I went to grad school with a woman who wrote evocatively about her lifelong battle with anorexia. One thing that stuck with me is a description of her as a teenager at the dinner table with family. At that point her relationship with eating—or not eating—had moved so far away from being typical that she is trying to remember what to do in order to act normal at the table.

In the scene she has been served a plate with some chicken on it. She wants, very badly, to seem like she is eating while not eating it. She’d move it around, she’d cut it up, she’d manipulate it in some way. So in the scene, she’s having an internal dialogue with herself, wondering what to do next “Should I spread butter on the chicken? Wait, do people put butter on chicken Is that normal?” She is so far removed from the world of eating that she has no idea.

Ooh ooh ooh ask me! As a butter lover and chicken eater, I knew the answer. Clearly no, right? Unless the chicken is raw. When it is raw, you might put butter on it to make the skin crisp up real nice. Or you might cook it in butter to make it taste great.

So: butter on chicken? No, except for when it’s raw.

Except yesterday, a revelation. A friend was crowdsourcing the best roast chicken recipe. My contribution were tips rather than an actual recipe — like, “brine it or get kosher; use butter; cook it upside down for a while; etc.

A few people cited Bittman. Bittman pisses me off, for some reason, I think because he isn’t angled towards ethnic cultures, but I loved that his recipe was basically “put a cast iron skillet in a really hot chicken, s&p&evoo a chicken, and cook it for like 50 minutes til it’s done.”

That actually seemed like a really useful (read: easy) recipe that I might try.

Marcella Hazan also got some props for her chicken with 2 lemons. I love Marcella. It cannot be said enough times. Ina apparently makes good chicken, too.

But then my friend JJ weighed in, saying that anyone who didn’t use Thomas Keller’s recipe, which she claims is the easiest and the most delicious at the same time, was basically an asshole. She provided a link to the recipe. JJ is a really good cook and a really discerning eater and very forthcoming with her opinions. Thomas Keller is like, the most famous chef ever and the most expensive chef ever and there is no way I could afford a chicken that he cooked, so I clicked immediately to get the scoop. His was easy? I had a hard time believing it.

It’s a completely scandalous recipe that you must read, and the sort that I absolutely love, because it brings in his personal desires. It reminds me of MFK Fisher talking about how she loves to dry out an orange on the radiator during wartime and then eat it, or Julia Child and her own personal passions.

I’m cutting and pasting here. I hope that’s okay with Mr. Epicurious and Mr. Keller. You should check out that site if you don’t, normally, and the recipe originally appeared in this Thomas Keller book, called Bouchon, which I will need to investigate further if it has things like this in it.

Read the sentence third from the bottom. No wonder Keller is one of the best chefs in the world; that is a dirty trick if I have ever heard one! PS I am not going to contact the anorexic about this, but I am going to try it myself, though I don’t even know if I, butter-lover extraordinaire, could manage to follow that instruction in good conscience.

My Favorite Simple Roast Chicken (by Thomas Keller)

Ingredients

• One 2- to 3-pound farm-raised chicken
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 2 teaspoons minced thyme (optional)
• Unsalted butter
• Dijon mustard

Preparation

Preheat the oven to 450°F. Rinse the chicken, then dry it very well with paper towels, inside and out. The less it steams, the drier the heat, the better.

Salt and pepper the cavity, then truss the bird. Trussing is not difficult, and if you roast chicken often, it’s a good technique to feel comfortable with. When you truss a bird, the wings and legs stay close to the body; the ends of the drumsticks cover the top of the breast and keep it from drying out. Trussing helps the chicken to cook evenly, and it also makes for a more beautiful roasted bird.

Now, salt the chicken—I like to rain the salt over the bird so that it has a nice uniform coating that will result in a crisp, salty, flavorful skin (about 1 tablespoon). When it’s cooked, you should still be able to make out the salt baked onto the crisp skin. Season to taste with pepper.

Place the chicken in a sauté pan or roasting pan and, when the oven is up to temperature, put the chicken in the oven. I leave it alone—I don’t baste it, I don’t add butter; you can if you wish, but I feel this creates steam, which I don’t want. Roast it until it’s done, 50 to 60 minutes. Remove it from the oven and add the thyme, if using, to the pan. Baste the chicken with the juices and thyme and let it rest for 15 minutes on a cutting board.

Remove the twine. Separate the middle wing joint and eat that immediately. Remove the legs and thighs. I like to take off the backbone and eat one of the oysters, the two succulent morsels of meat embedded here, and give the other to the person I’m cooking with. But I take the chicken butt for myself. I could never understand why my brothers always fought over that triangular tip—until one day I got the crispy, juicy fat myself. These are the cook’s rewards. Cut the breast down the middle and serve it on the bone, with one wing joint still attached to each. The preparation is not meant to be superelegant. Slather the meat with fresh butter. Serve with mustard on the side and, if you wish, a simple green salad. You’ll start using a knife and fork, but finish with your fingers, because it’s so good.