I’ve always been wimpy when it comes to preparing meat. This phobia includes poultry, and does not exclude even the easiest roast chicken. I usually end up buying a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken.

It’s not about getting slimy or touching the guts, or even the risk of salmonella–sometimes I don’t even wear those disposable plastic gloves I keep in my kitchen. It’s not the carving or plating, or even the deboning (which can be an athletic feat in itself).

For Christmas this past year I received not one but two new digital meat thermometers, which are helping to slowly allay any past fears of failing to attain the proper and safe temperature of the meat–so it’s not that.

I haven’t exactly nailed it down yet, but I think the present fear lies somewhere in the not knowing what the inside of the bird looks like… and the possibility of it turning out less than perfectly. It may be something I need to take to a shrink’s couch. That’s an issue to explore later.

You’ll know from my previous posts that, one, I am working my way through conquering kitchen fears, and two, I adore a good roast chicken. I’m not sure if it’s actually my love for it, or the incredible acclaim it receives from my husband. He dies a little death when he gains knowledge that meat (of any type) on bones (imperative) has made its way into our house. Something harkens back to the primitive man in him: the floor pounds as he gallops into the kitchen then proceeds to gnaw like a voracious animal once he gets his paws on the bones. I love it, though. It makes me feel like my kitchen exploits are worthwhile. Any cook will agree that a voracious eater is the prize.

The last time I wrote about rotisserie chicken, I cheated (like I always do) and bought a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken to make two different recipes out of one bird. But, seriously–at many stores I’ve found that the rotisserie is actually cheaper than the raw bird! When you can buy a bird already cooked for a few dollars less than the unknown quantity of raw flesh, why wouldn’t you? For the challenge, I guess. And for the ability to tailor it to your tastes. To control the way it turns out (one of my fears). (This price difference isn’t always the case, however.)

So in celebration of my husband’s adoration of meat, and in an effort to peel back the layers of my fear, I set about cooking a Perfect Roast Chicken last night. A friend of mine who happens to be a chicken lover–ask her if there is a chicken dish she hasn’t tried–highly recommended this Martha Stewart recipe. It was indeed the perfect roast chicken. The recipe calls for stuffing a whole punctured lemon into the cavity, which provided a delicious citrus aroma and perfectly juicy meat.

Cooking a whole chicken has long-term benefits. I often make it last through a few recipes. Another time, I will use Martha Stewart’s suggestion for the pan gravy and serve the cooked meat as the main dish, but this week I will stretch it out and serve it for lunch as a salad in Quinoa Salad with Chicken, Grapes, and Almonds (Whole Foods) and dinner in these Chicken Enchiladas (Cooking Light) for Cinco de Mayo.

Sarah Fullerton, content marketing & editing. Armed with a masters in journalism from Northwestern, a passion for all things cooking, and a perpetual oven mitt, Sarah loves nothing more than to camp out in the kitchen with a new recipe, interpret it creatively (a dash of this, a dash of that), and then surprise her husband and daughter, her friends, and herself with the results. She can be contacted at sarah [at] plummelo [dot] com.

I often thought back to one of my vacations (to Zihuatanejo, Mexico) where I had the most amazing whole pan-fried garlic red snapper. I desperately wanted to reproduce the recipe, but knew that cooking a whole butterflied fish would probably take more effort and a much larger fry pan than I was willing to invest in.

So, when I was perusing the Whole Foods fish counter a few weeks ago and saw these beautiful whole Vermillion Snappers staring back at me, I just couldn’t resist the temptation any longer.

I bought the whole fish.

I asked the fishmonger to clean it and remove the scales for me–he happily obliged. I had no idea what I was going to do with it, but I was determined to cook it, keep it easy and make it taste good.

Luckily, this turned out to be much easier than I had ever anticipated.

I kind of had an idea of what I wanted to do with it, so I did a quick web search when I got home and decided on a recipe for Baked Whole Red Snapper with Garlic. It looked simple and sounded delicious, so I saved it to my Plummelo recipe box and got started.

Cooking a whole fish in foil is actually quite simple. Make sure your piece of foil is large enough to lay the fish on and to completely envelop it–almost like a parchment packet. Spread a little olive oil on the skin to prevent it from sticking (optional), season with salt and pepper, stuff the cavity of the fish with fresh herbs, lemon slices and butter and then add your liquid (to encourage steaming). In 45 minutes you have an amazing, juicy, flavorful meal that would pair well with just about any side dish.

The results of my snapper experiment? Amazing! It was moist, flavorful, delicate and delicious. My husband and I agreed that it was some of the best fish we had ever tasted. I will definitely be using this trick again in the future.

