Chicken with Rosemary and Tangerines
Chicken with rosemary and tangerines - this recipe can go very well with the festive New Year's table.
Thyme has always been a symbol of kitchen confidence for me. Its aroma, when I rub fresh leaves between my fingers, evokes memories of sunny days and meals cooked with love. Fresh thyme embodies the balance between delicacy and strength. Its greenery is full of essential oils that activate with minimal heat, so I always add it at the end of cooking. Over the years, I’ve learned that thyme doesn’t tolerate haste: it releases its aroma gradually, which is why it should be added when the main ingredients have already “found” their flavor. It pairs beautifully with chicken, white fish, vegetables, cheese, and lemon. When balanced properly, even one sprig gives a dish a refined character, but too much can create bitterness. To me, that’s what culinary art is about – the ability to feel proportion and respect every aroma.
I always choose fresh thyme by the color and firmness of its stems: the leaves should be rich green, without yellowing or wilting. If the stem is hard and brittle, the plant has already lost most of its essential oils. In my experience, thyme keeps best when wrapped in a damp towel and placed in a container in the lower part of the refrigerator. This way, it stays fragrant for over a week. Never wash herbs in advance – it’s better to do it right before use to avoid condensation, which causes rot. I often also place fresh sprigs in a glass of water, covering them with plastic wrap with a few holes – it creates a greenhouse-like microclimate. Thyme doesn’t like direct sunlight after cutting, so I always keep it away from the window. If I plan to dry it, I cut the sprigs before flowering when the concentration of essential oils is highest. I dry them in the shade with good airflow, avoiding hot air to preserve the aromatic oils. Still, fresh thyme has the advantage – it gives dishes a brighter note and deeper aftertaste that no preservation method can replicate.
Before adding thyme to a dish, I always consider what effect I want to achieve. For sauces or marinades, I strip the leaves from the stem: I pinch the top and slide down so the leaves come off easily. This creates a tender texture without hard fibers. If I’m cooking roasted meat or vegetables, I place a whole sprig – during heat treatment, it gradually releases its aroma and can easily be removed afterward. Wash thyme quickly in cold water, then pat dry with a paper towel. I always recommend not chopping it with a knife, as cutting destroys the cells and releases the aroma too fast. It’s better to gently rub it between your fingers or crush it with a pestle – that way, the essential oils are released gradually, preserving their natural strength. If replacing dried thyme with fresh, I use three times more since moisture changes flavor intensity. Combined with oil, lemon zest, or garlic, fresh thyme creates the perfect base for marinades. I never add it to a boiling dish for long – a few minutes are enough for the aroma to open but not disappear.
Thyme is a hardy plant, but its essential oils are sensitive to overheating. Through years of cooking, I’ve found it’s best to add it when the dish is nearly done. When sautéing over medium heat, you can place a sprig in the pan with the oil, letting it warm for a few seconds – the aroma will infuse the fat, becoming a carrier of flavor. When baking bread or herb pies, I add chopped thyme directly into the dough before baking at 180°C (356°F) so the heat activates the oils evenly without burning them. In stews, it’s important to maintain balance: on low heat, the aroma unfolds smoothly, while strong boiling destroys the leaves’ structure and adds bitterness. For flavoring oils or cream sauces, I use the infusion method – heating the liquid until it gently sizzles, adding thyme sprigs, removing from heat, and covering it. This makes the flavor deep but not overpowering. This method allows for precise intensity control and prevents the excess bitterness that comes from prolonged contact with high heat.
In my kitchen, thyme is rarely alone – it harmonizes beautifully with rosemary, oregano, sage, and basil. The key is not to mix too many at once so as not to lose each herb’s individuality. For light vegetable dishes, I pair thyme with lemon zest and a drizzle of olive oil, and for meats – with garlic and black pepper. It works wonderfully in creamy sauces, helping balance richness with herbal freshness. In fish dishes, I prefer a milder variety with smaller leaves that release aroma faster. Over time, I’ve noticed thyme pairs especially well with white wines: even a small amount in a marinade enhances the natural sweetness of ingredients. In baked goods – savory tarts, ciabatta, crackers – it adds a subtle earthy note that makes the flavor more rounded. Thyme also pairs easily with dairy products, particularly feta or yogurt, creating a balanced contrast. But most importantly, moderation matters: too much thyme overpowers delicate aromas, while the right amount highlights the natural essence of the dish.
Many underestimate the strength of fresh thyme and add it carelessly, which leads to bitterness or excessive intensity. I always recommend starting small: one or two sprigs are enough for a pot of soup or roasted chicken. A common mistake is cooking it for too long, especially in an open pot, since volatile oils evaporate quickly, leaving only bitter notes. Another frequent error is using old thyme: after a week without moisture, it loses freshness and aroma. In my practice, I always taste the dish at the final stage, adding a pinch of fresh leaves just before serving – it revives the flavor. It’s also important to avoid prolonged contact of thyme with a metal knife, as essential compounds oxidize and alter the aroma. When working with cream-based dishes, I monitor the temperature – too much heat can cause the protein to curdle if thyme is added early. I always store it away from other fragrant foods since it absorbs foreign smells easily. Gentle handling of this herb is the key to its true flavor, which can be felt even in the simplest dish.