Mark Siddall – October 27, 2020
(~ 5 min read)
Last night, the boy asked for chicken stew for dinner. It’s pretty rare that he has the foresight to contemplate dinner a day in advance. As a result of that, and the fact that he has never liked soup, I was curious. I pressed for more information. He said that of course it had to have chicken, but that it should have chunks of vegetables too. He never asks for vegetables, but eats what veg that he must – with as much enthusiasm as wearing a hair-shirt – like penance for unspoken sins.
Intrigued I wondered aloud which vegetables he was contemplating. “Carrots” he replied. I applauded his traditional choice and suggested others. But I knew better than to suggest anything green, fully anticipating each legume’s exclusion with a disdainful grimace. We settled on, of all things, turnips. Lest you think that would be among the least likely choices for a 4 year old, go watch an episode of “Octonauts”.
I convinced the boy that we’d make it with dumplings, which had me thinking of an episode of Alton Brown’s Good Eats. As part of his American Classics, Brown characterized chicken soup with dumplings as something that unites the nation in a divisive way. I have had the good fortune of having had chicken soup in about a dozen different 
countries. However, one of the best was a noodle soup somewhere in the far North of Cambodia. Spicy and eye-opening for breakfast it was pungent with kroeung – a pounded paste of lemongrass, kefir lime leaves, galangal, turmeric root, and garlic.
Noodles aren’t dumplings (and spaetzle is neither of those, but well-worthy of a separate post). No… proper dumplings bring a lusciousness to something already imbued with comfort and nostalgia. After all, this is why we have matzah ball soup… and arguments about which deli… and whose Bubbe… does it best.
My son’s mother is the only person I know who would use a time machine mainly to clean up after dinner before making it. So the attraction of chicken stew with dumplings is the potential for a low-fuss one-pot meal and minimal cleanup. #NotMe. I took a one-pot meal like Chicken Stew with Dumplings, ripped out its spine, splayed it out and stepped it up like a spatchcocked chicken. In fact, that’s how this starts – ripping the spine out of a chicken.
Spatchcock (verb)
Spatchcocking your chicken is one of the impressive ways to ensure that chicken meat is moist and succulent. There are other methods like brining and sous vide. I am a fan of them all. What spatchcocking offers is market to table in under 2 hours. And that mostly depends on fast you drive home.
You’ll need a chicken that’s going to fit in your cast iron frying pan when spatchcocked. The point of this is squeezing a whole bird into that iron pan with a heavy iron lid on top. To that end, before even starting, put the pan and the lid in a wicked-hot oven (450 to 500, depending on how clean you keep your oven). No lid? No problem. Just use something else as a lid.
The word spatchcock has uncertain origin. More than once it appears to have been thought to be a portmanteau of to “quickly dispatch a cock.” In contrast, it likely derives from the proper “spitchcock” manner of cooking an eel. This involves splitting it down the middle to remove the very long eel entrails, and grilling it.
As for the chicken, find the remnant of the neck, grab it and start cutting down both sides of the spine with strong kitchen shears. It gets weird near the ass-end if you don’t know bird anatomy, but persevere, and remember… you’re not a veterinarian and you’re not going to be asked to put it back together again. Keep that spine though… like Predator.
With the bird, on a cutting board missing-spine-side-up, press down and out on the exposed inside of the rib cage. You should hear and feel the satisfying snap-crackle-pop of serious bone trauma. If your bird has Shwarzenegger pects you might need to stab a knife into the inside cartilaginous midline of the breastbone to help splay the bird out. But don’t overdo it, we want this bird drawn – not quartered!
The whole point of spatchcocking a chicken is to make it crisp, yet keep it moist, while infusing aromatics into the meat at high heat. Consequently, that means getting your fingers and hands in there to separate the skin from the muscle everywhere. Having already ripped out the spine makes this a lot easier than with an intact bird, especially for the thighs and legs. Liberally season under and over the skin with kosher salt. Trim-away the Pope’s nose and excess fat too… if you must.
Fairy dust
As for aromatics, there’s nothing better than za-atar – basically a poultry seasoning with magical awesomeness. The sumac in za’ater adds a citrus note and the sesame seeds come alive when exposed to the temperature of the sun. Make a paste from half a stick of room-temperature butter and 2 tablespoons of za’atar, then smear that all over under the skin.
Don’t lick your fingers. You’re going to want to. Don’t. Raw chicken… bad.
The rest is easy: pull the pan, and lid, from the oven. Put some olive oil in the pan, place the bird breast side down on that screaming hot cast iron. Briefly swoon from the satisfying sound and smell of chicken skin frying to a salty crisp. Now put the lid on, tucking in the legs, and right back in a 400 F oven. Cook time is about 40 minutes, but take the lid off and check the temp at 30 minutes. Leave a thermometer in (lid off) until you hit 160 F.
After resting on a cutting board for 10 minutes, go ahead and eat up to about half of that moist, delicious and unfailingly awesome chicken. What? you thought we were going to get to the chicken stew and dumplings on the first day? This is a blog, not long-form journalism. I’ll get to the stew and dumplings in the next post.
Spatcha’atar Chicken with Anchovy Sauce
What you need for this bird is a sauce. There is a ton of goodness in the bottom of that cast-iron pan. Add a quarter cup of boiling water to the pan, scrape up everything, and immersion blend that with a few anchovy fillets plus juice from half a lemon. Trust me. Just do it.
I served this bird with a saffron infused brown rice tossed with riced cauliflower, and some shaved cucumber on the side. The skin was crispy, the breast was juicy – not remotely dried out or mealy. And the pearlescent sauce “spoke to” the tang of the sumac with an umami luxury in every bite.
Once you’ve had your fill, separate the meat from the bones and sinew with your fingers (you want to leave on the bone anything that does not come off with finger strength). Meat goes in the fridge. Bones and the rest (including the spine) go into a slow cooker with a quart of water for 8 hours on medium heat.
But, a good stock needs some brains (not actual brains in the soup, that’s another post). Do an image search on google for chicken soup or matzah ball soup… even Alton Brown’s chicken soup with dumplings. There sure is a lot of thin-looking, pale-colored witches’ pee just in time for Hallowe’en.
Stock needs character
In addition to the roasted bones ‘n bits of the bird:
- A big yellow onion with the skin on, quartered. The onion skin will add a deep luxurious color.
- 1 fat carrot, skin on for now, cut into big chunks. We’re going to keep these later.
- 2 sticks of Asian long-pepper, or a dozen peppercorns, but really go get some long pepper.
- 1 star anise floret, or 4 clove buds, or 6 allspice berries. (Do not use powdered spices in a stock! Mud, mud, mud.)
- Celery.
- Bay.
But not the turnip… I’ll explain later.