They are right.

I’m not eating beets. I’m not eating cabbage. I’m not eating swiss chard. I am definitely not eating sardines. But I am eating cinnamon, pomegranate juice, dried plums, frozen blueberries, and canned pumpkin. That’s a start, right?

Back to beets. Beets have always been a very mysterious vegetable to me. I didn’t grow up eating them. Not that I’m one to garden (I live on a lovely patch of pavement in the city), but beets aren’t something I’ve ever grown or harvested myself. And how do you cook them? I know they are absolutely sweet and delicious–possibly nature’s sweetest vegetable–once I can get my hands on them (and they stain, so watch out!). But unfortunately, when it comes to beets and other such vegetables, intimidation gets the best of me and I’m usually afraid to attempt cooking them.

But in the spirit of healthy eating and conquering my cooking fears (see a prior post on this topic), I decided to give beets a try. I had collected a little bit of vague advice from a friend. I thought the hard part was actually getting myself to purchase them at the store. Once I got them home it would be cake.

(Humorous anecdote: The leaves were so long the whole beets didn’t fit in the standard size plastic vegetable bag at the grocery store, but, like a carton of eggs, I managed to babysit the unruly creatures all the way to the check-out line, gently place them on the rolling conveyor belt, and then–wham!–the otherwise very kind check-out bagger folded my beet stems to squeeze them into my reusable shopping bag! With a worried smile, I informed him that I wanted to photograph those beets. He rushed off to get another bunch for me.)

I thought maybe it was as easy as chopping off the stems and leaves and putting them in a preheated oven. I decided to make a few other vegetables at the same time, and threw in a sweet potato and a regular potato on the same cookie sheet. Maybe my attention wasn’t focused–I was just winging it. I pulled out the sizzling beets, oozing sticky juice, and let them rest for a while. They seemed tender when I pierced them.

I served them with our chicken dinner, proud of my accomplishment. But I needed a steak knife to cut them. I hadn’t cooked them long enough.

What did I learn? One, I am now capable of bringing home even the most intimidating vegetables. And two, I am now even more determined to give them another try–this time letting them cook until they are really done. A recipe like this Orange and Beet Salad would be a good start for me.

Are you eating beets? If you are a beginner when it comes to trying new vegetables, many stores, such as Trader Joe’s, sell beets pre-cooked in the refrigerated section.

Top photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/craigcloutier/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Second photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/noshha/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Today I overcame one of my longtime cooking fears. I’m sure many of you can relate — I tend to shy away from (read: avoid like the plague) recipes with more than, say, 10 ingredients.

But I adore a good eggplant parmesan so much, and I needed to have it so much, that in the end I was willing to do what it takes to accomplish the homemade flavor. I had saved Bobby Flay’s recipe to my Plummelo weeks ago, but kept staring at it with intimidated eyes. No, not this week. Too many ingredients. But at a certain point, you just need to have the eggplant parm. I reached that point.

My husband had done the grocery shopping this past weekend. Somewhat surprisingly, he returned with two lovely eggplants (he tends to bring home about 90 percent of what is on the list). The pretty purple guys stared at me from their lofty shelf in the fridge for a few days. Too many ingredients…

But today was their day.

Let me digress. I live in the North End, a quaint neighborhood that is Boston’s Little Italy. It is a place where people still shop (and vendors still sell) for their ingredients separately… the meat from the butcher, the vegetables from another guy, the cheese and cold cuts from the salumeria. To me, there is so much joy and old-fashionedness in procuring my ingredients from the specialty sellers. They know their stuff, and they have the highest quality ingredients. Quite often, they are also at competitive prices. But today I spent $30 on cheese. Fontina, two types of mozzarella, and parmesan. As the cheesemonger was serving up my portions, he inquired as to their ultimate destination, “What are you going to make?” “Eggplant parmigiana,” I said. “How many are you cooking for?” And I sheepishly replied, “Two.”

I spent $30 on cheese? And so it goes.

With my 20 or so ingredients on hand, I began. It required a good deal more attention and stamina than my standard five ingredient recipes, but none of it was as difficult as I had feared. It was a journey, and I aimed to enjoy the whole process. There was dicing, slicing, boiling, dredging, whisking, stirring, layering, and baking.

And then there was eating. (We called over some friends to share in the eating.)

My conclusion? It was worth the investment of time, and I tasted each one of my 20 ingredients.

Do you have any cooking fears you want to overcome? Share them with us.

All photos by Sarah Fullerton