Roasted Chicken or Maybe I Want to Look Cheap

IMG_4973

Recently on Facebook one of my high school friend posted a “You know you’re from Ft. Lauderdale if…” and mentioned a children’s clothing store here which, by the way, is STILL here!  It was every mother’s favorite and the #1 hated store of many little girls.  My mother was one of those ladies.  I was one of those little girls.  When I was really little my dream of party dresses was pink and frothy.  With layers of tulle and organza in the palest of pinks.  That dream went hand-in-hand with my baton twirling dream.  When I told Mama I wanted baton twirling lessons instead of tennis lessons, well, let’s just say she looked at me as if I had two heads.  She’d smile and then promptly reply, “We’ll see.  One day.”  Which I learned meant, “Oh, yeah.  You can have that… when donkeys fly.”  I wanted to spin and twirl that baton just like the girls in the Miss America pageant; throwing the baton high, High, HIGH in the air and tossing my head back with a satisfied, confidant smile on my face when it came spiraling down like a flash of light and I CAUGHT IT.  But that wasn’t to be.  Formal ballet classes from a Russian ex-ballerina were the closest I would ever get to any kind of stardom.  So when the day came that Mama took inventory of my closet and made the announcement, “Cielo!  You need another party dress!” I was sucked into the magical vortex of fairyland pink one more time.  We got into the car and as we drove down Las Olas those visions of creamy pink organza and rosy silks swirling around my head.  And then we pulled into the parking lot of that hateful store, Flora Ottimer.  God, but I hated that place!  It was so…white.  I don’t think any of the little girls I knew liked it either.  It was just one more bitter disappointment we all had to endure.  We had resigned ourselves to the daily school and play clothes picked out by our mothers but a party dress was altogether different.  I mean, a girl can dream, right?  There were two women who worked in that store.  Jo, who was friendly and nice.  I always implored the Virgin Mary, (she’s a girl…she’d understand), that Jo be working the days we went in.  She understood the dream of every little girl who wanted to be swathed in miles of frosting pink tulle.  The kind of foamy, fluffy 100% sheer polyester that would go up in flames in a heartbeat if someone even walked by you with a lit cigarette.  Yes, sweet Jo was on our side.  She knew we would NEVER see that dream come true but she was so damn nice about it that it almost made it okay.   And then there was Betty.  We all hated her.  She was thin and mean.  She had a flat, short haircut…like a boy.  She took pleasure in our disappointment.  But worse she always, always, ALWAYS timed it so that right when you were down to your panties and socks, just sticking your toe into some hideous dress SHE’D YANK BACK THE DRESSING ROOM CURTAIN so everyone could see you and say, “Everything all right in there?”  She’d just stand there with the dressing room curtain pulled wide open and stare at you with a little smile on her tight, pinched face.   When we were older we called her “Betty Bitch” under our breath.  In retrospect I do believe she batted for the other side.

Pamela in a typical Florence Eiseman dress. She was in 1st grade. Poor thing.
Pamela in a typical Florence Eiseman dress. She was in 1st grade. Poor thing.

Anyway, in spite of all the ominous signs I held on to my hope.  We walked in thru the back, everyone did, enveloped in the welcome chill of air conditioning.  And that’s when it happened.  Mama looked up at the wall and gasped with wonder and excitement. “Pink, pink, pink!”, I furiously hoped.  Then I looked up.  “Oh, sweet Jesus”, I thought.  “What fresh hell is this?”  Well, maybe I didn’t  think those exact words but I certainly felt them!  There, displayed on the wall, spread out in all it’s ghastly glory was THE ugliest dress I had ever seen.  Truly.  Although now I realize it was one of my nicest dresses but I sure didn’t think that at the time.  It was red wool, short-sleeved with a maybe one inch band of red and green plaid wool around the bottom of the sleeve.  The dress had a jewel neckline with tobacco colored leather piping.  The front sported two pockets, the flaps of the pockets in the red and green plaid each with the thin leather piping AND EACH WITH A BUTTON COVERED IN WOVEN BROWN LEATHER.  I know it cost a small fortune.  It was an absolute classic.  But these were not the clothes Barbie wore.  Noooo.  These were the clothes Caroline Kennedy wore.  Lots of Florence Eiseman outfits.  Cotton knit sundresses and short sets with a sail boat sown on the front.  Or an applique of a piece of watermelon with black seeds studded in the bright fruit.  That was our summer wear.  Winter would have us in cardigans over cotton turtle necks splendidly adorned with tiny, stupid, little dogs or birds,  corduroy pants, and solid, plain leather shoes.  Winter formal wear consisted of wool or flannel dresses in Black Watch, Royal Stewart or MacLachlan plaids, white tights and black, patent leather Mary Janes.  At summer parties one might find us in a dotted Swiss, Pima cotton or seersucker party dress.

