| |  | | | | May 30, 2017 | Letter No. 88 | | | | | | | | | | | |
Oh Lennys,
Do we have a treat for you. Not since my last trip to Michaels to buy ugly plastic beads and neon duct tape have I been so thrilled about anything! Because today we are unveiling Never Before: the new podcast from the brilliant, hard-hitting heroine Janet Mock. Click here to subscribe on iTunes, and here to listen on Spotify.
You probably know who Janet is — you've seen her laying it down on MSNBC, or schooling the ignorant on the basics of trans equality. Or on Oprah's Super Soul Sunday with her gorgeous husband, Aaron, looking like a dream of self-actualization (please check out her spread in Brides if you'd like to feel extremely average). Or maybe you've read her best-selling memoir Redefining Realness, about her journey to embracing her identity as a trans woman of color, and laugh-cried because it's so, well, real (and you gotta read her new book, Surpassing Certainty, which is out on June 13 and is equally poignant and honest). Or you've seen her on a red carpet slaying in Christian Siriano jumpsuits and felt the kind of burning envy usually reserved for people with private planes and unlimited access to serotonin.
But what this podcast reveals is that Janet, among all her other enviable qualities, is one of the most incisive, witty, and radical interviewers in America. In this first episode (featuring none other than Ms.Tina Knowles), she proves she's just as good at fanning out as she is at asking the tough questions. And she always, always, makes it personal.
Since I was lucky enough to executive produce Never Before, I know that each episode will shine a new and compelling light on figures you thought you already understood (and maybe thought you already hated). That is Janet's gift. She'll hold her subjects' feet to the fire while also offering the kind of sympathy that gives them the confidence to open up. A complex journalist for complex times. A hot genius queen with a voice like butter. This is Never Before, and we are so proud that it's the next step the Lennyverse is taking.
So listen. Tell your friends to listen. Teach your grandma what a podcast is and make her listen. I wouldn't be so pushy if I didn't think it were freaking important. Janet's friendship has been a huge part of my own journey toward an understanding of the complex intersections of identity politics — she has jokingly told me to call my next memoir Always Struggling Through It: the Lena Dunham Story. She's funny as fuck. She's allergic to falsehood. She's what the world needs now. So we're giving her to you, like never before.
Love,
Lena | | | | | | | | | | | | Flying Solo | | | | By Brooke Barker | | |
No one at Central Middle School wanted to be my friend. Once, a kid with breath so bad I swear he had a gum disease told the teacher he didn't want to sit by me because I was gross, and she honored his request.
It was a bad time to be a seventh-grader. But it was a great time to be Mormon.
I was in the Plymouth 2nd Ward, and in the Plymouth 2nd Ward, people were nice to me. Tyler Petersen, the hottest guy from another middle school, whose voice had gone deeper faster than anyone at Central Middle School, and who wore soccer jerseys and always smelled like boy, knew my name and sat by me and passed notes with me during movies about eternal families. Ashley Seeley, who wore winged eyeliner and had won a statewide dance competition and knew how to do French braids so tiny you could barely see them, had pictures of me in frames in her room! In the pictures, we looked so happy that you might think we were the photo that came with the frame.
Church was a dream happening in real life, and it happened for three hours every Sunday and for two hours on Wednesday nights. I was hooked.
I prayed and prayed. I kept small rocks under my bedspread so that if I ever forgot to pray before going to sleep, I'd lie down on the rocks and remember. There were three rocks, each about the size of an egg, and I'd written SAY YOUR PRAYERS on them with puff paint. Before I went to sleep at night, I moved the rocks to the floor, so that I'd step on them when I got out of bed in the morning and remember to pray again.
Putting rocks in your bed might seem like a bit much. But Joseph Smith, the church's founder and first prophet, once said that "a religion that does not require the sacrifice of all things never has the power sufficient to produce the faith necessary unto life and salvation." It wasn't catchy, but I thought it was the most exciting quote in the world. And fourteen was an especially exciting age, because it's the age Joseph Smith was when he founded the church. Also, the rocks weren't sharp or anything.
Every time I impressed the other members of the Plymouth 2nd Ward with a memorized scripture or quote, Tyler would whisper, "That was awesome," and his mouth would be inches from my ear. And all the girls wrote me notes about how they loved my testimony, and I slipped them into my scriptures. I memorized the notes so I could think about them when the gym teacher asked me to sit out this round because I was so bad at softball I was ruining it for the rest of the class.
