Lost in a Tomato Jungle
The hot earthy smell of the tomato plants was overpowering and I was lost in their jungle. The plants towered over my head, I was surrounded by prickly green stalks and red round fruit. I could not see my grandmother but I knew she was near. I was bewildered in this unfamiliar place, but felt safe. The vegetable garden was enclosed by a tall wire fence and metal gate. It was a hot Arkansas summer day, and I was just shy of being six. I had been flown from New York City that morning, by myself in a window seat, and now we were picking tomatoes to have with lunch.
Later I would be taken to stretch out for a nap under a light coverlet on a daybed on the shady side porch, and brought a glass of milk with ice cubes floating in it, which I would think strange and very funny. But now Grandma waded through the dense network of stalks, the leaves releasing an aroma that smelled like a basement, or a rainy day, or a bucket of lake water. “Let me show you how to pick tomatoes,” she said, and her strong hand took mine and wrapped my fingers around a sun-heated piece of ripe fruit.
The Connection Between Smell and Taste
If you lose your sense of smell (called anosmia) – through sickness, injury, radiation – taste becomes a challenge. When I had Covid it was not the illness that deprived me of the joy of eating, but the medication (for which I was honestly grateful) that filled my mouth with a metallic taste I could relieve only with lemon ice pops. Something as simple as a stuffy nose can shut down the connection between smell and taste.
Aroma and Comfort
My earliest memories of food had as much to do with the fragrance of cooking as the flavor that followed. The warm heady aroma of my mother’s roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, the sharp scent of the vinegar when my father whisked together salad dressings, the biscuits and cornbread that signified a holiday meal. I didn’t like to see the sliced garlic my dad added to too many dishes – the thin diagonal slices looked like little eyes to me and I pushed them aside to the edge of my plate – but his food smelled good, always and every day.
As an adult I came to love the scent of roasted garlic. It’s the smell of comfort and of the homes I’ve had from childhood through my adult life. The first meal I cook in any new place – a new house, a vacation rental – is of chicken roasted with whole cloves of garlic. The traditional name is Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic, but for the amusement of my children I called my variation Chicken with a Hundred Cloves of Garlic, and from there upped the exaggeration to a Thousand. It’s as simple as could be, so simple that I once taught a ten year old boy how to make it, and he reported that as it was cooking the next door neighbors came over to see what smelled so good.
A simmering stew, baking bread, freshly sliced oranges, cumin seeds stirred in a hot pan, fresh herbs pulverized in a mortar – which of these scents, or which others, evoke in you the memory and anticipation of comfort?
Chicken with a Thousand Cloves of Garlic
Chicken with a Thousand Cloves of Garlic is my version of a traditional Provençal recipe known as Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic. Because my family adores roasted garlic, I usually made the recipe with several heads of garlic. My children loved the recipe, so for their amusement I began calling it Chicken with a Hundred Cloves of Garlic, and from there upped the exaggeration. If you like garlic, use as many cloves as you like; just remember that they must be unpeeled for roasting, and later peeled at the table.
This is a foolproof recipe with infinite variations. Begin with:
Ingredients
- •One whole chicken of any size, cleaned, rinsed, and patted dry
- •Salt and pepper, as needed
- •Extra-virgin olive oil, as needed
- •Dried oregano (about 15 ml/1 tablespoon)
- •Dried thyme (about 15 ml/1 tablespoon)
- •Two whole heads of garlic, separated into cloves (do not peel)
Preparation
- Preheat oven to 177° C (350° F). Put the chicken in a roasting pan and season generously with salt and pepper, not forgetting to season the cavity as well. Pour some olive oil over the chicken – don’t be stingy. Dump oregano and thyme over the top of the chicken; this is an instance when dried is better than fresh. Using your hands (this will be greasy), rub the herbs and oil together and all over the chicken inside and out. Put a handful of unpeeled garlic cloves inside the chicken, and rub them with oil and herbs. Scatter the remaining cloves outside the chicken and rub them, too, with the herby oil. Add more oil if needed.
This is where you can get creative, though I suggest trying this plain the first time you make it. If you like lemon, you can slide thin slices under the skin after first carefully loosening the skin without tearing it. Easier than that, take half a lemon, squeeze a little over the surface, and put the squeezed half in the cavity along with the garlic cloves.
Roast the chicken until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the breast reads 74°C (165°F). After about 40 minutes, check the garlic cloves in the pan (outside the bird) by piercing one with the tip of a sharp knife. You want them to be brown on the outside and very soft in the center. Use a slotted spoon to remove them to a bowl when they are done.
Depending on the size of the chicken it may take 1 to 1 ½ hours. If you don’t have a thermometer, check for doneness by cutting the joint between the thigh and drumstick; the juices should run clear, with no pink or red. Return the garlic cloves to the pan and stir them so they are reheated. Cut the cooked chicken into serving pieces and serve each scattered with roasted garlic cloves. The garlic inside the bird may be eaten, but the cloves will not be as soft or as flavorful.
