I mainly poach a pastured chicken. Low and slow in the oven, the result is a bird so tender it falls apart when lifted from the pan, leaving the most delicious, wholesome and nourishing broth behind. Every so often though, to the childrens' chants of "roast chicken, roast chicken", I'll raise the oven temperature and satisfy their eager demands. And I'm always glad when I do, because there's something immensely satisfying about roast chicken. Be it the crispened bronze skin, the evocative aroma of a carefree childhood or a flavour that's bordering on buttery. And this one is no different.
The basic method works wonders for a bird in it's entirety or one that's been cut either side of the backbone à la spatchcock, if that's your thing. Personally, I choose to cook four fine, plump legs because then everyone gets the same ... when you have a family of gluttons, there are times when these things matter!!
How would I eat this? Well, if it was cool outside and I felt the need for a metaphorical edible blanket around my shoulders, I would cook cauli mash. If the day was sufficiently balmy I would serve this beautiful salad, it's dressing being the perfect accompaniment to roasted oranges.
Find today's recipe here on Autoimmune-Paleo.