Tag Archives: chicken

The 10 Most Popular Chicken Recipes of 2018

Nothing is as perfect, iconic, and delicious as a beautifully-browned roast chicken surrounded by a puddle of buttery, garlicky pan juices. And if you’ve ever been hesitant to roast a whole bird at home, this one’s for you—it’s converted many a nervous meat cooker. Consider this chicken, a hunk of good baguette, and a simple green salad your Sunday afternoon plan from now on.


One-Skillet Rotisserie Chicken Pot Pie

Set aside 1 Tbsp. cream. Add remaining cream, reserved chicken, 10 oz. peas, and 1½ tsp. salt and bring to a simmer. Taste and adjust for seasoning. Cook, tossing occasionally, until warmed through, 3–4 minutes. Transfer skillet to a rimmed baking sheet, which will prevent any juices that bubble out of the pan from spilling onto your oven floor.


These Braisey Chicken Legs in Coconut Milk Are Almost Too Easy to Make

Like Coco Chanel removing one element of her outfit before stepping outside, sometimes you need to simplify a recipe before sending it into the world. When you’re developing, it’s easy to keep adding ingredients, but it’s much harder to take away. This braised chicken legs recipe gets rid of as many ingredients and techniques as possible without compromising on flavor. The secret to the simplicity lies in one crucial variable: Time spent in the oven.

An hour plus in the oven might sound like a long time for a weeknight but hear me out. Chicken legs are full of fat and connective tissue and benefit from long, slow cooking. In fact, I much prefer the braisey, shreddy texture they get when slowly cooked in liquid to the bouncy, cooked-but-still-not-fully-tender texture they have when part of a whole roasted chicken, where the cook time has to account for the danger of overcooking the breasts. So I took away as many barriers as I could and got this dish into the oven as quickly possible.

There is no searing or chopping. You frankly barely need a knife. The key is to just combine the coconut milk and curry paste (Maesri is our favorite brand) before adding the lemongrass (which is totally optional by the way), ginger (less optional), garlic (not optional). Then lay the seasoned chicken legs in the pan, turning them to coat them in the coconut milk, and get them in the oven.

As they roast, the luscious creaminess of the coconut milk and the chicken’s richness combine and reduce to create a dense, flavorful sauce that begs for rice or bread. Don’t be concerned if the coconut milk breaks and starts to look a bit oily; that may happen depending on the brand of milk you use, and honestly there is nothing more delicious in the world so well done, you.

Aside from spooning some of the juices over the chicken a couple times during baking, you’re free to go about your life while the chicken bakes. You will know it’s done when the leg joint flexes somewhat easily and the skin is nicely browned. Top it with cilantro, maybe a squeeze of lime and some toasted coconut chips (have you tried Dang brand coconut chips? They have earned that name IMHO). The best thing about this dish is that it tastes way more complicated than it actually is. If you don’t have an ingredient or forgot to add something don’t worry, Coco would be proud.

Easy, braisey, beautiful:


No searing, no chopping, one baking dish. And if you don’t have ginger, garlic, and lemongrass on hand, a combination of any two will be plenty to make this chicken over-the-top delicious in about an hour. You can find curry paste in the Asian aisle at most grocery stores or at an Asian market; we recommend any from Maesri.


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Coconut Milk–Braised Chicken

Place a rack in top third of oven; preheat to 400°. Stir coconut milk and curry paste in a 2-qt. baking dish to combine (or, use a medium skillet if that’s what you’ve got). Add lemongrass, ginger, and garlic. Season chicken with salt (hold back a bit since curry pastes often have a lot of salt). Place in baking dish and spoon some liquid over. Bake, occasionally spooning liquid over, until chicken is browned, tender, and cooked throughout (the joint should be reasonably easy to flex), 60–75 minutes.


