Poultry

This dish is exceptionally easy to make and worth every second. That said, there is one thing to note: Be careful when checking the chicken for doneness. The tomatoes will likely drip into the chicken. If you cut into the chicken or poke it with a fork to test for doneness, be sure it’s not the liquid from the tomatoes making the chicken look pink even if it’s not.

Weighing down a chicken with bricks seems so ancient. Did the advisors to Roman emperors hatch the slogan, "A chicken under every brick," to go along with the bread and circus motif? Brick morphed so naturally from the good earth—add water and high heat (ecco fatto, terracotta) and civilization started to build in a big way. Roman bricks were longer and narrower than present-day bricks, but any brick will do. If you have a few handy, you should wash them, let them air-dry, and wrap them in a few sheets of aluminum foil. Otherwise, you can use a heavy pan of some sort. I've used an 8-quart Le Creuset, covering the bottom with aluminum foil.

For an easy dinner party, round this out with orzo on the side, a green salad, and a light Italian red wine like Dolcetto. Finish with sorbet and chopped dark chocolate.

This hearty dish was inspired by frango na púcara, a Portuguese chicken dish that's cooked in a terra-cotta jug. We've streamlined the method, but kept all of the smoky, tangy, sweet flavors. The chicken is even better the next day, when the flavors have had a chance to meld. Serve with crusty bread.

This easy Epicurious-exclusive recipe is from Chef Dave Northrup of Rush Street in Los Angeles. It's perfect for any Super Bowl or tailgating party. Just pick up an already cooked chicken at the store, shred it, add some fillings, roll up the tortillas, and pan-fry them.

Flash frying is a high-heat deep frying technique used to rapidly fry small shrimp to avoid overcooking them before the crust browns. Flash flying requires an oil temperature of at least 400°F—which means you have to use an oil with a high smoke point like grapeseed oil. By poaching the chicken first and then flash frying it, I was able to eliminate 20 grams of fat and at least 250 calories from traditional fried chicken. Because the chicken is already cooked, it only has to spend enough time in the hot oil to brown the crust, which means it absorbs less oil.

We hit upon our favorite recipe a few summers back, when we helped out a buddy with his annual Labor Day pig roast in Connecticut. In addition to the 125-pound porker we were planning to serve, we decided we should have some chicken just in case not everyone at the party wanted to partake of the sacred swine. We got about 100 birds, halved them, and soaked them in a simple marinade of just lemon, sage, and cracked black pepper. It turned out to be one of the first times—maybe the only time—there was a pig roast where chicken was the hit of the day. What really made it special was the marinade. It lent a nice acidity to the meat, which became really tender, and the sage and lemon flavors just exploded. For the most classic presentation, roast a whole bird and carve it tableside. If you want an especially crispy, golden-skinned chicken, have your butcher halve it, and roast the halves skin side up so they can self-baste as they roast.

Enjoy this soup-stew as is or, for a one-dish meal, ladle it over brown rice. Pass the hot-pepper sauce, please!

Sue Torres puts a creative spin on Mexican flavors at her Manhattan eatery, Sueños. According to Torres, many people overcook chicken breast because they're worried about salmonella. "You're not killing bacteria, folks —you're killing flavor and moisture," she says. Because it is easy to overdo the heat with the lean white meat, it's worth using an instant-read thermometer to check for doneness (the thickest part of the breast should reach 165°F). What to pair with that perfectly cooked meat? Torres has an idea. "Chicken works well with so many seasonings , but coriander gives it a tuxedo," she says .

Kajsa Alger, chef and co-owner (with super-chef Susan Feniger) of Street in Los Angeles, isn't a fan of chicken breast. "It's my least favorite meat," she says. So if chicken breast is to make it onto Street's menu, it has to be something special. This salad—inspired by Vietnamese green papaya salad—is anything but boring.

Ana Sortun, chef-owner of Oleana in Cambridge, Massachusetts, is known for her modern interpretation of Middle Eastern and Turkish cuisine. When it comes to chicken breasts, she seeks out local, organic birds and chooses a flavorful spice rub. One of her favorite seasonings is baharat, a Middle Eastern spice mixture that includes cumin, oregano, and dried mint. Here, she pairs chicken skewers with a cooling yogurt sauce and a colorful pomegranate and pistachio relish.

By the turn of the century, the North American turkey had become familiar British fare, replacing the traditional goose at many an English Christmas table. Here it is presented in classic American style with bread stuffing and accompanied by cranberry sauce, which at this period was more like a sauce than a preserve.

Forget juggling a plate of food with your cocktail glass: These no-fuss kebabs make it easy to munch while mingling. Plus, just one savory skewer delivers nearly half of your daily protein needs.

To make baguette breadcrumbs, grind fresh slices, crust on, in a processor.

A good roast chicken is one of my favorite things to cook and eat. Every cook should know how to roast a chicken properly. The stuffing in this recipe contains a fantastic Middle Eastern spice blend called za'atar, which is a combination of sesame seeds and dried herbs such as basil, thyme and oregano.

Any food historian will tell you that trying to track down the origin of a recipe is like chasing tadpoles. There are so many, and they all look alike. Even when you find what seems to be the original source, you can't necessarily believe it because adapting recipes is an age—old industry. Nonetheless, I thought I'd give the hunt a try with chicken Canzanese, an unusual recipe that ran in the Times in 1969. A Google search for "chicken Canzanese" yielded many results, a number of them facsimiles, or slight variations of the chicken dish that appeared in the Times. There's one on Cooks.com that's a close adaptation of the Times's recipe, another by Mario Batali on the Food Network's website and one by Anna Teresa Callen, the cookbook author and teacher, on her own website. Batali's and Callen's, which vary only slightly from the Times's recipe, are nearly word for word the same. Only one recipe that I found sourced the Times's recipe, which itself came from Ed Giobbi, a cookbook author, and was written about by Craig Claiborne. You can also find plenty of turkey recipes done in the style of Canzanese (Canzano is in the Abruzzo region in Italy), which refers to braised turkey, served cold with chopped turkey aspic. But chicken Canzanese, which is not mentioned in important Italian cookbooks like Le Ricette Regionali Italiane (Italian Regional Cooking), is completely different. When you make it, you understand why it's still kicking around after all these decades. After flash-brining the chicken, you throw everything into the pan at the same time—chicken, cubed prosciutto, sage, bay leaves, rosemary, garlic, chile, cloves, peppercorns, and wine—and end up with a dish that has the fragrance of Chinese steamed duck and the succulence of a Bolognese sauce. I sensed that it would be impossible to come to a conclusion about where chicken Canzanese originated (Giobbi's recipe was the earliest I could find), and this was confirmed as soon as I started calling people. Callen said she grew up in Abruzzo eating chicken Canzanese. Batali, who regularly credits people from whom he adapts recipes, said that he must have gotten his from Callen, and was apologetic about the borrowing. Giobbi, whose recipe came from a family friend in Abruzzo, suggested that perhaps Callen was influenced by him. When I asked Callen if there was any chance she referred to Giobbi's recipe when writing about her family's dish, she said, "Could be, very well." I didn't intend this to be an investigation—recipes are adapted all the time, it's one of the primary ways cuisines evolve—so I did not chase down the dozens of sites that appear to have copied Callen or Batali. One thing is clear, though: a good recipe has a thousand fathers, but a bad one is an orphan.