'What's for tea?'
'With roast potatoes and gravy and everything?'
(My children really do say huzzah. I blame Pirates of the Carribbean.)
Every time I put a chicken in the oven they rise up and call me blessed.
It sizzles away filling the house with the best smell in the world.
Out it comes burnished and crisp-skinned.
I make gravy in the roasting tin, scraping up all delicious bits that have stuck to the pan.
I thicken it with some flour, not a lot, but enough to make proper gravy. My children won't let me get away with serving the pan juices as gravy, and I don't blame them.
We feel shortchanged if there are no roast potatoes.
I always imagine there will be another two meal's worth of leftovers but with two teenaged boys this is becoming a vain hope. I am tempted more and more to roast two chickens together, one to feast on and one for leftovers.