When it comes to great levellers in the kitchen, roasting a chook is surely up there.
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Done right, it's quick, easy and delicious.
Done wrong it can lead to uncomfortable conversations.
I mention this only because I'm coming off my most recent roast chicken, which critics are suggesting, I jagged.
Way behind the eight-ball late in the day, I was tasked with putting something on the table.
But what, as ever, was the eternal question.
Particularly with the cupboard bare and the clock running down.
Roast "anything" is usually a good option for the desperate. Minor skill and prep required. High potential upside.
Unfortunately, low and slow is normally the go, but with nowhere to hide, and little to guide, I turned to ye ole faithful roast chook, butterflied.
(To reduce cooking time, and risk of salmonella.)
(PS no-one died).
Hard to get wrong, really, but difficult to get right when measured against that ultimate standard - a roast chook that tastes nearly as good as your mums.
An aspirational target and Pandora's box of relationship issues if referenced within earshot of partners.
Who might take it as a reflection on competing benchmarks, like their mother's roast chook, or worse, their own.
Everyone's version of roast chook perfection varies, and you don't want to be dogmatic, but where I come from, skin should be crispy brown and meat falls off the bone.
Skin that comes out of the oven nearly the same colour as it went in raises the question - did you turn the oven on? Meat and bones that don't fall apart, again - 'fail'.
Accoutrements inserted digitally under the skin like lemon-garlic butter, though fancy, are fiddly, and lead to avoidable mess and washing up when under the pump.
Things that should be avoided if you're lazy and/or having a kitchen spin out.
Process-wise, normally I'll place a chicken in a bag and cook at low heat which catches juice for gravy, and reduces mess - tick, tick.
Mum had dad to wash up, so she preferred to weld her chicken to the oven tray, sans baking paper, and juz gravy up with flour, vegemite and what I like to call 'a total disregard for the washer-up'.
But I digress.
The bag method, though good for catching juice, unfortunately produces a soggy bird cadaver that looks like it may have died at sea. Several days ago.
Removing from bag and browning down the home stretch in hot oven is usually the next step but often produces an unevenly scorched source of - how would you describe it - roast chicken melancholy?
This particular day I just forgot all that, set oven to "cross your fingers", threw bird into furnace 'bag naked' and channelled a version of dear departed mum's mythical masterpiece.
Sure enough - #flukedit.
Skin brownish and nearly crispy, flesh tender (enough) and not too much washing up.
A roast chicken to finally crow about.
Looking backing heat and salt were the key, and come to think of it, mum did suffer from high blood pressure.
Nothing compared to the jitters endured delivering this bird.
Time will tell if it can be replicated.
