Everyday Gourmet. William Maltese

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СКАЧАТЬ on the menu of our hotel in Machu Picchu, I made specific inquiry of the chef, who assured me the chicken in question was, indeed, free-range; we ordered it. Only to find ourselves served up with probably the toughest bird I’d ever eaten, or, for that matter, have eaten since. All of that free-ranging in a country where every morsel of food had to be fought over, even in competition with the local human population, had left our poor bird nothing more than muscle, sinew, gristle, and bones.

      Of course, since then, having been able to access free-ranging chickens that have actually existed within environments where food for them is plentiful, I’ve come to realize that my companion on that train to Machu Picchu hadn’t been wrong when saying that they DO taste differently (aka better) than their store-bought counterparts, especially to food purists.

      In fact, it was just one such free-range chicken, literally chased down on a privately owned South Pacific atoll, killed, gutted, and plucked for an evening roast on a beach bonfire that provided my first sampling of Beer-Butt chicken, the recipe for which follows. Not that a free-range chicken is required. Frankly, I’ve had consistently great results, since, with the mass-produced plump fryers I’ve picked up at local U.S. grocery stores.

      Beer-Butt Chicken

      Prepare rub:

      1 TBS Paprika

      1 TBS Garlic salt

      1 TBS Onion powder

      1 TBS Salt

      1 TBS Pepper

      Cayenne Pepper, to taste (optional)

      Set rub aside.

      1 can of beer (12 oz)

      1 chicken (approximately 4 lb)

      Olive oil

      2 c of wood chips (preferably hickory, or cherry), soaked for 1 hour in water (or beer), then drained.

      Pop the beer-can tab. Dump ½ of the beer over the wood chips. Use a church-key opener to make 2 additional holes in the top of the can. Set can and its remaining beer aside.

      Remove giblets from chicken body cavity and save them for some other time. Remove and discard whatever excess skin and fat you find inside the chicken cavities. Rinse the chicken, inside and out, under cold running water. Drain. Blot dry, inside and out.

      Sprinkle some of the rub inside the chicken body and neck cavities.

      Drizzle the olive oil over the outside of the bird to coat the skin.

      Sprinkle rub over the outside of the chicken. (If you have remaining rub, funnel it through one of the holes in the beer-can lid, not being concerned by any resulting foam).

      Hold the chicken upright, and sit its body’s cavity firmly down and over the beer can, pulling the chicken’s legs forward to provide, along with the can, a tripod that allows the bird to remain erect.

      Tuck the tips of the chicken wings.

      If using a gas grill, place wood chips in smoker box or smoker pouch, preheat grill to high until chips begin to smoke, then turn down to medium. Put a drip pan under chicken.

      Place erect chicken (affixed on beer can) to center of grate (over drip pan) away from the main heat. Cover and cook until the skin is dark golden and crisp (1 to 1½ hours). If using charcoal, you’ll need to add more charcoal after about an hour of cooking.

      If chicken skin starts too brown too quickly, turn heat down or move chicken farther away from the coals.

      Using tongs, grip the visible part of the beer can, and the chicken, to transfer the chicken in an upright position onto a platter. Let it remain there for about five minutes, and, then, very carefully, being sure not to spill any hot beer still in the can (or burn yourself), remove the bird from the beer can. Cut chicken into halves or quarters.

      Serves 2 – 4

      Should you want to do this over an open fire, merely start your grated camp fire, let it (and charcoal, if you so desire) burn down to glowing coals. Place upright chicken-on-its-beer-can on the grate, cover bird with aluminum foil. Cook.

      NOTE: I have a tendency just to serve beer with this dish, although if I choose to make it more formal, I invariably opt for a Pinot Noir. The dish, being wood-smoked, lends itself to experimentations with reds; Pinot Noirs having proved, in my opinion, to be the best.

      PADUA, PACIANO, (WATER) POLO, AND PASTA

      I was in Italy, again, this time busy writing my mainstream romantic/adventure novel, VANESSA IN WHITE MARBLE. I was checked in to a small, family-owned hotel in Padua, spending all of my time, when not researching or writing my book, taking in the local museums and ruins, or just sitting in local cafés, drinking Cappuccino or wine (depending upon the time of day). Also, of course, I was constantly kept busy eating fine food, including non-stop snacking on enormous bowls of gelato, and watching some of the most beautiful people in the world pass by. Water polo was the farthest thought from my mind, until I was introduced to Paciano one afternoon in the lobby of my hotel. Grandson of the hotel proprietors, Paciano was not only one of the most attractive young men I’ve ever seen (Italian or otherwise), but, as it turned out, was goalie of a local water-polo team.

      I wasn’t long listening to Paciano enthusiastically expound upon his sport and how top players from around the world actually came specifically to Italy to play because of the top-notch competition afforded and the money offered, before I became a whole lot more interested in Italian-played water polo than I’d ever been before. When I was offered comp tickets to a game that was being played that very evening, I jumped at the chance, needing very little persuasion to see in real life, wearing only Speedos, the same fine anatomical specimens of Italian manhood, which, up until then, I’d been so admiring in the statuary of Italian museums, or in the latest fashions always to be seen on Italian sidewalks. The resulting experience was so enjoyable that I’ve since made it a point, if anywhere in Italy during the water-polo season (March thru May), to try and work in a game or two. During that time frame, not only is the Italian League in the middle of its competition, but the European C of Champions is, also, going on, featuring the club champions of all the European water-polo teams who play at home and away-games in the countries of the competition, including Italy.

      Additional fond memories of my first Italian water-polo match was the win by Paciano’s team, my joining its members for the celebratory festivities afterwards, and the early-morning insistence, by my favorite water-polo goalie, that I join him for a late-night snack in my hotel’s deserted kitchen. While he humbly insisted that he was nowhere near the cook his grandmother was, he did admit to her having taught him a few culinary tricks, one of which was what to do with the left-over ravioli he soon had removed from the refrigerator.

      While, afterwards, I thought, perhaps, that meal was made to seem so delicious by the circumstances, I’ve since tried the recipe enough times to know that, despite the simplicity of the dish, it’s pretty much just as enjoyable every time I make it, even when, left-over fresh ravioli is seldom as available in my refrigerator as I would wish; my having discovered that frozen packages of ravioli, especially the ones I’ve recently found at Costco, provide a suitably delicious compromise.

      Goalie Ravioli

      16 cheese-and-spinach ravioli (fresh or frozen)

      2 TBS olive oil

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