Sunday, August 28, 2011

Farmer's Market to Table

Ry has been tethered to the task of refinishing our fireplace mantel, which left me lots of time to kill this weekend. I filled it by riding a good fourteen miles on my bikecycle and gathering the fixin's for a home-cooked Sunday meal.

One of the places I rode was the West Allis Farmer's Market, which I believe is the best market in the metro area. My purchases were limited to the capacity of my bike basket, so I kept it simple. I purchased a whole organic chicken to roast with a tried and true Cook's Illustrated recipe, some taters, tomatoes and lovely flowers.

Flowers at the market are such a steal! It was quite a task making it home with them safely in tact given the cool and strong breeze flowing through the city this weekend.


Farmer's Market finds in tow.


Cook's French Chicken in a Pot recipe.


Naked, patted-dry, salted and peppered bird.

This was my first experience with preparing an entire animal for supper. I freaked out when I had to stick my hand in the cavity and pull out the gizzards. I only managed to get the heart out and had to have Ry come in and get the liver.

I think it was a good experience for me. I believe Ry's direct quote was "woman, if you can't do this you have no business being a carnivore", which is completely true. Since we've morphed back from vegan to veggie to meat eaters again, it's important for me to have this experience. It reminded me that what I intended to eat was at one time a living, sentient being. Holding the whole animal in my hands and preparing it, instead of some freakishly large frozen chicken breast out of a bag, was quite the reality check.


I seared each of the sides with just a bit of celery, onion and garlic in the dutch oven.


Lined top with foil before setting it to roast for two hours at a low temperature.


Internal temp of at least 175 degrees with the instant-read thermometer after two hours in the oven.


Our lovely table.


Chicken, peas and homemade pesto pasta for sup.


And I can't resist a pick of my mow-mow to finish out the day. He must miss his Uncle Steven 'cause he kept sleeping on the guest bed until we took the linens off.

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