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.
Here’s a spice mixture. It’s like colorful cocaine in Flavortown.
But instead of snorting it, I’m going to rub it inside an animal carcass. There are few things I want to do less than put my hand in this hole …
But I did it. And sold the pix to fowlfisters.net.
All plugged up and ready for the oven. While this poor creature cooked, I busied myself by making a Campbell’s green bean casserole and instant mashed potatoes. Because that’s what we eat on holidays, I think?
So, when the cooking ends, so do Guy’s instructions. As a person with only two hands, I was stumped on removing the can, and had to hire a homeless guy who hangs out in the back alley to yank it out while I held the chicken. I paid him in hot beer peppered with garlic cloves. See, I’m a problem solver. Next stop, corporate consultancy!