Sheet-Pan Chicken That’s Dinner Party-Worthy? It’s All About the Marinade

Let’s start with a fact, because facts are all we can count on in this cruel world (kind of). The fact is this: Yogurt is the best meat marinade there is. Why? Well, science. Unlike some acidic marinades—your vinegars, your citrus juices—yogurt contains microbes and lactic acid, which peerlessly break down proteins and tenderize meat (no weird serrated hammers required) rather than toughening it. See, when you cook meat coated in a snuggly little blanket of yogurt, the heat caramelizes the milk solids in said yogurt, creating a crisp, smoky exterior and a hyper-tender interior, thanks to all the juices that get locked inside.

This, friends, is the key to creating your new favorite all-in-one sheet-pan chicken dinner: Sheet-Pan Garam Masala Chicken, a dish so easy to make and so rewarding to eat that it’ll break through your self-imposed salad-only post-Thanksgiving diet and get you back in front of your neglected oven (that romaine’s poison anyway, y’all).

Sheet Pan Garam Masala Chicken

The first step to mastering this dish is an important one: You have to get the oven hot enough. This dish takes its inspiration from India, where meat marinated in spices and yogurt is sometimes cooked in a cylindrical clay oven called a tandoor, which is heated to temperatures up to 900 degrees. In our case, we’re not getting quite that hot. But if you preheat your home oven to 425 and move one of the racks to the upper third, you’ll still get the burnished, blistered skin and deep caramelization that makes tandoor cooking so delish.

Next, it’s marinade time. Grate up a three-inch piece of fresh ginger (definitely scrub it clean, but peeling is now officially optional), put one teaspoon aside, and dump the rest in a resealable plastic bag with two cups of whole milk Greek yogurt (I repeat! Whole milk!). Squeeze in a lemon’s worth of juice, cayenne pepper, and garam masala—which you can buy off the shelf or make yourself. Then seal up that bag and shake it, sh-shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture—seriously, classic white person Outkast reference aside, this is a good time to work out some rage and dance alone in your kitchen, a practice I recommend to all of you at least once a week.

Now it’s time to season your chicken pieces GENEROUSLY with kosher salt, stick ‘em in that bag, and return to your bag-shaking dance—working in batches if you need to (I did, which just meant more time for dancing). Once the chicken’s good and covered, set it aside to marinate, at least 30 minutes at room temperature or up to four hours in the fridge. Meanwhile, chop up a big ol’ head of cauliflower, drizzle ‘n’ toss with salt ‘n’ olive oil, and arrange it all evenly across a large, rimmed, foil-lined sheet pan. Part of the great joy of this dish is that it only requires one pan which means not only that you 🚨ONLY HAVE TO WASH ONE PAN 🚨but also that you can get away with not adding any exciting seasonings to the cauliflower—it’ll get its true flavor from what happens next, which is nestling your marinated chicken pieces in the middle of that cauliflower forest. As the chicken cooks, the cauliflower will soak up all the spiced chicken-y juices that come out. Mmmmm, spiced chicken-y juices.

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Serve this juicy yogurt-marinated chicken to the squad, or keep it all to yourself.

So yeah, stick that baby in the oven and let it go until the chicken skin is blistered, the meat is tender to the bone, and the cauliflower is good and charred. You’ll want to turn the pan halfway through and move the chicken with tongs occasionally so it browns evenly, but the whole process shouldn’t taken more than 40 minutes. Spend that time dancing. That’s not a request. Your mom called me. She says you need it. It’s been awhile. Times are hard.

Okay well, you also need to spend some of those minutes preparing your chutney. But that’s easy. Just be sure to rinse your onion in cold water after you chop it to tone down the harshness.

At this point, your kitchen will be smelling real good because your one-pan dinner is ready to party. Your chicken should be crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, and a wee bit spicy all over. Dolloping it with that zesty-zingy chutney lends contrast, keeping the meat-n-veg from tasting one-note and bringing the whole meal together with balance. Now all you have to do is eat up, then pat yourself on the back. For we should consider every day lost in which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one yogurt-marinated chicken.

Winner, winner, sheet-pan chicken dinner!



If You Don’t Make Stock When You Roast a Chicken, You’re Throwing Away Free Money

This is a Public Service Announcement: If you aren’t making stock out of that leftover roasted chicken carcass, you are throwing money in the trash! According to Title 18, Chapter 17 of the U.S. Code it is illegal to dispose of money. STOP BREAKING THE LAW, PEOPLE!!!

