So, it’s Thanksgiving and I says to myself, I says, “Why cook a turkey, when I can cook a chicken whose corpse I’ve just sodomized with canned alcohol?” BETTER YET, a chicken with bacon strips spilling from its gaping headhole. BETTER YET, a chicken that sprang forth from the twisted mind of Guy Fieri. What better way to celebrate a beloved national holiday than to gorge myself on the tender, juicy contents of a cornucopia of American excess and confusing cooking methodologies?!
WHAT’S SO CONFUSING ABOUT COOKING A CHICKEN WITH A HALF-FULL CAN OF AMERICAN LAGER JAMMED IN ITS POOPER?
Listen. I’m an optimist (notice I said the can of beer was half-full), but I have a hard time in believing in the reasons beer can chicken is supposed to be better than regular roasted chicken, mostly because some ramrod who calls himself Meathead wrote an article for the Huffington Post about how we’re all living a lie, and, incidentally, I believe everything ramrods tell me. Also, when you cook a chicken with a beer can shoved inside it, you take it out of the oven and then you’re like, “How do I make that can of beer not be in it anymore?” Gingerly.
Hey. Look what we’ve got here … To follow the theme of inserting things into holes, those garlic cloves go inside the beer before it goes inside the chicken. I chose Miller Lite because I’m watching my calories.