(Inspired by “A Fowl Story,” p. 54, Cornfields to Codfish)
Never do I feel so connected to Great-Grandma Whittier, Grandma Bauer, and Grandma Mills as when I boil chicken bones in water. For it is then that I practice “waste-not-want-not” – more than any other time in my kitchen. The aroma of that bubbling pot echoes their kitchens and brings those farm women back into my life. The hands of cooking time slow to a lifetime ago.
I buy a roasted chicken, and my husband Bill, knowing my dislike of handling whole chickens, pulls it apart. He saves the meat in one container and plops the bones and skin into my deep stockpot that easily holds 11 cups of water. Then I take over. I dump all the residual juices from the chicken container into the stockpot; add 11 cups of water; add 1 quartered onion – skin and all; and add two unpeeled carrots and two celery stalks that I’ve broken in half by hand. Finally, if I have it on hand, I stir in 1 heaping teaspoon of chicken stock base, a paste found in the chicken stock aisle; it’s a power boost for the chicken stock. I cover the pot and crank the heat up to bring it to a rolling boil; then I reduce it to a moderate simmer and leave it for 1 hour.
After the hour simmer, I turn off the heat and let the pot hang out for an hour or so on the stove. Then I put a large colander in my huge stainless steel bowl, carefully pour in the stock, and then dump the bones and vegetables into the colander. I carefully lift the colander up to rain all the stock; then I set it in the sink to cool. When cooled, I throw away the bones and vegetables, for their job is done.
From here, I either put the stock back in the pot to make Chicken Soup (p. 248), or I let it cool in the bowl, then pour it into quart containers to freeze for later.