There is just something about roasted chicken that comforts, nourishes and satisfies like nothing else, especially when the wind is howling and it is cold outside.

Not too long ago, I went to visit a friend and when I walked into her house I had to take a deep breath to savor the aromas coming from the kitchen. I couldn’t keep my stomach from growling; her house smelled divine. Naturally, I had to follow my nose and take a peek in the oven.

Her British-born mother was roasting a chicken for Sunday supper. Not such an unusual occurrence, in and of itself. But when I looked at the chicken, I saw that the breast was blanketed in bacon, adding to the intoxicating roasting smells, not to mention a good deal of flavor to both the meat and the drippings.