In my household, roasting a chicken has become a non-negotiable twofer operation. The chicken gets roasted until golden brown and delish (duh), and then that roast-y, toasty carcass gets turned into stock. There’s simply no question about it. Good quality chicken stock does not come cheap these days, and I for one, am not in a position to throw away free food. A quart of chicken stock from my local butcher (granted I live in NYC which is a ridiculously overpriced place to live), retails for $9. That’s about half the cost of an entire chicken!

No-Fail Roast Chicken with Lemon and Garlic

I’ve always held the belief that free food tastes more delicious. Think about it: when a waiter drops a dish on your table and declares it complementary, you are already predisposed to liking it a whole hell of a lot more than you would if you knew you had to pay for it. So think of your roast chicken as a two-for-one deal. Buy a chicken, and get two free quarts of made-from-scratch chicken stock. Thats a value of nearly $18. Did I chose the wrong career path?? I’m starting to think I’d make a pretty sweet salesperson.

Now that we’ve sorted out the financial bit, here’s all you need to know about making it. Once the bird has been roasted and carved, I try to break the chicken carcass into a few pieces with my hands and huck it straight into a large pot, cover it just barely with water, bring it up to a boil, and then drop it to a gentle simmer. This takes a total of five minutes, which you can surely carve out of your day. If you have any aromatics laying around (think onions, shallots, carrots, parsley stems, garlic, ginger, a dried chile, mushrooms), you’ll only benefit from throwing those in the pot as well. No need to practice your fancy knife skills here, just halve ‘em and get em in there on the quick. Don’t have any aromatics laying around? GREAT. You’re still on your way to free AF liquid gold.

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Photo by Alex Lau

The carcass in question. A pot of stock is a great way to make the most of a sloppy carving job, just sayin’…

Here’s the most important part about this very awesome two-for-one deal I’ve just walked you through. You gotta get that stock on the burner before sitting down for dinner. If you start in on your meal, you risk getting lazy, entering food coma and deciding you’ll start the stock later. A rookie move (yes, of course I’ve done it). Full flavored stock takes a couple of good hours of simmering to truly develop flavor, so the sooner you get it going the better. That way, you aren’t simmering into the wee hours of the night.

Season with plenty of salt and taste as you go—the stock is done when it tastes delicious, you make the call. Strain it through a mesh strainer and discard all the bits and pieces; they’ve given all the flavor they have to give to the liquid. Let it cool and then refrigerate until you’re ready to use it, freeze it, or just drink it as-is. This chicken stock isn’t going to be as crazy and flavor-packed as the kind you make with pounds of fresh chicken you bought specifically for this purpose, but it will still be an incredible base for a quick soup the next day, a speedy risotto, or a casual braise. And that’s money, kids.

Let’s back up for a second—first, you gotta roast a chicken!



Real Friends Serve Roast Chicken at Friendsgiving

You shouldn’t be serving turkey at your Friendsgiving. Before we get any further into this argument, I just want to admit that I am not even close to being a Turkey Guy. Besides a turkey club, I think it’s a food that possesses minimal worth. Yes, I am biased. But I also have the success of your Friendsgiving in mind, so hear me out. You should be roasting chicken at your Friendsgiving. Whether it’s one whole chicken or two, roasting chicken instead of turkey is going to make for a tastier, easier, more successful party. And yes, this is a party.

Choosing chicken will help you out before we even step foot in the kitchen. Chickens, for the most part, are smaller than turkeys. I’m not sure if you knew that or not, but they are. You can look it up if you doubt my credibility on the subject. But I promise you that the whole chicken you buy at the grocery store or butcher shop will weigh less than a whole turkey. And that means it will be easier to carry, especially for someone like me. I don’t have a car. I live in a city. I walk and ride the subway. Which means there’s a zero percent chance that I will ever volunteer to carry a whole turkey anywhere. Do you want to be the person deciding whether or not it’s acceptable to rest your 16-pound turkey on the subway floor, four inches from someone’s gnarly running sneakers, because your arm is tired? No. You don’t. That’s a lose-lose scenario. Chickens get from point A to point B much more easily. Also: How many people are you feeding, anyway? Yeah: not enough people to necessitate roasting a 15-plus pound animal.