"You're embarrassing yourself in front of everyone you know," my gym teacher said.
"You're an inspiration and a true friend," Becky's note said.
"You scored a run for the wrong team, twice," my gym teacher said.
"You have such a big testimony in such a small body," Emily's note said. "You're a spiritual powerhouse."
I didn't beat myself up too much over my lack of softball skills. Central Middle School didn't matter. The only class with power sufficient to produce the faith necessary unto life and salvation was Sunday school.
Our Sunday-school teacher was Sister Campbell, a cheerful woman in her late 30s with the biggest bangs I'd ever seen. She loved a good cardigan and a clean joke.
At the beginning of one Sunday school in the middle of seventh grade, she gathered us around and waited until we were completely silent. There were five of us in Mia Maids, the name for girls who are fourteen to fifteen years old.
"Girls, girls," she said, her voice quieter and quieter.
"This week's lesson is about masturbation," she said, in an almost-whisper.
I waited for her to repeat whatever that word had been, but instead of clarifying or explaining, she let out a weird cough.
Then she coughed more.
"I won't say that word again" was her unfortunate next line.
Starting an hour-long lesson with a whispered word didn't bode well, but I had faith things would pick up. Whatever she'd just said, maceration, it was probably just another word for eternal life, and if I listened closely it would all start to make sense.
The room was quieter than seemed possible. Half the girls were leaning in and hanging on every word, and the rest were leaning away in discomfort.
I raised my eyebrows in a subtle way that I hoped suggested "Want to say it just one more time? Or give a definition?"
"You won't hear me say it again," she repeated. "It doesn't belong in this room. But it's everywhere — I even saw an episode all about it on Oprah."
"I'll tell you about the episode." She was looking right at me now, which I didn't like especially. "It was an episode all about what Oprah calls 'flying solo.'"
I needed to ask what the word was again, in the most casual way possible. Maybe it was better to ask how to spell it?
But there was no time. Sister Campbell had a lot more to say about mastication. People say it is natural, but it is not.
Yes, it will make you sick.
If it happens once, it will never go away.
I kept adding to my notes, writing very small at this point, so no one would glance over and realize how clueless I was about whatever this lesson was.
Sister Campbell started to cry. It wasn't the kind of fake-crying teachers did to get the room's attention when you were acting up. These were real tears. She wiped her eyes with a Kleenex that could have been in her pocket for hours or years.
"You're all beautiful daughters of God," she said, choking. "Each of you is so beautiful inside and out, and I think about you during the week and feel so blessed to be your teacher."
"And the topic of this lesson — DO NOT EVER DO IT. If you feel like doing it, or if you've been tempted, come talk to me. We can help you find your way back."
Find your way back from where? What was this thing? For the first and last time during the hour, I started to worry. What if it were something I was doing all the time, and I just didn't know what it was called?
I probably wasn't, I reasoned. If it were bad enough to make an adult this upset, I would know.
I hated myself for not asking what this lesson was about the very first second I had a chance. Sister Campbell looked up at the ceiling to hold back tears as she continued to address the room.
I tried to think about other things.
Our teachers always recommended tips for things to do with your brain if you found yourself having bad thoughts. The most popular one was to think of the lyrics of "I Am a Child of God," a children's song that was a real crowd-pleaser.
Thinking of songs was nice and widely encouraged, but everyone was supposed to come up with their own tricks too. During sad or boring times at school, I'd put my hands in fists so that my fingernails pushed into my palms. It was a great feeling to focus on and always distracted me.
At home in private — this one was a little weirder but just as good — I'd take my hand and run it slowly over where my legs met. Slowly then fast. I never talked to anyone about it, but the feeling was complicated and strong and definitely spiritual, and it worked especially well when I imagined the faceless woman on the Young Woman in Excellence medallion while I worked. To be honest, the feeling was the only thing I really had a testimony of. You can't have a testimony of memorized scripture verses, but this feeling, this good, warm, fast, colorful distraction feeling I'd discovered, it was something otherworldly. It was the kind of emotion I was looking for in everything and hardly ever found.
The real opposite of flying solo, whatever flying solo was.
When our class was excused, none of us stayed around to talk. I roamed the halls alone until my parents had rounded up all of us, and we drove home.
Upstairs in my bedroom, I taped the song lyrics to my wall between a business-card-sized photo of Jesus and a postcard of the faceless Young Woman in Excellence. I sat on the floor and looked up at all three.
