Today I am making roast chicken. It was supposed to happen yesterday, but there was miscommunication and, well, I'm making it today. It has a paprika spice rub and is served with roasted garlic.
Roast chicken seems like a Sunday supper meal to me. We didn't really have any tradition around eating together on Sundays specifically, with chicken, but it was something my family did every so often when I was in high school. I remember sitting with my knees drawn up in front of the kitchen woodstove balancing my history reading or statistics homework on my legs and seeing my father make a meal around me. Sometimes it was Tuscan chicken with homemade olive bread and lime-curd tart and sometimes it was other chickens or meat served in the old terracotta roasting pan and apple crisp or chess pie and sometimes it was just sautéed green beans when we didn't have much time. I loved getting asked to set the table on Sundays and making sure that the wood was clean from bread crumbs or the newspaper from earlier that day and making sure that the silverware lined up with the five square plates. We ate together almost every night - we still do - but there was something special about Sunday suppers, after a day of being together and around the house with the crossword and unfinished schoolwork and books to read, something about Sunday that made that particular meal more serene, full of togetherness.
Do you have any particular times with your family like that?