I would guess that over the course of my childhood, 50% of all large family events featured a roast chicken. I have no idea where the chickens came from, but I know it wasn’t from our oven. Sometimes these chickens tasted as if they were baked under the care of Stephanie Alexander. Other times they had the moisture content of an Ugg boot and tasted as though they’d been seasoned by fourth-century ascetic monks. I may be exaggerating the facts here, but not my feelings.
I have since developed a deep and multifaceted interest in poultry, and was thrilled at the thought of eating eight supermarket roast chickens. Imagine your boss saying: “Don’t worry about the report, I’d rather you spend the afternoon finding deeper ways to engage in your hobby.” I wasn’t the only one – the last time there was this much interest in joining a taste test was when we tried chocolate.
The problem was how to get the chickens. Due to food safety and fairness, we needed to eat the chickens at roughly the same temperature, and within two hours. We had four people stationed at various Sydney supermarkets, ready to time their purchases so we’d arrive at the same location at the same time, with chickens that were cooked at roughly the same hour. The chickens were served blind and the 12 reviewers judged each chicken on appearance, aroma, skin, meat and stuffing. Instead of weighted final scores, I’ve included the average scores for skin, meat and stuffing, as each chicken had different strengths (appearance and aroma didn’t make a huge impact on our enjoyment of the chickens) and to help you think about which of those elements are most important for you.
It was a fun but oddly anticlimactic afternoon. There was no repulsion and little wonder. There were some mediocre entries and some bizarre choices, but no outstanding winners. Most of the reviewers’ scores came down to how dry or not the meat was and whether the chickens were well seasoned. Considering how salty supermarket products usually are, we were shocked to find almost all of them needed more seasoning (I thought these were made for bachelors?). Ultimately, if you know how to brine, you’ll easily make a better roast chicken, but that’s not really the point, is it? No one is buying roast chickens from the supermarket because they’re the best in show. Buying a hot, precooked chook is a decision made with a wallet and a watch, and based on that, even the worst chickens we tried offer an instant, no-fuss family dinner for under $15.
Note: we also tasted Hazeldenes Free Range Sourdough BBQ Chicken (available in Harris Farm stores in Sydney) as a point of comparison. It was both the most divisive and highest-scoring chicken, mostly due to it tasting far saltier than any other chicken.
The good
Macro Free Range Hot Roast Chicken, $14, available at Woolworths
Skin: 6/10
Meat: 6/10
Stuffing: N/A
I’m sure you’ve had this feeling: it’s election night, and the winner has just been called. Maybe you even voted for them but instead of joy or dread, you have this flat feeling – is this the best we’ve got? This is that feeling in a chicken. Nothing about it is particularly exceptional but it is better than the other candidates. The breast is a little dry, the thigh is not. It’s a little more savoury, and it smells like a chicken shop. “A true neutral chicken,” one reviewer wrote. Not all winners are great, some are just the least-worst option.
The divisive
Woolworths Smokey BBQ Roast Chicken, $14, available at Woolworths
Skin: 6.5/10
Meat: 6.5/10
Stuffing: 5/10
The flavour engineers at Woolworths have decided, whether purposefully or not, that “smoky BBQ” tastes like ham. As you might guess, ham-flavoured chicken is extremely divisive. As a maximalist, I loved it. Why wouldn’t I want a smokier, saltier, more savoury chicken that makes me think of bacon? Others, not so much. “Slight artificial rushed curing taste – army rations vibes,” one reviewer wrote. “Good, if you forget it’s meant to be chicken,” wrote another. Many described the stuffing as tasting like Pizza Shapes, which was, again, very divisive. You decide.
Coles Hot Roast Chicken Butter Chicken, $14, available at Coles
Skin: 5.5/10
Meat: 6/10
Stuffing: 6/10
I spent a week in Svalbard. I couldn’t afford any restaurant meals there, so I relied on cheap ingredients and whatever spices my hostel had in the communal cupboard: salt, pepper and a can of Keen’s curry powder with a best-before date that meant it was of voting age. This tastes like butter chicken made in the same conditions. A consequence of this style of chicken is dark, dry skin; a perplexing and oddly moreish stuffing; and a significant impact on one of the great features of roast chickens – leftover versatility. If you want your office sandwich to taste like Keen’s, then there’s no issue. I think this is likely to become a family staple, either as a fun monthly meal or a recurring joke about what a horrible purchase Dad made that time. I was so excited by the idea of it, I am determined to cook my own, better version.
The mediocre
Coles Classic Homestyle Roast Chicken, $13, available at Coles
Skin: 5.5/10
Meat: 4.5/10
Stuffing: 5.5/10
Before the taste test, I had a poke around online forums to see what the internet groupthink was on supermarket roast chickens. The prevailing theory was that Coles is better than Woolworths. I agree. While Woolworths picked up more points on appearance, Coles outscored its rival on meat and stuffing (skin scores were similar across both). It is, among all the candidates, the most classic version of the category – it’s greasy, the meat is bland and a little dry, the stuffing is like thyme-flavoured bread mush, and it looks like the chicken emoji. “Quintessential bachelor’s handbag,” a reviewer wrote. Like many of the products described, it would be vastly improved with a bit of salt.
Lilydale Hot Roast Chicken with Sage and Onion Stuffing, $14, available at major supermarkets
Skin: 5.5/10
Meat: 4.5/10
Stuffing: 4.5/10
The sodium levels on the packaging tell you nothing about how salty a chicken will taste. Lilydale had the lowest sodium of all the chickens we tried, yet it was one of the few that tasted as if it had been seasoned in any way. While other chickens use mineral salts, which are meant to help with moisture absorption but contribute less saltiness, Lilydale uses regular salt. As the home brand chickens using mineral salts are just as dry as Lilydale (more on that later), I’m not sure what the point is. Back to this chook: the stuffing is stodgy and heavy on the sage, and no one picked up much onion, but at least I’m happy to eat it.
Woolworths Country Style Roast Chicken, $13, available at Woolworths
Skin: 6/10
Meat: 4/10
Stuffing: 4/10
Generations of white Australians have grown up in households phobic of salt. The children of those families know, intimately, how bland meat can taste. Many of these chickens will trigger nostalgia, but this one rules the roost. As one reviewer wrote: “Bland, dry, nothing. The chicken my salt-afraid mum would put in my lunch sandwich.” Texturally, it confused me. It’s dry, but after a rigorous squeeze it releases quite a bit of juice (bland juice). The only other object I’d describe like that is a sponge. Again, I think this is a result of the heavy mineral salt use. The stuffing tastes like the “mixed herbs” in my pantry, an item with fewer fingerprints than the inner coffin of Tutankhamun. Chickens like this are what convinced a younger me that chicken breast is an inferior cut. I have since learned how to cook them properly.
The bad
Steggles Seasoned Hot Roast Chicken, $11.99, available at major supermarkets
Skin: 4.5/10
Meat: 4.5/10
Stuffing: 3.5/10
Steggles’ chicken wasn’t much worse than Lilydale or the home brands, but sometimes, when something is already a bit sad, it only needs a little nudge to feel dire. Eating this, reviewers reported feeling sensations such as sadness, dismay and a lack of care. It is the culinary equivalent of an appliance manual – dry, characterless but faintly useful. The stuffing is worse: clumps of flavourless, floury mush memorable only for its ability to evoke economic recessions. One reviewer described it as intensely bland, which sounds like an oxymoron, but maybe you haven’t been the only sober person trapped at a rave with no seating. The one positive I have to share is that this is the cheapest option on the market.
