Yan is obsessed with condiments:) I think I get around the skin v. dry breast thing by just never eating the white meat of a roast chicken lolololol.