Chicken, black rice, dried cranberries, chutney, garlic.
On a Saturday night after a lot of rain and some reading, I went to visit to one of my very lovely and colorful aunts – now in her eighties. She teaches English as a second language to refugees; she knits, and she can spin a yarn and tell a tale or two. We discussed matters from family connections to how to ‘prove’ to scientists that God does in fact exist…
I had a chicken ready to go when I got home, so I put it in a casserole on top of black rice. I added a handful of dried cranberries and swished out the last part of a jar of chutney with water, then poured that over and put some squished garlic inside the chicken. Salt, pepper and into the oven. After a long phone call to my daughter overseas, the chicken was ready. To accompany, I served parsnip sautéed in olive oil, as well as green peas (frozen, in the absence of anything fresh) with lots of coarsely chopped parsley stirred through them at the last minute.
I topped up the liquid so the rice did not dry out, and also had a lid on the iron casserole the whole time. Despite the lid, the chicken skin crisped, which was just what I wanted.
I get foot-stampingly angry that supermarkets take the skin of practically all their chicken-y bits. What is that all about?!