The Sunday roast chicken is not merely a meal but an institution — a weekly ritual observed with near-religious devotion in households across the nation. It is democratic, forgiving, and endlessly adaptable: a bird for all seasons and all temperaments. What follows is not so much a recipe as a philosophy, refined over years of Sundays, failed experiments, and quiet triumphs. The method is simple, the ingredients modest, but the result — when executed with care and conviction — is something that transcends the sum of its parts. A properly roasted chicken, its skin crackling and golden, its juices running clear, is one of the genuine pleasures of domestic cooking.

The key, as with so many things in the kitchen, lies in preparation. The bird must be properly dried — patted thoroughly with paper towel and, ideally, left uncovered in the refrigerator overnight. This is the single most important step in achieving the crisp, golden skin that distinguishes a good roast chicken from a merely adequate one. Moisture is the enemy of crispness, and patience is the remedy.

Seasoning should be generous but not overwrought. Salt, pepper, a few crushed garlic cloves, perhaps a lemon halved and tucked into the cavity. Some cooks favour a butter rub; others swear by olive oil. Both have their merits. What matters is restraint: this is a dish that celebrates the bird itself, not the cook’s spice collection.

• Whole free-range chicken1.8 kg
• Sea salt flakes1 tbsp
• Freshly ground black pepper1 tsp
• Unsalted butter, softened50 g
• Garlic cloves, crushed4
• Lemon1, halved
• Fresh thyme sprigs6–8
• Olive oil2 tbsp
• Onion, quartered1 large
• Carrots, roughly chopped3
• Chicken stock (for gravy)250 ml
• Plain flour (for gravy)1 tbsp

1. Remove the chicken from the refrigerator one hour before cooking to bring it to room temperature. Pat thoroughly dry with paper towel — this is non-negotiable for crisp skin. Preheat your oven to 220°C (200°C fan-forced).
2. Mix the softened butter with the crushed garlic, a generous pinch of salt, and the leaves from half the thyme sprigs. Carefully loosen the skin over the breast and spread the garlic butter underneath, smoothing it evenly. Rub the outside of the bird with olive oil and season liberally with salt and pepper.
3. Stuff the cavity with the lemon halves and remaining thyme sprigs. Tie the legs together with kitchen string — this helps the bird cook evenly and looks rather handsome besides.
4. Scatter the onion and carrots in a roasting tin to create a natural trivet. Place the chicken breast-side up on the vegetables. This arrangement ensures air circulates beneath the bird whilst the vegetables caramelise in the drippings.
5. Roast at 220°C for 20 minutes to achieve initial browning. Reduce the temperature to 180°C (160°C fan-forced) and continue roasting for 1 hour and 20 minutes, or until the juices run clear when the thickest part of the thigh is pierced. An internal temperature of 74°C confirms doneness.
6. Remove the chicken from the oven and transfer to a warm plate. Cover loosely with aluminium foil and rest for at least 20 minutes. This is paramount — resting allows the juices to redistribute throughout the meat. A chicken carved too soon will be dry; one properly rested will be succulent.
7. For the gravy: place the roasting tin with its vegetables and drippings over medium heat on the stovetop. Sprinkle in the flour and stir for one minute. Gradually add the chicken stock, stirring constantly and scraping up the caramelised bits from the bottom of the tin. Simmer until thickened, then strain through a fine sieve. Season to taste.
8. Carve the chicken and serve on a warmed platter with the gravy alongside. Roast potatoes, steamed greens, and a sense of quiet accomplishment are the ideal companions.

The beauty of a roast chicken lies not only in its flavour but in its aftermath. The carcass, simmered with aromatics and water, yields a stock of remarkable depth — the foundation for soups, risottos, and sauces throughout the week. Nothing is wasted; everything is honoured. This, perhaps, is the truest measure of good cooking.