On my way to a birthday party. So happy in my long sleeved, navy, dotted swiss party dress! Not.
On my way to a birthday party. So happy in my long-sleeved, navy, dotted swiss party dress! Not.

Well, I never got baton lessons, I never got to take jazz or tap, I never got to have a TV dinner and I never got to wear long, drippy earrings or a long, flowy BLACK lace veil to mass like my mother and aunts.  We never had hotdogs and the Charles Chip truck never, NOT ONCE, pulled into our driveway.  I also never got my pink, cotton candy dress.  Life is like that.  This is what we got for dinner instead of frozen pizza and frozen french fries.

Feel free to add other other vegetables as well such as parsnips, mushrooms, winter squash or halved plum tomatoes.
Feel free to add other vegetables as well such as parsnips, mushrooms, winter squash or halved plum tomatoes.

 

Roasted Chicken

  • Servings: 4-6
  • Difficulty: easy
  • Print

yield: serves 4

  • 1 large chicken, quartered. Ask you butcher to quarter it for you if you’d rather not do it yourself.  And don’t get a hen.  The only thing tougher than a hen is the leather on that dress!
  • 1 lemon cut into eighths.
  • 2 1-pound bags organic carrots, peeled, quartered and then each piece cut again lengthwise.
  • 1 large onion, peeled, cut into eighths, root and stem cut off
  • 1 head garlic, cloves peeled and rough chopped
  • 1 good drizzle of olive oil
  • 1 tablespoon dried thyme
  • 1 teaspoon each salt and pepper
  1. Pre-heat oven to 350°.
  2. Spray a large baking pan with non-stick spray.
  3. Scatter the carrots, onions, lemon and garlic evenly over the entire pan.
  4. Place chicken over vegetables and lemon and drizzle olive oil covering chicken.  Use your hands to rub the olive oil in if needed.
  5. Scatter thyme, salt and pepper over the pan and bake in oven for a good hour and a half.
  6. Baste chicken and vegetables with the pan juices every 25 minutes or so.
  7. For the last 20-25 minutes let the chicken roast without basting so the skin crisps up.
  8. Chicken is done when the juices run clear or the internal temperature registers 160°-165°.

http://www.theirreverentkitchen.com

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “Roasted Chicken or Maybe I Want to Look Cheap”

    1. It’ll say right on the outside wrapper. But that doesn’t include Rock Cornish Hens. They are wonderful! Like small chickens. Hope you enjoy!!

  1. Bup, here is where we part company! Frankly, I LOVED Flora Ottimers and the Eisemans. Seriously, I did… I agree with you, about Betty and Jo, though. I remember walking in the back door and the wall had some sort of painted scene done in oils. Fascinating! I even loved dressing Kaitlan in the Eisemans ( how many yrs later??). And when I out grew Flora Ottimer it was on to this neat store, just a few blocks down, called the Tack Room. Ever heard of it?! They had the best selection of Villager and Lady Bug as I recall.

    1. That, that is so funny that you would say that !!! I just hung up with Dana and she said she loved it, too!! Loved it!! Not me!! But the minute James was born I trotted right over to Flora Ottimer’s and started all over again! My favorite Christmas portrait of him is with a wildly expensive Flora Ottimer’s outfit. If Jimmy knew how much I paid…!!!!!

  2. I knew there was someone else that loved Flora Ottimer’s too!!!! However, I do remember Betty throwing open that dressing room curtain just as I was standing there in my panties and I would scream at the top of my lungs “Mommmmmmm!!!!! When I enter Flora Ottimer’s in Banner Elk next week it will be with a smile in my heart because of your story…… 😀 You know how I love baked chicken and will be making this ASAP!!!! Thanks Missy.

    1. I know, Missy! Maybe that was my inner Latina trying to get out!! Hated that Betty. And she had a lot to look at when she pulled the curtain back on you!!

    1. I’m glad! And thank YOU for jogging my memory! Apparently you weren’t the only girl who loved Flora Ottimer’s. I heard from both Dana and Jodie Gilroy and both were adamant in their fondness. Me…not so much!!!

  3. i just found you and absolutely LOVE your stories and recipes! You are hilarious! I was born and raised in Fort Myers (still live here) so it’s fun reading stories about your side of the state!
    Thanks for sharing your fantastic recipes…I’m baking the Key Lime cake tomorrow!

    1. Oh, Kim! I’m so glad! I just got back from a girl’s weekend, I drank too much, need to shower…I’m just a mess. You’re words bucked me up. Thank you!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s