Simon Hopkinson - Roast Chicken And Other Stories

Text copyright Simon Hopkinson 1994, 2006

Illustrations copyright Flo Bayley 1994

Original print edition published in 1994 by Ebury Press, a division of Random House

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 1500 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.

Hyperion hardcover edition ISBN: 978-1-4013-0862-9

eBook edition ISBN: 978-1-4013-0614-4

First eBook Edition

U.S. hardcover edition printed in the United States of America.

www.HyperionBooks.com

To my parents, and to the memory of Yves Champeau

The most useful cookbook of all timeWaitrose Food Illustrated

This man is the best cook in Britain!Telegraph UK

Roast Chicken and Other Stories, packed with homely native dishes, was recently voted the countrys [UKs] most useful cookbook of all time by a panel of 40 experts.R.W. Apple Jr., The New York Times

The recipes and writing are pure genius, from start to finish. Roast Chicken and Other Stories belongs in every kitchen and on every bedside table.Nigella Lawson

This very personal collection of recipes lets you cook in someone elses shoessome well-worn chef shoes at thatwhich lets you get to know someone while putting some great food on your table. With Roast Chicken and Other Stories youll end up with a host of delectable dishes that happen to be utterly doable, even if Simon Hopkinson is one of Britains great chefs. I love this collection, both the recipes and the stories!Deborah Madison

Simon Hopkinsons recipes have been voted the best ever.Daily Telegraph

Called the most useful cookbook of all time, Roast Chicken and Other Stories is actually better than that: it is also informative, intelligent, funny, and a pure delight to read and to cook from.Jeremiah Tower

GOOD cooking, in the final analysis, depends on two things: common sense and good taste. It is also something that you naturally have to want to do well in the first place, as with any craft. It is a craft, after all, like anything that is produced with the hands and senses to put together an attractive and complete picture. By picture, I do not mean picturesque; good food is to be eaten because it tastes good and smells enticing.

We are all drawn to the smell of fish and chips, fried onions, roast beef, Christmas lunch, pizza, fresh coffee, toast and bacon, and other sensory delights. Conversely, to my mind, there is nothing that heralds the bland vegetable terrine, the cold lobster mousse with star anise and vanilla, or the little stew of seven different fish that has been scented with Jura wine and spiked with tarragon. I feel uncomfortable with this sort of food and dont believe it to be, how shall we say, genuine.

I do not mean to berate the cook who wishes to make food complicated or multifaceted; I just think that some ideas are misguided. For instance, one perfect piece of turbot or halibut, grilled on the bone with hollandaise sauce must surely (ask yourself) be a perfect plate of food. What is the point of marrying a little piece of Mediterranean red mullet with a similar-sized piece of Scottish farmed salmon? They just dont belong together.

Food that tastes good lingers in the memory for all time: such things as good, homemade soups, my mothers meat and potato pie, Bury black puddings, a well-made bloody Mary, prosciutto and melon, native English oysters with Tabasco, hot salted ox tongue with coleslaw, a dozen snails at Chez LAmi Louis in Paris, the apritif maison at LOustau de Baumanire at Les Baux in Provence, and the home-made bresaola of Franco Taruschio at The Walnut Tree in Wales.

I have written this book, not because I am a chef, but because I like to cook and I enjoy eating good food. A novelist I know once said to me, on hearing that I had decided to embark on a cookbook, that cooks should cook and writers should write. Well, fair enough. (He is, actually, a very good cook.) I am not a professional writer, nor am I good at writing recipes on a regular basis. This is particularly so when I have to think about listing the ingredients in the right order for each recipe, or giving metric and imperial measurements, or stating exact oven temperatures and precise timings. I have had to learn to do that, and it has been interesting and beneficial to be so restricted.

Deep down in the mind of a good cook are endless recipes. It is a matter of knowing what goes with what; knowing when to stop and where to start, and with what ingredients. Thinking how a dish is going to taste, before you start to cook it, may seem an obvious instruction, but it is not necessarily common practice. It is important to cook in the right frame of mind (we are not talking everyday chores here) and to do things in the right order. Ergo: feel hungry; go out shopping (with pen and paper and money). See good things, buy them. Write down further items that will accompany previous purchases. Buy wine to go with food. Come home. Have a glass of wine. Cook the food and eat with more of the wine. More importantly, do make sure that the food you have bought is the sort that you like to eat and know how to cook. It is also a question of sympathy between the cook and the cooked-for; is there a worryingly large proportion of people, I wonder, who cook to impress rather than to please?

Its really a question of confidence. It is far better to cook food for your friends that you enjoy eating yourself. Familiar dishes are comforting; carefully prepared and simple dishes are an asset to a good lunch or dinner party. The food should not dominate the proceedings. Rather, it should enhance and enliven the occasion. There is nothing more tedious than an evening spent discussing every dish eaten in minute detail. Oh Daphne, how did you manage to insert those carrots in your hollowed-out zucchini? Whats wrong with egg salad or leeks vinaigrette? Or a simple rabbit stew, or some grilled lamb cutlets. And, of course, roast chicken.

The title of this book, Roast Chicken and Other Stories, was chosen simply because it had a friendly ring to it, and I hope that it sounds inviting and uncomplicated. I also happen to enjoy roasting a chicken almost more than anything. It is very satisfying to look upon a fine chicken turning crisp and golden as it cooks. Even the sound of it causes salivation, and the smell of it jolts the tummy into gear.

I would like to think that this collection of recipes will appeal to all who like to cook; those who gain immense pleasure from being in their kitchens with good produce around them purchased from favorite sourcesmarkets, butchers and fishmongers, grocers and greengrocers, delicatessens and wine shops. I would also like to imagine that everybody could become a good cook and have a healthy interest in the bountiful ingredients that are available in such quantity on our doorsteps.

Good food relies on good ingredients, but it has always been my belief that a good cook can turn the proverbial sows ear into a silk purse. It takes a little knowledge and expertise, but whereas an ignorant and uncaring chef can ruin the finest free-range chicken, a sympathetic and enthusiastic cook can work wonders, even with an old boiling fowl.

Finally, I would like to thank Jill Norman for asking me to do a book in the first place: Lindsey Bareham, without whose help the book could never have been written; and Flo Bayley for her exquisite illustrations.