Chicken of Myth

Our food editor attempts to recreate the most famous roast chicken of them all.

by Drew Lazor

Drew Lazor

A

Up until recently, I applied this distrust to viralized recipes, too. (No Bacon Explosions for me.) But that was before I happened upon what might be the most hyped, most recreated and most respected roast chicken technique the world over — one whose results far exceeded my cynicism-tinged expectations.

The technique in question, at least in this format, originates with Judy Rodgers, chef and owner of San Francisco’s landmark Zuni Cafe. The James Beard award winner, who joined the restaurant in 1987, has earned plaudits for her Medi-influenced California cuisine over the years, but it's her transcendent whole roast chicken, which she introduced in her first year behind the line, that's her signature dish. Served with a simple bread salad, the bird costs $48 and is roasted to order in the restaurant's 12-by-12 brick oven. As many as 23 can fit into the oven in a single sitting, with Zuni chefs often constructing elaborate "condominium" systems that allow them to stack chickens vertically.

Rodgers tells me they typically go through about 320 birds a week. Just last year, they sold their 25,000th. "[It was] this idea of doing something simple and crowd-pleasing," the chef says of the motivation behind introducing the now-legendary dish all those years ago. "Cooking it to order … making it as delicious as possible."

For years, customers would barrage Rodgers with questions about the bird — mainly, how does she do it? How does she get the skin so crispy and crackly, while keeping the meat so succulent and flavorful throughout? The curious had all their questions answered in 2002, when Rodgers released the Zuni Cafe Cookbook, the tome responsible for turning this West Coast roast chicken into a without-borders food blog phenomenon. A quick search on the Web will turn up droves of fanatics worshipping at the Zuni poultry altar.

The "Zuni Method," to which it's informally referred, may sound a bit like some sort of breathing technique a SCUBA diver might employ to alleviate decompression sickness. And it may seem daunting on paper — in the cookbook, the recipe (along with instructions for the bread salad) spans more than four pages. But really it's so simple that it can be broken down in a single paragraph. Buy a whole chicken — no heavier than 3.5 pounds or it won't roast right. Rinse it off and dry it extremely thoroughly. (This is vital.) Using your finger, slide a few small herb sprigs (we used a combo of thyme and rosemary) just beneath the skin of each breast; do the same beneath the skin of each thigh. Coat liberally with sea salt (3/4 a teaspoon per pound) and cracked black pepper. Cover loosely. Refrigerate.

Then go do something for two days.

Yes, the idea of letting raw meat sit that long covered in salt may seem frightening, especially since you probably think it'll end up dry and tough. But Rodgers knows the exact opposite is true. "[Let] nature and osmosis distribute that salt evenly, the same way sugar distributes in iced tea when you stir it," instructs Rodgers, whose cookbook features an entire essay on the centuries-old technique of early salting, also referred to as dry brining. "[While] the salt is moving through the chicken, it literally is changing the characteristics of the chicken's proteins and cells in a manner so that later on, when you [cook it], it hangs onto its moisture."

So the main ingredient, aside from sodium, is patience.

After leaving my chicken to its own devices for 48 hours, I preheated my oven to 475 degrees, yanked the bird out of the fridge — it looked it had been in a street fight — and dried it off very thoroughly once more to get rid of the liquid drawn out by the salt. (I didn't worry about wiping off any seasoning — almost all the salt had "headed inland," as Rodgers likes to say.) I placed an oven-safe skillet over medium heat and let it get going before dropping the chicken in breast side up. (Rodgers points out that it should sizzle, or "clack at you," when it hits the pan — that means it's hot enough to ensure the skin won’t stick.) I popped the whole thing into the oven and said a prayer of good fortune to the Zuni gods.

Here's a tip directly from Rodgers that contradicts the instructions in her cookbook — the original recipe asks that you flip the bird twice during the process to ensure an even roast. The chef has decided, however, that it’s no longer necessary for a home cook to do this. So we didn't — after keeping an eye out to make sure the skin wasn’t charring, we popped the chicken out at 55 minutes and let it rest for 15 before carving.

I think it was the best roast chicken I've ever eaten. That simple dry brine really does a number on the meat, rendering it incredibly tender with a notably inoffensive level of saltiness. The rosemary and thyme I so casually slid beneath the skin at those four entry points was thoroughly infused into many bites, as well. But it was the evenness of the chicken’s consistency that I found the most impressive — dark meat or white, breast or thigh, not one bite was even close to dry.

A friend of mine spent a painstaking amount of time recreating the bread salad from the Zuni Cafe Cookbook, a dish built around toasted bread chunks mixed up with a vinaigrette and add-ins like pine nuts, currants, frisee and a bit of the bird’s pan drippings. We found it a little too labor-intensive for the output. But while Rodgers loves the accompaniment, she doesn't feel as though swapping it out for another side will detract from the star of the plate. "The simple roast chicken is absolutely delicious, whether you serve it with chocolate sauce and cat food or serve it with a bread salad," she says.

I now consider myself a Zuni roast chicken convert. But what exactly is it about this dish that cripples people like me on such a deliciously visceral level? I asked Rodgers that same question. "It's a perennially, perpetually satisfying delicious taste," she says. "Like a lot of chefs, I go shopping in the walk-in at the end of the day. Almost everything in my walk-in I get tired of sooner or later, but I'll [always think], 'I'll just take a chicken.' It always tastes good. There isn't anything complicated or cloying or overwhelming or demanding in the seasoning. It's not like it has star anise and caramel glaze. It's just it."

(drew.lazor@citypaper.net)