Chicken Rotisserie

It's been a long while since I last used the rotisserie in my oven. A long, long while. When I first bought the oven in fact, about 4 years ago. One of the principle reasons for the purchase was that it came with the means to spit roast chickens and other large lumps of meat. And yet, when I tested out the damn thing for the first time, the whole experience left me feeling rather unnerved and all unnecessary. You see in eager anticipation to get things going, I made a bit of a hash securing my test flight chook to the metal spit which resulted in a queasy display of lolling and tumbling. I hadn't tied up the chicken's legs with string properly so after a couple of revolutions they sprang free and splayed out, thighs akimbo, causing the action of the rotisserie to judder. As it turned round and round, in some staccato fashion and began to sweat and drip from the convective heat, I felt this deep well of sadness, this was no fitting end for a fine, free range bird. Peering through the glass with my face illuminated by the soft orange glow of the oven light didn't do me any favours at all. There I was, reduced to the status of a peeping Tom, lasciviously watching this poor creature's last, awkward dance and I ended up feeling rather sordid and sick. The fact that Careless Whisper was playing on the radio didn't help either. I never did eat that chicken.

So yes, I have left the rotisserie well alone for the last few years. But then I spotted a tweet on Twitter from Helen of Food Stories, bemoaning that a flat she was hoping to rent had fallen through. Not so much worried about that the fact she needed a roof over head, Helen's main beef was that the prospective new accommodation had an oven with a rotisserie and that all the various opportunities for rotisserrisationing has been snatched away from her. Well, that is indeed a fine display of foodie credentials. Here is someone who couldn't give a flying fig about where she lived, just so long as she had a spit to cook with. Bravo to that cave woman.

And it got me thinking, I really should have another crack at using my rotisserie again. So I went out and bought another chicken this weekend and this time, made sure that everything was fastened in place. The result? Well it reminded me just how brilliant a rotisserie can be. Who needs to worry about dried out, cardboard flesh when you have a device that enables continuous basting, keeping everything succulent and moist? Why did I let that first time put me off? Sure, my guilty feet have got no rhythm and though it's easy to pretend, I know I'm not a fool. Especially when I came up with the idea of sticking some spuds to roast underneath to catch all those lovely juices. No, I am now going to expand my repertoire of rotisserrisationing and am already thinking about recreating one of those elephant leg, lamb doners that you lust after on a Saturday night. Using quality meat of course, although I might have to up end the oven.

This is just the beginning.

Securely fastened this time

Let's get rotisserrrrising!

Sizzling spuds in chicken juices

Boooootiful

Perfect roast potatoes

Je t'aime mon poulet chaud (NSFW)