Thoughts Happen

Mom's Chicken Stock

Making chicken stock from scratch does not have the glamour of creating a perfect, airy souffle or the earth mama cred of hand-kneading dough for a loaf of homemade bread, but alchemizing quarts of golden broth from things that would have otherwise gone in the trash gives me immense satisfaction. It’s not for the faint of heart, however — a boiling cauldron of body parts on the stove can give you that Cambodian dictator feeling if you’re not careful about it.

 Mom made stock at home when I was little, and taught me how to do it before I moved out. There are a lot of other kitchen-y things she used to do that I don’t carry on; I don’t can fruits or vegetables or make my own jam (except once), I don’t make my own yogurt (although I did convince her to give me her ‘70s-era yogurt maker) and I don’t make watermelon pickles (sorry Mom, but I never really liked them) from the white part of the rind and a mysterious brew of vinegar, cloves and something undefinable.

But I do keep chicken carcasses in my freezer as if it’s some dismembered poultry cryogenic facility until I’ve got critical mass, and about three times a year I pull out my 12-quart Revere copper-bottom stock pot I bought for this very purpose.

First in go the bones. Every time I cut up a whole chicken into parts for the grill or a casserole (thanks, Dad, for your expert carving technique), the neck, back and breastbone go in the freezer. Mom always taught me to use mostly fresh bones, but the carcass of a rotisserie chicken or holiday turkey would certainly get saved for the stock pot as well. The bones are usually a congealed frozen blob when they come out of the bag, so even if I fill the pot, there are enough holes between the hunks for the veggies and water.

Next in go some stringy, frozen celery stalks. I can never manage to finish a bunch of celery before it starts going bad, so when it gets limp and sorry-looking I throw it in the freezer for stock-making day. A few quartered onions (Mom says leave the skins on for flavor and coloring), some of the older carrots from the bin, a scattering of dry parsley, a few bay leaves, and then I fill the pot with water until it’s a few inches from the top. Lastly I pour in a generous dollop of vinegar. Mom told me never to omit the vinegar — I think it is supposed to leach the calcium from the bones to make the stock more nutritious — and to this day the scent of the vinegar boiling in the stock takes me back to the days of plaid Toughskins and Andy Gibb.

After boiling for several hours (being careful to make sure the pot doesn’t accidentally boil over) I turn it off and let it cool, then bring it to boiling again a few hours later before straining. Why do I do this? I don’t know. Mom told me to. After the second boil and a slight cool-down period comes the fun part: straining.

Imagine what a 12-quart pot looks like. It’s pretty friggin’ big. And heavy when it’s full of chicken parts swimming in broth. Manhandling this thing over my biggest bowl topped with my biggest strainer is not something to be done in a half-assed way. I’ve learned to put the bowl and strainer in the sink so I’ve at least got gravity working with me. If I was Catholic I would probably cross myself at this point, but usually I just tip the pot in a decisive manner and as the broth sloshes into the bowl I gradually work the dull, grey-brown bones and cartilage, weary celery and limp, phallic carrots into the strainer. Lovely.

 We’re almost done. I hoist the strainer back onto the now-empty stock pot, and set to work decanting the broth with a 4-cup gravy separator into containers for the freezer. The gravy separator is crucial, otherwise you will end up with all the greasy chicken fat from the skin in the broth and your soup will taste like it was used to fry enchiladas. Plus it’s kind of magic watching it work. Pour off the fat into a can from the recycling bin and toss it (covered!) in the trash. Lastly I ladle the steaming, nasty residue that I just strained out of my lovely stock into plastic bags and take to the trash.

The last two times I made stock I ended up with 22 cups of precious broth socked away in the freezer as the base for future soups. Thanks, Mom, for teaching me how to make something wonderful out of trash.

Chicken soup photo courtesy http://www.flickr.com/photos/29233640@N07/ / CC BY 2.0

Gravy separator found at Organize.com (not an affiliate)

The Simple Joys of — Eggplant?

“We just wanted some fresh fruit and vegetables for our family to eat, so we didn’t have to eat out of cans all the time,” said Sarah Coole, North County wife and mother of two, as quoted in a story entitled How a North County Family ended up in a food line in yesterday’s North County Times. Her husband has been out of work for a month since construction jobs dried up as developers are dealing with the stagnating credit market, so they went to Interfaith Community Services in Escondido for some help making ends meet.

There is no shortage of stories like the Cooles’ in the paper, on the Internet and TV, and it’s easy to get compassion fatigue. I tend to get overwhelmed if I let my mind linger too long on these accounts, and it’s easier simply to read and move on. The situation seems too big, too intractable, for any one person to have a perceptible impact, and besides, it makes me uncomfortable.

But something about that quote got to me. For a variety of reasons, our family has been relying on take-out and meals prepared with packaged ingredients the past few weeks, and although I never thought I’d hear myself say it, I was starting to miss cooking nightly dinners. The second Friday night pizza in as many weeks was assuredly convenient, and I’ll admit, delicious, but its appeal was waning. So last night I cooked up a big batch of Mostaccioli with Ratatouille using fresh eggplant and zucchini from Be Wise Ranch. I enjoyed the simple acts of dicing, peeling, and simmering, the tactile satisfaction of creating a meal from raw ingredients. And my palate appreciated experiencing the directness of flavors unfiltered by salty seasoning or preservatives — the slight sharpness of the eggplant, the summery tenderness of the simmered zucchini and mellow richness of the onions.

That the Cooles should forfeit fresh produce gave me pause. We are fortunate that our family’s processed meals are a factor of expedience and not economics. And I am aware that only a few unforseen events stand between us and the Cooles or any other struggling family. I doubt they received any eggplant in their assistance (those of you who are not eggplant fans may consider this a blessing), but a follow-up comment Sarah Coole posted to the online article said they were well taken care of.

Interfaith Community Services is well-respected in North County and provides much-needed help to those who are struggling. We have supported them in the past, but this was a reminder that more help is always needed. Donations of time, money, or food will go to help our neighbors, neighbors very much like us who deserve the opportunity to taste the tangy sweetness of a ripe orange or the crunch of fresh lettuce. One person can make a difference. Consider joining us in supporting them today.

Mostaccioli with Ratatouille

Although it's a little late in the season for zucchini and eggplant, I thought you might enjoy this recipe I made last night relating to today's post, "The Simple Joys of — Eggplant?". Mangia!

2 green peppers, coarsely chopped	2 cans (16 oz ea.) tomatoes in puree
2 small onions, quartered	1 t. oregano leaves
2 garlic cloves, minced	1 t. dried basil
3 T. olive oil	1 t. salt (optional)
1/2 lb. mushrooms, quartered	1/4 t. pepper
2 zuccini, cut into 1/2" pieces	1 package (16 oz.) mostaccioli
1 medium eggplant, cut into 1/2" pieces

Cook and stir peppers, onions and garlic in hot oil in large saucepot until crisp-tender; remove and reserve.

Add mushrooms and zucchini to saucepot; cook and stir until tender. Stir in eggplant, tomatoes, seasonings and green pepper mixture; bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, 20 minutes until vegetables are tender.

Meanwhile, prepare pasta as directed on package; drain. Toss with vegetable mixture. Makes 8 servings.