Pollo alla Diavola

The devil in this dish is not an inferno. Italians understand heat differently than Americans, who seem to believe that more chili means more flavor. One teaspoon of peperoncino is enough. You want warmth that builds at the back of your throat, not pain that obliterates everything else. The fire comes from the grill itself, from the char on the skin, from the smoke that perfumes the meat.

Spatchcocking is essential. A whole round chicken over a grill is an exercise in frustration: burnt skin, raw joints, dry breast meat. When you flatten the bird, everything cooks at the same rate. The thighs and breasts finish together. The skin crisps evenly. This is not a shortcut. This is correct technique.

Tuscan cooks have grilled chicken this way for generations, varying only in the amount of heat they add. Some use more peperoncino, some less. What they agree upon is this: the chicken must be good quality, the olive oil must be worthy of the name, and the fire must be tended with attention. Simple does not mean careless.