No-Fail Roast Chicken with Lemon and Garlic

It’s also worth noting that whether you’ve roasted a bird before or not, a chicken is always less stress than a turkey. Less expensive. Less of a commitment. Less intimidating. Easier to schlep, but also easier to handle mentally.

But that difference in size also means that roasting a chicken (or a couple chickens) will take far less time than roasting the traditional, gargantuan, colonial-era poultry. You can roast a single chicken in about 45 minutes. Two will take a little longer, since there’s more heat being conducted, but the chicken will still be ready to serve much sooner than a turkey. As someone who went four years with a minuscule oven, I cherish the fact that chicken gives you more time and oven space to devote to side dishes. The mashed potatoes. The biscuits. The sweet potatoes. The salads. The sprouts. The stuff that most people like way more than the turkey.

Speaking of turkey, when was the last time you went to a restaurant and ordered turkey that wasn’t on a sandwich? Oh. Not in the last year? Not in the last decade? Never? And when was the last time you ordered chicken? Last weekend? This week? Last night? Yeah, that’s because more people like chicken than they do turkey. Because chicken tastes better.

But why does chicken taste better? Well, there are a couple reasons. First, the ratio of skin to meat on a chicken is better than that of a turkey. Since a chicken is smaller, there’s going to be more crispy, brown, beautiful skin for every bite of meat. Part of the reason turkey breast can be so bad is that there’s never enough skin to go around. Less meat, in this case, is more.

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A roast chicken can look nice too!

The entirety of a chicken also cooks at the same rate. A turkey does not. The historical pitfall of the turkey is that the breast dries out in the time it takes the thighs to cook. And if you pull turkey out when the breast is perfect, the thighs will be undercooked. It’s a cruel paradox, and you can blame the massive size of the turkey for that. I’m not saying that it’s impossible to make a good turkey, but it takes some practice, and it’s just easier to roast a chicken so that all of it tastes amazing. And I don’t know about you, but I like to serve my friends food that tastes amazing. That’s called being a good friend.

And if you follow the logic I’ve presented about chicken being better to turkey, that means the chicken leftovers will be better than the turkey leftovers. Chicken salad is better than turkey salad. Chicken stock is much easier to make, because you don’t have to use a 348-gallon pot. Chicken tacos are better than turkey tacos. Chicken soup is better than turkey soup, just as chicken fried rice is better than turkey fried rice. Your chicken choices will continue to pay off for days to come.

But really, the reason you should serve chicken instead of turkey is that these are your friends. You don’t have to impress them. You don’t have to serve a massive, picturesque bird. They’ll love you either way. They chose to spend time with you on the day (or a day surrounding the day) that’s all about showing thanks for the things you value in your life. This is about showing your friends that you’re thankful, and the best way to do that is show them a good time. Friendsgiving is about celebrating in the way your family wouldn’t. Crack the sixth bottle of wine. Put miso in your green bean casserole. Turn up whatever playlist is ripping through the stereo. Eat those special brownies. Talk about politics. Roast a couple chickens. Tell your friends you love them. This is your Thanksgiving. It’s all groovy.

Want an easy roast chicken recipe? Yeah, you do.



This Roast Chicken Recipe Got Me Over My Roast Chicken Fears

Guess what? This grown-ass, 30-year-old woman had never roasted a chicken before last weekend. I know! And I’ve never smoked a cigarette, played the lottery, run a marathon, read Jane Austen, or had a baby, either! Want to talk about it?

Didn’t think so! Let’s skip ahead to the part where I make the chicken. First, I had to buy one. This was a chore I hate. Heavy-grocery shopping. Regular groceries like bags of Tostitos and blocks of store-brand cheddar are fine. Groceries that pull my reusable tote (I’M A GOOD PERSON) down on my shoulder and leave deep red marks are a reminder of my frailty. A common theme in chicken work.

