Of course there was no way to communicate the entire Zuni chicken method in one tweet; it was more about the flavors. The assumption in the tweet is that a cook would use their own method. But it begs the question about recipe voice and how important is it to a home cook these days. What is a recipe? Does it need ingredients and a blow-by-blow method? Or do 140 characters suffice? I wonder how many people used my tweet to inspire their dinner, combining it with the knowledge they already had about how to actually roast the chicken once the flavors are set.
At the panel, Melissa and I talked about this idea of long versus short form recipes and how do people really learn to cook. Is it changing? Have the internet and social media changed recipe voice? Both of us agreed that the future of the recipe is not threatened. I reminded the audience that the first recipes were in the oral tradition. How many of us learned to cook something by watching, not reading or listening to a recipe? The question is, how do we pass on these recipes? That afternoon I went home, removed those birds from their zipped bag bath, and roasted them. About thirty people came through the apartment that night, many of them plunging their bare fingers into the quartered chickens I set out on a big wood board. There was buzz — why was this chicken so good? — and I tried to answer. I use the Zuni method, I said, except this one had a bunch of lemon zest, brown sugar and Espelette Pepper Powder. Shake it all up in a bag with the chickens, let them sit, then roast like Judy Rodgers. An oral recipe. Arguably shorter than the Twitter version above, and certainly shorter than Judy's five-pager. Being comfortable in the kitchen is about knowing your methods and understanding how from that skill you can do something a million different ways. For my part, to this day the method Rodgers describes in her recipe is still the method I use when I roast a chicken — the overnight salting if possible, the high heat cast iron skillet sear of the back, the flip and then the final flip with fingers crossed that the skin doesn't split — and after doing it hundreds of times, it is mostly by heart though I have a Post-It note-sized version of it stuck to the inside of my spice cabinet that works as a short reminder if I forget the timing or the temperatures. That's the freedom in cooking. Know your method and you are free. Reading the long form from the masters teaches us something invaluable. But I am also grateful for formats like Twitter that offer the opportunity to get an idea out in an instant and possibly inspire something in someone that will get them to make a recipe their own, be creative, use what they have on hand and make dinner at home. It's the book with the splattered pages and wine-glass stains. It's the book I will pass down to my daughter, yet she will already know the method from watching and hearing it from me all her life. She'll learn that cooking is about using a million senses at once.