Still in my Sunday dress, my modest tights, and my shoes that got a little smaller every week, I put my hands on my knees, and I sat and I listened closely for some sort of spiritual explanation of what it all meant. I waited for a flash of light, or a whisper, or anything at all.
That afternoon in my bedroom, anything seemed possible and likely as long as I was patient enough.
I sat and listened, and there was nothing, as usual. But the room was a good temperature. The light level was comfortable, normal, it seemed. Today wasn't the day I'd hear the still small voice, but there was time for a miracle. I lay down on my bed full of rocks and started to masturbate.
Brooke Barker is the author and illustrator of the New York Times best-selling book Sad Animal Facts. You can find her on her Instagram account, which is also called @sadanimalfacts. | | | | | | | | | | | | BIG WOMEN CONSTRUCTION | | | | By Zoe Lister-Jones | | |
When I was nine, my fourth-grade teacher gave an unconventional assignment to my class of rowdy public-school Brooklynites: create your own business. This was, obviously, an aspirational business, but a business nonetheless. We were instructed to create a business model, business cards, basically anything having the word business in front of it.
Although I was shy, I was a hungry and eager student, and I immediately homed in on the business I would create: an all-female construction company called Big Women. I called lumberyards and got quotes and put together some ramshackle excuse for a business model. I still to this day have the business card I drew on construction paper. It reads: "BIG WOMEN CONSTRUCTION … There's no job too big, for Big Women."
Last summer, I directed my first feature film, called Band Aid, which is the story of a couple who, in a last-ditch effort to save their marriage, decide to turn all their fights into songs and start a band. I had written and produced films that I had acted in before, but this was undeniably new territory. I knew it would require leadership skills that I had not yet put to use; that fine balance of encouragement and discipline to achieve a singular vision. It would also offer an opportunity to build a community from scratch. With the same instinctual clarity upon which I had drawn at age nine, I knew what I would set out to do: hire an all-female production crew.
My mother, a video artist, founded an all-female film collective in Vancouver in the early '70s called Reel Feelings. In her house, there is a framed black-and-white photo of the collective in 1976: nine women, varying in age, each wearing a wedding dress, standing on a beach.
To give you a little insight into my mother, when my father first asked her out, she gave him a list of books, including Germaine Greer's The Female Eunuch and Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex, and told him to come back only once he had read them. My mother is a feminist of the highest order, and she raised me to look at the world with a particular focus on gender inequity.
Throughout my childhood, she towed me along to protests (my earliest protest memory is, at age ten, calling for an end to rape in the former Yugoslavia) and to meetings at the Women's Action Coalition. And each year, when we would visit our family in Calgary for Passover, she would have me read a supplemental passage from her feminist Haggadah, outlining the ten plagues for women, which was inevitably followed by my great-uncle storming out of the room in a fury.
As an actress, I have been all too aware of the underrepresentation of women behind the camera. To give you an example, outside of Band Aid, I have acted in 40 productions and, out of those 40, I have worked with only two female cinematographers. My personal experience in witnessing this jaw-dropping ratio is mirrored by current statistics. At present, the numbers are staggering.
According to the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film at San Diego State University, in 2014, 85 percent of films had no female directors, 80 percent had no female writers, 33 percent had no female producers, 78 percent had no female editors, and 92 percent had no female cinematographers.
In 2016, the study was repeated, only to reveal that despite more public attention to women's underrepresentation on film sets, the numbers had gotten worse. Thirty-four percent of films had no female producers, 79 percent lacked a female editor, and 96 percent didn't have a female cinematographer.
And that doesn't even mention female crew members below the line. I can only imagine the statistics when it comes to women, particularly in camera and electric departments. In hiring an all-female crew, I was given insight into the vicious cycle that prevents more women from being given opportunities on film crews. Even some of the female department heads I interviewed wanted to hire male crew members in their departments based on prior working relationships and/or levels of experience. I was faced, day after day, with roadblocks in achieving my vision. I too, of course, wanted to ensure that we made a quality film, and I had my own fears around the ramifications of, in a few instances, hiring a crew member who might have less experience on her résumé than her male counterpart.
But I also relied on an understanding that in certain departments on film crews, this logic is precisely what limits female crew members from gaining the experience necessary to open more doors on productions that are larger in both budget and scale.
Let me be clear: there were plenty of women on my set who had ample experience. But in those instances where I was forced to take a risk, I chose to. Because if not me, then who? And if not now, then when?
"But why all women, rather than just making sure to hire a number of women in key positions?" many have asked. Precisely because of the patterns I had witnessed firsthand. The decks are stacked too weightily against us. In order to effect change, I felt I had to subvert the paradigm completely.
What ensued was the most creatively fulfilling experience of my life. A beautiful trait that so many women seem to share is an inherent anticipation of others' needs. On a film set, this is worth its weight in gold. There was an interdepartmental generosity that I had yet to experience to this degree on previous sets. There was a kindness, a sense of grace and humility, that was effortlessly contagious.
This was a community of intrepid women, each inspired by the other, and each the mistress of her own vision. And yet the synchronicity and support was so symbiotic. On what could have easily been a hectic and harried set, our work was instead fueled by a love for our craft. Even more so, each day was a tiny revolution, and the spark of harnessing our power together, as none of us had ever done before, was electric.
Zoe Lister-Jones is an actress, writer, producer, and director whose debut feature, Band Aid, will be released theatrically on June 2. | | | | | | | | | | | | Daily Affirmations | | | | By Amy Rose Spiegel with illustrations by May Li Degnan | | |
Amy Rose Spiegel is a writer and editor and the author of Action: A Book About Sex. Her interests include irises, style guides, and meatloaf. | | | | | | | | | | | | Protest Better | | | | By Mira Ptacin | | | |
Months ago, I spoke with my cousin Agnieszka (Aga) Guzdek of Krakow, Poland, about and during the successful Coat Hanger Rebellion, in which thousands of black-clad women, men, and children left their work, their homes, and their schools to strike after a bill was introduced to Poland's right-wing parliament that would forbid abortion in almost all circumstances. Under the proposed law, anyone who underwent an abortion — no matter their circumstances — would face imprisonment, as would doctors and nurses involved. But because of the voices and actions of Aga and her fellow protesters, the bill wasn't passed. It was terminated.
Aga works for a successful educational start-up. She's a single mother, a brilliant photographer, and an avid member of protest circles in Poland. Her relation to the protests is purely personal; she's not an organizer, but she does know many of them because she's been working for various nongovernmental organizations in Krakow; it's a small and familiar bunch of people.
We are currently seeing a flurry of vaguely authoritarian executive actions that threaten the rights of the American people and what our constitution stands for, from the order to obliterate Obamacare to the global gag rule on abortion, to the international travel ban and suspension of refugee programs, just to name a few. When the president's men began calling the media "the opposition party," I knew it was time to talk to Aga again.
Although the reproductive protests have abated temporarily after the success of the Coat Hanger Rebellion, Polish citizens are continuing to strike. Poland is experiencing its most severe constitutional crisis since the Communist regime declared martial law in 1981, and Poland's ruling party is continuing to attempt to make democracy disappear. During the fourth week of Donald Trump's presidency, Aga and I talked about how to communicate with other resistors, who to turn to, where to draw the line, and how to protest better.
Mira Ptacin: Can you give me some context about Poland's government and share any parallels you've been able to draw between the United States and what has happened in Poland?
Agnieszka Guzdek: Poland once aspired to be the 51st state. But as I watch the news lately, it seems that the United States is becoming a second Poland. This makes me feel sad, sorry, and angry. Trump is repeating the steps of Polish government. He's making changes in law quickly and thoughtlessly. This web page summarizes what has happened in Poland recently. I hope that it doesn't happen to the United States.
We've been dealing with a right-wing government for over a year now. The connection between the ruling party and the Catholic Church is closer than ever before. Our Constitutional Tribunal (constitutional court) is the highest law of authority. The current ruling party never accepted nominations to the tribunals done by the previous government, but according to Polish law, it should. Instead, they chose their own judges. Now the rulings of the Constitutional Tribunal are completely secret and cannot even be filmed.
Television stations are manipulating the real facts (for example, showing just part of demonstrations rather than their entirety). Only public television and radio speak the whole truth. Many TV and radio presenters have been fired and replaced by those who obey. The Trump administration calls your media "liars" and "the opposition party" and is attempting to silence them, too. The Polish government has banned media from the parliament, and a single party now controls the executive and legislative branches.
In our education system, we have a new bill for schools that says children will have the same amount of religion (Catholic) and history (the one and only "true history"), more than biology, chemistry, and geography put together. There is no mention about Lech Wałęsa [the former Polish President, who helped bring democracy to the country] in any of the schoolbooks — he was a winner of the 1983 Nobel Peace Prize!
The official book for sex education is prepared by a woman who is known for saying things like "Contraception leads to licentiousness." Although we won the first battle against cruel reproduction bills, the fight is not over. As of February 15, the birth-control pill is back on prescription (it had been available over the counter), and in Poland you have to wait a while to visit a public doctor. Also, the bill banning all abortions is still in parliament, so we will strike again on March 8 as a part of the International Women's Strike.
Hate speech is heard everywhere here in Poland, too. It is us against them, and "them" can be anybody, neighbors from across the border, people of a different skin color, different orientation, different culture. Nationalist organizations are invited to official state gatherings. Nationalists wearing symbols of Nazi Germany were seen in churches. And our government recently passed a bill in which church and state gatherings have a priority over those organized by the people — the Polish government is basically taking back the right of people to gather. I could go on and on here.
MP: How did participants in the Coat Hanger Rebellion communicate with one another when organizing marches?
AG: The groups that gathered in Krakow and protested in Krakow communicated through Facebook. We also produced leaflets and placed them in public transport or behind the wipers and generally in public places.
MP: What else can we do besides marching?
AG: Petitions, writing letters, and being present everywhere that there is wrongdoing.
MP: How do you manage to keep your energy up? I'm worried about protest fatigue.
AG: I feel that is my obligation. I feel that I am not only doing this for myself (I refuse to live in the dream world of our government) but I am also doing it for my son. I'm doing it for all my friends' children and my friends — even though they sometimes disagree with me. I feel that we are fighting for fundamental rights of every person, and this keeps me going.
MP: Do you have any advice on what specifically to focus on when there's so much wrong with Trump's agenda?
AG: I understand that you may feel that you don't know were to start. From my perspective, you should divide. Find people who will deal with women's rights, find people who will deal with economy, law, education, immigration. Divide: no one can handle everything. We have wonderful nongovernmental organizations that take care of some of the issues that the Polish created. Divide and you will win; there are more of you than the president, government, and its supporters all together.
MP: What are some ways we the people can fight back against disinformation and the attacks on the media?
AG: I chose one newspaper that I read. I don't watch television, and I subscribe to many Facebook channels about politics. I try to check things. If there is information about changes in law, I try to read the text of the law itself. If it is too difficult, I turn to some organizations or people who will explain or already did, so on their website or on Facebook. I learned that I have to look for people that I can trust. It helps. The official Polish media is just crap; I don't have a single friend who listens to it. The only problem is the people who do and believe in it. This is the real threat. I don't know what to do with that.
MP: What do we do if the protests and rallies don't work?
AG: Protest some more. I don't know. I think about that sometimes, and it makes me panic. I never thought that I would be encouraging my son to leave this country, but if things will go as they are going, I will tell him to leave. Our government is ruining everything: education, social-security system, health system. So basically I don't know what to do. Wait it out to the next elections? But they won't change the election system. We do have some successes, so I hope that there will be more to come.
MP: What do we do if Trump continues to fire anyone who gets in his way?
AG: Shout it out to the world that this is wrong. That you disapprove. Everywhere: media, social media, TV shows. I know that some of the TV celebrities are against him. Use that. I know it would be hard in the United States to shut down the media.
MP: How uncomfortable and inconvenienced were you willing to get when you were rallying? [Aside from being in the rain, kids skipped school and adults didn't go to work.] How does this work, and how do we persuade our fellow Americans to take the next steps in the resistance?
AG: I would personally go very far. I hope I won't have to [go further]. Explain, talk, reason, give examples. For most people, politician talks do not mean anything. I was there when the whole pro-choice movement became visible in Poland. I had to explain to my friends what it meant, but it became a snowball effect. I talked to five people, and those five talked to five more. You just have to keep talking, explaining, and going outside your bubble. I know it is hard. I have been called murderer in the past months. I don't care, because at the same time I know I made a few people think.
This interview has been condensed and edited.
Mira Ptacin is the author of the memoir Poor Your Soul (Soho Press) and the forthcoming nonfiction book about clairvoyants in Maine, The In-Betweens (Liveright). | | | | | | | | | | | | This Spice Won't Change Your Life | | | | By Elettra Wiedemann | | |
There are certain qualities about cookbooks that have always annoyed me. For example, saying a recipe is only three ingredients when in fact it's, like, fifteen ingredients. Or telling readers to save scraps in the freezer to make stock from scratch (ha!). And, to my mind, the most egregious offense: unusual, esoteric spices. The only spice I ever use is cinnamon (oatmeal, hot chocolate), yet somehow I have amassed a collection of SIXTY-FREAKIN-FOUR spices. I just counted, and it's absurd. Now the question is, why do I have all these spices? Some were given to me as gifts, but mostly I purchased them because of blind obedience to cookbooks.
As I am sure you know, cookbooks have a habit of peddling various spices in their intros, and I fall for it every time. They promise things like, "You'll LOVE this spice! You'll use it on everything! It'll elevate the flavor of whatever you're cooking into a new realm!" To date, the biggest spice offense came from a cookbook by a celebrity who shall remain nameless that instructed me to buy a jar of Chinese five-spice powder.
I couldn't find it at my regular market, so I had to go to a specialty store. At the time, I had no problem going on a spice hunt because the cookbook promised the Chinese five-spice powder would absolutely change my cooking life. In reality, I have yet to find a recipe that uses it IN THE COOKBOOK ITSELF. If you're cooking a lot of Chinese recipes, I'm sure the spice is very useful (and I am jealous, because I have yet to master the art of Chinese cooking). But to my Italian-raised palate, the flavor combinations in the five-spice powder — cinnamon, star anise, fennel, ginger, cloves, white pepper, and licorice root — are totally baffling. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with that? That said, I guess that same question extends to many spices in my pantry, including juniper berry, cream of tartar, Herbamare, dried parsley, and dried chives. I also never think to myself that any given dish is screaming for bay leaf, yet I have three containers of them. I don't know why.
I kept the "Useless (to me) Spice" front and center of my pantry for four years as a reminder not to buy any more spices, EVER. But as I was writing my own cookbook and testing recipes, I began to wonder how many other people fell into this same trap: Was Useless Spice sitting in thousands of pantries across the country, collecting dust and resentment? Could there be a way to use Useless Spice that wasn't overly complicated? Could I impatiently just dump it on something and come up with a fabulous meal?! The answer: Well, not quite. But you can combine it with a few other easy-to-find ingredients to make an unexpected, succulent, delectable roast chicken.
And I promise the other easy-to-find ingredients are not annoying! In fact, they're likely things you already have in your fridge or pantry, like Sriracha, olive oil, soy sauce, and cayenne pepper. If you don't have the Chinese five-spice powder, but you have ground cinnamon, ground cloves, crushed anise seed, crushed fennel seed, and ground pepper, you can make your own.
This is the kind of roast chicken that you pull out of the oven and people are super-impressed because it looks beautiful and smells fantastic. And look, since you've already roasted an entire chicken, why would you want to cook more? I say don't. Serve it with a side of spicy mustard greens or even mesclun greens. If you need a carb with your dinner (I get it), cube a sweet potato, toss it in a little olive oil, and throw it in the oven for the last twenty minutes of your chicken roasting. It'll be a winning combo.
Useless-Spice Split Roast Chicken
Serves 2 to 4
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon Sriracha sauce
1⁄2 teaspoon grated fresh ginger
1 garlic clove, grated
1⁄2 lime, juiced
2 tablespoons five-spice powder
1⁄4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds), spatchcocked (ask your butcher to do this)
Kosher salt
1. Preheat the oven to 450°F. Grease a 12-inch ovenproof pan or cast-iron skillet with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil.
2. Make a wet rub by combining the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil, the soy sauce, Sriracha, ginger, garlic, lime juice, five-spice powder, and cayenne.
3. Pat the chicken down with paper towels until it is very dry. The drier the skin, the crispier it will become in the oven!
4. Lay the chicken in the skillet, breast-side up. Season generously with salt, and massage the wet rub all over the chicken to coat evenly. Tuck the wings under the body so they don't burn.
5. Roast for 45 minutes, or until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh registers 165°F. (Don't let the thermometer touch the bone, or you might get an inaccurate reading.) When the chicken is done roasting, allow it to rest for 10 minutes — this will make the chicken even juicier!
6. Serve the chicken with the pan juices on the side.
Excerpted from Impatient Foodie: 100 Delicious Recipes for a Hectic, Time-Starved World, by Elettra Wiedemann. Copyright © 2017 by Elettra Wiedemann. Published by Scribner, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Reprinted with permission.
Elettra Wiedemann is founder of Impatient Foodie, and a writer and editor. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | The email newsletter where there's no such thing as too much information.
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