Wednesday, February 13, 2008

making stock, taking stock

There's been a turkey carcass in my freezer for a couple months now, amicably cohabiting with four ice cube trays, a carton of past-its-prime vanilla ice cream, and a tupperware container of frozen, if homemade, squash soup dating back to I'm not sure quite when.

This turkey carcass was a gift from Nate & Shanna, the remnants of Shanna's strange, intermingled family Thanksgiving dinner this past November. I tend to make soups, soups being pretty much the extent of my culinary expertise, and they thought I might make use of this dead bird.

I'd kind of forgotten about it despite its domination of my little Manhattan apartment-sized freezer. But I finally remembered it and pulled it out of the freezer Saturday morning, unwrapped its multiple layers of plastic bags, wigged out a little at the roasted apple slices still caught in its body cavity, the frozen shreds of skin hanging mangled off the bones, but mostly at the realization that it didn't quite fit in my 12-quart stockpot.

I ran out to the grocery store anyway, bought a leek, some garlic, a couple onions, a bag of carrots, a couple turnips. Started running coldish water over the frozen bird in the sink, hoping to thaw it out a bit, finally lost patience and threw it in the stockpot, added cold water, set it on the stove over medium heat. Peeled the head of garlic, smashed cloves with my beloved Global knife, tossed those in. Rinsed and quartered the onions, carrots, turnips (all unpeeled), tossed those in. Cut the leek in half lengthwise to get the dirt out, cut off the roots and the uppermost dark green bits, threw in the rest. Found a handful of sundried tomatoes in a plastic bag in the fridge, threw those in. Also some salt, and some peppercorns, probably a teaspoon's worth or so. Simmered for a really long time, hours and hours, stirring now and then, skimming some of the fat off the top, mashing the carcass down. Eventually it pretty much fell apart, all the skin and meat fallen off the bones, and I figured that was probably long enough.

I don't have a sieve fine enough for really getting all the turkey gook out of this concoction, nothing better than a typical pasta strainer, actually. But finally, a good use for one of Chris's old t-shirts left behind last year!

Which brings me to the second half of my title this evening. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, in case you've been living under a rock or in a cave or something. And this time last year was not a particularly great time for yours truly.

Last winter I started chain smoking again, lost over twenty-five pounds, went to a psychiatrist for the first time in my life since regular old therapy clearly wasn't cutting it, joined the infamous Prozac nation, and, perhaps most shockingly, gave up cooking. Stopped feeding myself and my friends, stopped looking forward to long wintery weekend afternoons of chopping and baking and stewing in preparation for people I loved coming over for an evening of eating and drinking and talking and watching movies and all those things I'd adored for so long.

Yet here I am, a year later, still in one piece. Twenty pounds heavier, though I figure that's preferable to not eating or sleeping or wallowing in the depths of despair. Better to be plump and happy, I say, than skinny and miserable. I'm also chalking it up to having given up cigarettes last August, hopefully this time for good. Almost two weeks off the Prozac now, and doing all right. Cutting back the regular old therapy to every other week, after almost six years of every week and even awhile of twice a week.

And spending an entire afternoon making a huge pot of stock was one of the nicest afternoons I can imagine. Lauren called and teased me when she found out I had no particular plans for this stock, no guests coming over, just this huge pot simmering away on my stove. A few ladles worth went into an odd stew on Sunday, I suppose a bastardized version of posole, but the rest has now taken up residence in the freezer just waiting to be brought out and added to some other weird concoction.

It's good to enjoy cooking. And to not be overwhelmed by Valentine's Day.

1 comment:

la fourchette said...

I'm with you on both counts: it's good to enjoy cooking. And not to be overwhelmed by Valentine's Day.

(It's much easier to store in the freezer a container of stock than a carcass, non? What an appropriate metaphor for transformation.)