There’s been so much rain in the Northeast this summer, that the quince trees have borne rotted fruit. I’ve missed most of that rain though, and I never thought I’d say so, but I miss it. I’ve spent most of this summer in arid climates where you can’t count on rain to wash away the sidewalk stains. Last night, I felt my first rain in months. It was misty and cool and cozy and inspiring. And so, in honor of this rare moment, I put on some Billy Holiday and made a roasted chicken. I never used to love chicken, but I do now, and there’s little else more satisfying than crispy chicken skin, buttery dark meat and vegetables that have roasted well in a pan of chicken fat.