Disjointed: Or Why Julia Child Warms our Hearts

As a general proponent of making things and doing things from scratch, I really don't have much fear of projects that might require an investment of time but will result in something that might be tastier or more aesthetically pleasing that a pre-fabbed solution. With varying regularity I make pie crust, pasta, pickles, jam, bread, slow cooked sauces to freeze, broth and mayonnaise. Granted if my schedule's crazy I will buy pre-made versions of most of these items (Pie crust, however, is never ever ever purchased. It is simply not the way of my people. But that's another post.) but homemade is more satisfying.

It is with a bit of shame that I realized I couldn't recall ever going from a full chicken to a nicely disjointed and boned pile of parts. Full chickens usually got turned into roast chickens once they passed through the door. I could feel my maternal grandmother, born in 1896 and who didn't have running water or electricity in the kitchen until 1948 tssking at me from the great beyond. After all, for years if she wanted chicken she started with something that was still clucking.

So, a sense of moral duty, a copy of From Julia Child's Kitchen and a sale on whole chickens at the grocery store inspired me to sharpen my knives and a new skill.

Step one, was basically just slicing the skin along the backbone. We then moved on exposing the leg\thigh structure and breaking open the thigh joint. The wings come off with a third if the breast (which makes them something other that an excuse to eat chicken skin). Then you repeat on the other side. This leaves the carcass which you cut open with shears and two chunks of breast to be deboned.

Mrs. Child's instructions were impeccable and the disjointing took me less than 10 minutes. The deboning needs a bit more practice, but I was using the meat for stir fry and to be sauteed with garlic for an artichoke and chicken pizza blanca.

Overall, I'd say it was worth the trouble. I wound up with portions of chicken that were sized the way I wanted, spent less money than buying the pre-split parts and got the bonus of a carcass and neck for the broth pot. Plus, once you've done this a few times the process will speed up to next to nothing.

Quality Time

Two recent events have conspired to get me back in the kitchen more than I have been in a while. First, I started student teaching down the block from house which not only makes me happier than my old job but frees up two hours a day that I used to spend commuting. Second, I started subscribing to a veggie box.

Once summer rolls around I like nothing better than puttering around at the market for whatever is in season. But the box of veggies is a nice alternative for the winter months plus it sort of throws down a weekly challenge. Week one I got cauliflower, which I don't normally buy, I turned into a nice Indian style curry with a heavy hand of ginger. An abundance of parsley turned into a hummus and tabboulehi lunchbox. Last Wednesday, it was a big bunch of kale which turned me to one of my favorite winter soups.

Simple and hearty, start by sauteeing onion and Italian sausage in a splash of olive oil. Throw in some finely chopped fresh rosemary as the onions turn golden and then add a quart or so of chicken broth* and a cup of lentils (to expand or contract recipe just keep a 2:1 broth lentil ratio). I'm a sucker here for the lovely, petite French lentils.

Let that simmer until the lentils soften up, add salt and pepper to taste. Then chop up the kale and throw that in towards the end.

*You make your own broth right? It's about as hard as making tea. But you can boil it down and make your own bullion cubes. And it's addictive. See evidence below of my kitchen in the throes of a fix: