Start with a Good Bird and a Hot Oven

A proper roast chicken begins at the butcher's counter, not in the oven. Look for a free-range or at least outdoor-reared bird weighing between 1.5kg and 2kg — big enough to feed four generously on Sunday with real leftovers for the week. Smaller than that and you will be scraping the carcass by Monday lunchtime.

Take the chicken out of the fridge a good hour before it goes in. Cold meat roasts unevenly, and the legs always lag behind the breast. While it comes up to room temperature, heat the oven to 220°C (200°C fan, Gas 7) and put your roasting tin in to get properly hot. Pat the skin completely dry with kitchen paper — damp skin steams, dry skin crisps. If you have time, leave the bird uncovered on a plate in the bottom of the fridge overnight; the skin will dry out beautifully and roast to a deep, brittle gold.

Seasoning That Reaches the Meat

Salt is the difference between pleasant chicken and memorable chicken. Rub a generous teaspoon of flaky sea salt per kilogram over the whole bird, working some under the skin of the breast where it will season the meat rather than just the surface.

• Under the skin: mash softened butter with lemon zest, thyme leaves and a little crushed garlic, then push it between skin and breast.
• In the cavity: half a lemon, a few garlic cloves and a sprig of bay or rosemary. Never stuff it tightly — air needs to circulate.
• On the outside: a final slick of oil or butter and a twist of black pepper.

Skip the cavity stuffing in the traditional sense. A loose handful of herbs flavours the bird without slowing the cooking, and you avoid the food-safety palaver of raw stuffing inside a roasting bird.

Root Vegetables and the Tin

You want the vegetables sitting in the fat, catching the drips. Halve carrots and parsnips lengthways, quarter onions, and cut swede or celeriac into chunks the size of a walnut. Toss them in a little oil and scatter them around the chicken, not underneath it, so the bird's base stays clear and roasts rather than stews.

Potatoes deserve their own tin. Maris Pipers or King Edwards, peeled and cut to a uniform size, par-boiled for seven minutes, drained and left to steam dry, then shaken in the pan until the edges roughen. Tip them into a tray of genuinely hot fat — goose fat, beef dripping or plain sunflower oil, about half a centimetre deep — and turn them so every side is coated. They need roughly 45 to 50 minutes at 190°C, turned once or twice.

Timing, Resting and a Gravy Worth the Effort

After 20 minutes at 220°C, drop the oven to 190°C (170°C fan, Gas 5) and roast for about 20 minutes per 450g, plus 20 minutes over. A 2kg bird therefore wants roughly an hour and fifty minutes, but treat that as a guide, not scripture.

The only reliable test is a thermometer pushed into the thickest part of the thigh, avoiding the bone: 74°C means it is done. No thermometer? Pierce the thigh and watch the juices — they should run completely clear, with no trace of pink.

Then rest it. This is not optional. Twenty to thirty minutes under loose foil and a clean tea towel lets the juices settle back into the meat; carve straight away and they will flood the board instead. Use the resting time to make gravy: spoon off most of the fat from the tin, keeping a tablespoon, stir in a tablespoon of plain flour, cook it out on the hob for a minute, then splash in a little cider or wine and 400ml of stock, scraping up every dark, sticky bit. Simmer for five minutes, season, strain.

Monday's Sandwiches and Midweek Salads

Cool any leftovers within 90 minutes of cooking, get them into a covered container and into the fridge, and use them within two to three days. Sliced breast with good mayonnaise, a smear of mustard and a little chopped tarragon or celery salt makes a sandwich that needs nothing else. Thigh meat, being darker and more forgiving, is the better choice for salads and for a quick coronation-style mix of mayonnaise, curry powder, mango chutney, lemon juice and a few sultanas.

For a warm salad, toss shredded chicken through new potatoes, blanched green beans and a mustard vinaigrette while everything is still slightly warm, so the meat drinks up the dressing. Cold roast chicken also lifts a simple bowl of butter beans, red onion and parsley into something worth sitting down for.

Stock from the Carcass, and Nothing Wasted

Break up the picked carcass — including the skin, if you are not watching the fat — and put it in your largest pan with a halved onion, a carrot, a celery stick, a bay leaf and a few peppercorns. Cover with cold water by about 5cm.

Bring it just to the edge of a simmer, then turn the heat right down. An occasional bubble is what you want; a rolling boil will emulsify the fat and leave you with cloudy, greasy stock. Skim the grey foam off for the first ten minutes, then leave it alone for a minimum of two hours and up to four. Strain through a fine sieve, pressing the solids gently but not squeezing them.

Cool it quickly — a shallow container in a sink of cold water works a treat — then chill. The next day you should have a firm, wobbling jelly, which is the sign of a well-made stock. It will keep for four days in the fridge and freezes beautifully in portions, so that a risotto, a soup or a pan of gravy is never more than a freezer drawer away.