So here comes the carnivorous 10% left of me rearing its ugly head. For some strange reason I got an itching, a serious, serious itching to roast a chicken last week. My co-worker Tony had been going on and on about the whole chicken that he gets at the Saturday Santa Monica Farmers' Market. "They're organic and free range… The guy slaughters them that morning. It is so fresh, but you have to get there early or you'll be S.O.L.," he explained. Wheels turning in my head, I was determined to go and get myself some of this delectable poultry. If there was any kind of poultry to be eaten, this was surely this kind. Very organic, figuratively speaking. So despite my massive hangover that Saturday, I dragged myself out of bed at 8, hid my bags behind giant sunglasses and made my way over with one goal in mind – to get me a bird. Upon arriving at the Promenade, I started to get my self in a panic in the parking structure. No parking on level one, level two or level three. How was this possible? Were there really this many people here at 8:30 am? "Oh no," I thought. Certainly they were all after my chicken. Sleeping my hangover off started to seem like a much better idea at this point. I rushed over to Thomas (Tony had told me his name and mapped out his stand for me) praying not to be disappointed. "Any chickens left," I asked bracing myself for rejection. "For you, of course," he replied making me feel like a regular and that sleeping in was for sissies. I happily shelled out money and on the way out picked up a wild king salmon fillet for Brock. He's very anti-chicken… something about the beaks and feathers and eggs being their periods. We all have our own reasons I guess. I was a roasted chicken virgin, so I consulted Epicurious and a few other sites for some pointers. Everybody had a different method. Temperatures ranged from 350 to 475 degrees. Some basted, some buttered and others simply left it salt and peppered stating that any additions would inhibit optimum crispness of the skin by creating steam. I wanted the crispy skin so I kept the preparation simple by making a compound butter of garlic, sage, rosemary and thyme. In the name of good eats, I rubbed the butter between the skin and the meat, careful not to rip the skin. It was gross but somebody had to do it. I wanted to make sure that the meat was seasoned, not just the skin. After a good salt and peppering, I put it in the oven at 425 degrees for a little over an hour. The house was smelling so good. I couldn't wait to eat. After about 75 minutes, I took the bird out and let it rest for 10 minutes under a foil tent before carving into it. I don't know much about cooking meat, but I do know you have to let the meat rest to let juices redistribute. Probably something I picked up watching Alton Brown. Roasted chicken attempt #1 conclusion: Perfect Saturday dinner, well worth the hangover.