We Ate, We Lived

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I have very little interest in cooking chicken or cooking or chickens. However in the interest of providing a certain flow, a continuity, I should say that despite having misgivings about feeding the people I like best with a chicken cooked in fire in a wall when I had no idea what I was doing, Christmas lunch was a success. How? I do not know. I was exhausted after sawing wood most of the morning, and quite drunk. It was in there for six minutes I think but I might have got that wrong. It was cooked. All of it.

Anyway, here’s to those of us who do not get bogged down in the cross-referencing of recipes and opinions, who listen to right ways and wrong ways and end up going no ways; those of us who go for it – and no-one dies in the process. Cheers!

I’m considering a weekly Oven Day. I can’t see it working; I can’t think of a more boring way to spend time but I do like fresh bread and it heats the house, is marginally better than working, and it seems the sort of thing I should be doing. Once the fire is going the oven stays hot for hours – that’s a lot of roast chickens.





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