Cooking column: Food lover looks to chicken for first lesson in kitchen

I should know how to cook. I watched my mom make dinner for years. I watch Food Network constantly. I love food. So I really should know how to cook, but, unfortunately, I don't. Dylan Miracle, my partner in crime, however, cooks a lot, and quite well. Thus, this column was born. Over the course of six weeks, I will learn to cook dishes ranging from easy to hard, and then, fingers crossed, have chefs around Austin show me how to cook a thing or two. Think of me as a dumbed down Food Network host, like Guy Fieri without the blowout or Bobby Flay without the ego.

When I asked Dylan what we would be cooking first, he told me I would learn how to roast a chicken, because "everyone needs to learn how to roast a chicken."

I took the dead bird and first washed it under cold water and cleaned out all the gizzards, junk and gunk. The next part made me feel like an airport security guard. Take salt, pepper, olive oil and butter, and rub each on the chicken, inside and out. Take a trip down to Scarborough Fair and rub some parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme all over the greasy bird. I took the bird and dropped it in a pan greasier than Daniel Baldwin; put it through a butter rinse cycle; chopped up some carrots, celery and onions, and Voila! ­- my chicken was ready. After about 20 minutes at 450 degrees and another hour or so at 350 degrees, my meal was complete. I was surprised at how easy it was and how much it made my apartment reek of poultry.

Despite Dylan getting annoyed at both my kitchen equipment and knife techniques, I think I can safely say I impressed the hell out of him. One major note, though: When cutting the chicken to be served, make sure you have a cutting board that has a little moat around the edge to catch all of the bird's natural juices. Otherwise, your counter will look like another Saturday night at the Playboy Mansion. Next week, I'll be back with how I made the sauce for the chicken as well as a fried mushroom and brussel sprout concoction. Believe me, I, too, was afraid of brussel sprouts before I made it.

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