Pollo Alla Diavola
Two things define the dish: ferocious black pepper and dried chilli (the "diavola" is both flavour and theatre), and the crackling-glassy skin that only comes from pressing the bird flat onto screaming-hot cast iron. The marinade is olive oil, lemon zest, smashed garlic, coarsely cracked peppercorns, peperoncino and rosemary, aromatic, sharp, properly spiced but never one-note. When the chicken hits the pan you get a wave of rosemary-and-pepper smoke; the lemon comes through later, brighter, especially when the cut halves are charred alongside. The technique looks intimidating (spatchcock, brick, smoking pan) but it's one of the more forgiving things you can do with a whole chicken: the weight forces consistent contact, the marinade tenderises, and the temperature is high enough that timing has real tolerance. A standard of Roman trattorie and the Tuscan summer grill, where both regions claim it; one origin story says the name comes from the devilish pepper, another says it's the way the bird is "tortured" flat under weight. Either way, it's a centuries-old solution to cooking a whole bird quickly over an open fire.