One Person's Trash Is Another Person's Chicken Stock?

Yesterday I put a bunch of trash in a pot, filled the pot with enough water to cover and let it bubble away for 3 hours.  

Perhaps I should provide you with slightly more information. 

Over the weekend I roasted a couple of chickens for a family dinner at my grandma's and like any normal person I shoved the chicken bones into a couple of zip top bags, and headed home.  Yesterday morning, I opened the fridge, noticed the chicken bones, and the sad remains of a rotisserie chicken I purchased late last week.  I decided it was time to try my hand at making a batch of chicken stock.

 I have been cooking/baking on my own for 5 or so years now. Until yesterday evening I have always felt chicken stock recipes to be somewhat ridiculous.  Ingredient lists that go on for days, weeks sometimes. 3 whole chickens, pepper corns, bunches of 4 different kinds of fresh herbs, carrots, onions, celery, bay leaf, leeks, etc. I just figured it was cheaper to buy the stuff on the shelf. I tested a few brands, found my favorite, and never really thought twice about it. How much better could it possibly taste anyways? Then, on a whim, instead of throwing all the chicken bones, and what not, into the trash, I put them in my trusty dutch oven. 

I stared at the disjointed mess for a minute, realized I had already turned on the burner, and figured I should quickly add as much water as my little pot could hold. Not knowing if it was too much or too little. I noticed a lonely onion sitting in a basket (like Michaela, I needed to hit the grocery store in a major way) I chopped that guy into quarters, added a lemon (also quartered), a head of garlic (halved), ran out to my garden and snipped a couple of springs of rosemary. That looked good to me. So, I threw the lid on and went on about my day. 20 minutes later I realized I must be doing something right because the smells coming from my kitchen were heavenly. 


I let my little concoction bubble away for a little over 3 hours. At which point I was on the phone with Michaela, told her all the bones had come apart from one another and the veggies had turned to mush. She was like "Uh, yeah the bones are falling apart, Lauren, it's finished." Apparently Michaela is just way cooler than me and has been on the homemade chicken stock band wagon for far longer than I (anyone else picturing a bunch of roasted chickens playing instruments on a wagon? No? Just me?).  I pulled that sucker off the heat, and let it cool down enough for me to strain it without risking third degree burns. 

 

All together now: ouuuu ahhhh, ouuuu ahhhh.

Even though it was 80 something here last night, Cory and I had a chunky veggie soup. We opted to eat indoors. The stock was so yummy and intensely chickeny. To someone out there in the www (did you know this stands for world wide web?!) this may sound so obvious, but yesterday, I had a chicken stock epiphany, and I'm never looking back. 

~L