I cook a lot of whole chicken. I enjoy eating it, my family never complains when I make it, and it’s my wife’s favorite food. When the roasted or grilled bird hits the cutting block, I’m an efficient carver, finding the joints with the tip of a sharp knife and peeling the breast from the ribs. I know right then if I’ve overcooked it. Before anyone else gets a bite, I reward myself with bits of crispy skin, which only retain an optimal texture for a few minutes. Having made so much chicken, I understand the struggles pitmasters face when it comes to smoking the birds, such as keeping them at the proper serving temperature while maintaining their juiciness for a day’s worth of customers. I…
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