I’m sad to report that a taste from the jar offers a flavor shockingly similar to Bac-Os, which is disappointing to say the least. But I am willing to give it a real shot, in a recipe, in heat, over the stove.

Now that it’s sitting on my counter, I don’t know how I feel about Bacon Salt. On one hand, it really is vegetarian, kosher, etc. On the other hand, is it just an easy way around the dreaded bacon prohibition?

I will give it a fair shake. I have my doubts that it will adequately impart that irreplacable bacon flavor. Perhaps it will require immersion in schmaltz to be effective… that is an appealing idea.

There is so much truth to be told on this subject, but underneath it all, I truly never thought of it because I don’t think of turkey bacon as food, despite the fact that it can be kosher and might technically fill the role of “bacon.”

People who have never tasted bacon might not have much use for the turkey substitute, so for those out of the loop I will summarize turkey bacon: it’s a health food, the particle board of cured, sliced meats, processed and pressed together with way less fat and absolutely none of the natural muscular/fatty structure of the real pork bacon or even its distant relative, beef bacon. (I’ve had beef bacon, but it tastes suspiciously like corned beef.)

So yes, the short answer is, I never even remotely came close to considering it as a bacon solution because even when I am not trying to match recipes, I am not inclined to eat it.

The longer answer has a lot of parts. First, I suspect that turkey bacon, designed as most packaged turkey bacon products will tell you to have less fat and be way more “heart-healthy”, doesn’t have enough natural salt or fat to infuse a recipe with the kind of flavor that pork fat provides.

Second, that stuff never gets crispy.  OK, well only if you microwave it within an inch of its life between two wads of paper towel.  But then you’ve lost the fat to the paper towels, and so far none of the recipes I’ve witnessed call for totally crispy bacon.  So it’s a lot of work for not a lot of return in the areas for which bacon might typically be used.

Third… well, this is disingenuous but whatever.  I’m tired of talking about this.  I’ll just refer you back to the short answers, in which I’m not motivated by or attracted to turkey bacon as an ingredient.

However, I feel sufficiently guilty dismissing it that I will probably seek to include it in experiments in the not too distant future.

But then, it was also the most delicious, and probably the most fattening, so there you go.

One of the first things this recipe calls for me to do is slather the salted inside of my chicken with a Tbsp of butter, and truss it up.  This sort of set the tone for how I had to approach the recipe – this was a battle, and I needed to be atop my game at all times in order not to be tricked into doing something to defile the beautiful, potentially kosher deliciousness of this chicken.

With my wits about me, I “buttered” my bread chicken with Philly olive oil instead.  Not a particularly neutral oil, but the richest one I had on hand.  Since I don’t think there’s a comparable substitute for the flavor and texture of butter, I figured I’d just go for the luxe.

I placed the chicken in a slightly-larger-than-the-chicken-sized baking pan, strew about some sliced carrot and onion, and slid the whole she-bang into my preheated 425-degree oven.  (The first 15 minutes were the biggest pain in my chicken-roasting life, because the recipe required that I brown the top and each side of the chicken for five minutes before reducing the heat to 350.  Thomas Keller, whose recipe I previously used as my general guideline, does not require this very hot acrobatic feat.)

In prepping the chicken, I trimmed off some of the enormous wads of fat that surrounded the opening of the cavity.  I assumed I’d render this later and fry something awesome in it (schmaltz, or chicken fat, is the flavor equivalent of golden indulgence.)  Little did I know what lay ahead of me.

That’s a lie, though, because as Julia Child recommends in the foreword to MtAoFC, we must read recipes in their entirety before proceeding, in order not to be blindsided by an unexpected ingredient or unfamiliar technique.   So I did know that I’d be instructed to prepare basting liquid using 2 tbsp of butter and 1 tbsp of cooking oil in a small saucepan.  What I hadn’t realized was that I would render the schmaltz in the saucepan with the olive oil and use it as my basting liquid – there, we have something that truly does give butter a run for its money.

Rendering schmaltz is honestly one of the great joys of my life.  I usually do this in my cast-iron grill pan (designated for meat meals, of course.)  Not only is it convenient to pour out the hot liquid fat through the pan’s groove, but the process sustains the seasoning of my pan.  Most satisfying of all is watching an enormous whitish fat globule melt down until it’s just a crispy flake of skin or meat surrounded by boiling, popping chickeny fatty essence.

But I digress.  Needless to say, this is the first chicken (or any item, really) that I’ve ever basted.  In fact, for something roasted, which typically connotes a fast and easy process of popping something in a preheated oven and maybe adjusting the temperature a little ways down the road, this was a lot of work!  After those first 15 minutes of frequent flipping action, the heat turned down to 350 and the bird was lying on its right side.  I basted it every 8-10 minutes, first with the liquid I discussed above, and with the pan juices after the stovetop preparation ran out.  Halfway through the remaining roasting time, I salted the up-side and flipped it over onto its left side, and 15 minutes from the anticipated end of roasting, I salted the up-side and returned it to the breast-up position.

I felt a little dubious at this point because while the sides were nicely browned and crisped, the breast side was kind of pale (though cooked) and un-crispy looking.  Not to worry, however, because in the last 15 minutes of roasting it came together nicely.  I wish I’d taken a picture when I took the bird out – it was without reservation the most beautiful poultry I’ve personally ever prepared.

While all these chicken-roasting antics were going on, I was also preparing a brown stock.  (I’ve never heard of brown stock before reading MtAoFC.  As far as I can cobble together, brown stock is a stock prepared by browning chicken parts and onions and carrots, then cooking them in pre-prepared stock to make a richer, well, stock.  I detest using a word in its own definition, but near as I can tell, brown stock is made using a pre-existing stock.  So I do the best I can.)  I attempted to cut up giblets of a chicken, but my meat cleaver made barely a dent in the neck and the gizzard.  I gave up and browned them whole, boiled them in the stock whole, and discarded them afterward, you guessed it, whole.  It smelled and tasted extra super chickeny, which is the ultimate goal of this entire exercise, according to Julia Child.

When the chicken came out to rest before carving, I cooked minced shallots in 2 tbsp of the pan juices, then added a cup of the newly made, and strained brown stock.  This was 1+ cup of liquid, reduced down to 1/2 cup, then seasoned with salt and pepper.  The recipe wanted me to enrich it with butter at the last second before serving, but instead I added a tablespoon of the fat skimmed from the strained stock.  I would hardly say that the sauce lacked for richness.  One spoonful over the top of the golden-crisp chicken, the rest in a Pyrex vessel (I have no gravy boat, sadly.)

I called it “the hardest damned chicken” but that doesn’t really convey what I mean.  No part of this process was difficult, by any stretch.  It did require an active engagement with the chicken with which I am generally unaccustomed.  I worked hard to follow the instructions on this chicken, and it was worth it.

The Roast Chicken Experience called to mind what I consider to be a central theme of Julie and Julia, which is the distinction between that which is simple and that which is easy.  This chicken was simple – instructions straightforward, tasks so basic that anyone can do them – but it wasn’t easy.  You can’t sit back and put your feet up and read a good chunk of novel while waiting for the end of the roasting time.

If pressed to make a larger point, I might add that keeping kosher is simple – simply follow rules! – but it isn’t easy.  But this is a post for another time.  Right now I’m remembering my delicious chicken and sauce prepared 100% dairy-free, appreciating the hard-won simplicity and the bonus of rich flavor and superior texture that were the return on my investment.