tucking in

I confess: When it comes to cooking chicken, I am, well, chicken. First, there's the fear of undercooking the bird and inflicting gastrointestinal pandemonium on the poor souls who dare to pull up a chair. Then, there's the danger of overcooking the chicken while trying to avoid this unsavory epilogue. No, I do not have the temperament for chicken. If my soufflé falls or a pie crust burns it's a shame, but hey, no one will be writhing in pain -- or dead -- because of it.

Eli, on the other hand, is unfazed by poultry. This weekend, he roasted up some birds that were absolutely stunning. Oh, and tasty too. He kept things simple: thyme, tarragon, salt and pepper, a lemon nestled in where the giblets used to be, rings of yellow onions, a neat loop of string around the legs, and an hour and a half in the oven. Look, LOOK, at what came out:

Is it just me, or do these babies deserve a runway?

So warm, so inviting, so... snuggle-y? A strange adjective to apply to a couple of cooked chickens, perhaps, but standing over the dish I felt the urge to tuck right in between them and snuggle in. Yes, dear friends, I had a mini-fantasy about spooning with two dead, roasted birds. Move over fruit cobbler, squash soup, and chocolate lava cake, you snuggle-y usual suspects, because Eli's roasted chicken has just joined your ranks.

Here's as close as I got...

before digging in, of course.