FOR ME, at least it is FOR ME.

No-Fail Roast Chicken with Lemon and Garlic

In the past, my domestic partner, a big tall MAN if you must know—God, you’re nosy!—handled the meat. Blah blah blah a million years of human evolution blah man cooks the meat blah blah. I KNOW. He does the laundry too. I’d sit there, all passive and weak, drinking a martini, while I let him do all the work. What was I thinking? I should be asserting myself and cooking this bitch bird MYSELF.

So I got home and followed Basically’s no-fail roast chicken recipe, which calls for a 3-4 lb. chicken, a lemon, half a stick of butter, and a head of garlic. And kosher salt, duh. I unwrapped my Bell & Evans chicken (I was told this was the most ethical option to be had from my local crummy grocery store and bought it because I’M A GOOD PERSON) from its plasticky death condom and eww there was blood in there. My womanly fears of imminent chicken death set in and, after I tossed it, I washed my hands for the first of seven times. Say it with me now: YOU WILL CERTAINLY DIE OF SALMONELLA. (Editor’s Note: You will probably not.) Inside the chicken there was a bag of innards, which I pitched right in the trash, where my sense of self is.

I sliced the lemon and the head of garlic in half.

The rubbery, fleshy chicken was dead and cold under my soft fingertips. I hated touching it. I hated submitting to it. I hated sprinkling salt into the cavity like a deranged chicken gynecologist.

There’s this cool trick though, where you slice in between the chicken thigh and breast and the leg splays out. Later, you’ll slice into that space to check if the chicken is done. Really, a cool trick.

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Photo by Alex Lau

Just a little slicey-slice through the skin that connects the leg and the breast.

Once the whole bird is covered in salt, into the cast iron she went, tits up, with the lemons and garlic face down. The melted butter goes all over, and I had to touch the rubbery dead flesh yet again.

425°, 45 minutes.

At this point, I needed to check to see if she was done. Ready for the ball, Cinderella? Thought you were a kitchen wench and now you’re a princess, did ya? Well look who’s roasting chickens now!!! Still not sure how I ended out on top here.

Christ almighty it was HEAVY. I hated how heavy it was and how much this continued to remind me of my weak biceps, my inability to command a room full of people with my booming voice. My memoir is going to be called The Feminine Critique and it’ll be a blueprint of my failings. The chicken though, was golden brown beautiful. She’d made it.

I sliced into that weird leg part yet again and the juices ran clean, bloodless, I was pretty sure of it. There was a lot of butter and chicken fat swimming around. Random stabbings with a Thermapen over the body gave me a range of numbers over 160°, so if anything, I’d overcooked it. $16 wasted, maybe. A life, wasted. Maybe two. But after a 15 minute rest, in which I fainted onto a chaise couch out of boredom and my weary disposition, I tore into the chicken and found her perfect. The once cold and postmortem flesh was now crispy and potato chippy.

First, I ate the chicken butt in one happy bite. Then I took my knife to the breast and attempted to carve it like I’d seen on YouTube but ended up with a Lizzie Borden hack job. The stuff inside was plump and juicy. Decidedly not overcooked. The lemon and garlic created an inadvertent pan sauce. I’d squeeze a piece of soft, roasted garlic out of its papery shell and eat it with a bite of chicken. I’d stop, sigh, and look out the window, thinking about cigarettes and lottery tickets and life’s lost opportunities. I think roast chicken is this antiquated metaphor for crossing some Serious Home Cook boundary, into the domestic zone. The ability to provide for one’s self, as well as for others. I did the damn thing. And it was delicious! But I’m still the same ol’ me.

How rewarding.

Get the recipe:



Chicken Under a Brick

While chicken is cooking, place anchovy, garlic, and 1 tsp. salt in a mortar and use pestle to pound to a paste, about 1 minute. Add parsley and continue to pound until completely pulverized, about 2 minutes. (Alternately, grate garlic and finely chop anchovy and parsley, then mix together in a medium bowl.) Mix in oil, vinegar, mustard, and red pepper flakes with pestle, then add scallions. Taste and season with more salt, if needed.

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