The classic portrait. High heat for skin, moderate for meat. Butter under the skin acts as a diffusion filter — softens, enriches, adds golden tones. The vegetables roast in the drippings, absorbing all the background information.
Roast chicken is the studio portrait of cooking: formal, methodical, familiar. You've seen a thousand versions, but when it's done right, it's still arresting. The butter under the skin is your key light — it bastes the meat from the inside, keeps it moist, adds richness. The high initial heat is your rim light — it crisps the skin, creates texture, adds definition.
The vegetables are your supporting cast. They absorb the chicken drippings — fat, juices, rendered protein. They caramelise, brown, develop their own flavour while picking up the background notes from the bird. Potatoes go creamy inside, crispy outside. Carrots concentrate their sweetness. Onions melt into soft, savoury layers. It's a complete composition.
The rest at the end is non-negotiable. Fifteen minutes, covered loosely. The meat reabsorbs its juices, the temperature evens out. If you carve immediately, the juices run out onto the board and you lose half the flavour. Resting is the stop bath — it halts the cooking process and fixes the image. Then you serve. The skin shatters under the knife. The meat is tender, moist, butter-rich. It's why roast chicken never goes out of style.