Poule farcie

Many years ago, when I was in my culinary infancy, we decided to have roast chicken for supper. I phoned a neighbouring farm and mistakenly ordered une poule (a boiling hen). The farmer’s wife suspected as much: when I went round to get the chicken, she asked me whether I was quite sure I wanted une poule and not un poulet. I persisted in my mistake, bought the bird, prepared it for roasting and stuck it in the oven. Three hours later, the hen’s flesh was still bullet-h