WORDS | Christina Nifong ILLUSTRATION | Maggie Perrin-Key
As the angle of the light begins to shift, the cherry leaves pile onto the sidewalk, and apples arrive at farmers markets, I feel a familiar itch.
It’s time to make stock.
I have done it so often, there is a ritual now. And I relish it. First, I thaw all that I have saved in my basement freezer. Then, I pull out my two biggest pots. I search for my bare bones of a recipe, wash the canning jars, hunt for rings and lids. Inspect my colander and funnel.
It’s not long until both pots are filled with the castoffs from my meals over the last few months — snipped carrot tops and beet greens, the ends of tomatoes and peels of cucumbers, the thick skeletons of broccoli and cauliflower, the fronds of celery and stems of kale. There is typically a chicken carcass. I break it apart to place roughly half in each pot.
Then come the herbs. In early fall, there are still many — stems of rosemary and thyme, curls of oregano, fuzzy petals of sage, maybe even tough stalks of basil after the leaves have been plucked for pesto.
I pour water to cover it all. Dial the heat way up. Then wait.
The aroma and warmth rise gradually, enveloping me in an embrace. Part of me mourns the end of summer every year. The rhythms of this work remind me that I enjoy what lies ahead, too — the traditions and the gatherings and the slowing of my days.
For the hours that the stock simmers, I will busy myself with another cooking task. Dinner, maybe. A batch of granola, perhaps.
This is the season when the kitchen calls to me the loudest. The chopping and stirring, the folding and the scooping, is meditative. Moving my hands sets free the dread that can darken my mind.
Making stock is the height of this zen.
There is nothing skilled about this task. Watching a pot, preparing to pour. And yet, these hours feed me in a more satisfying way than the soups the stock will eventually become.
Making stock connects me to my ancestors who had no choice but to create this concoction. And to all the other cooks across the planet whose hands are chopping, stirring, straining, just like mine. I remember my past selves in this same kitchen, stirring with this very spoon.
I ponder the transformation that is occurring: I am taking what others throw away and turning it into something delicious, hearty, life-giving.
I am reminded of a recent conversation with a chef friend who was straining previously frozen tomatoes. As he squeezed the icy orbs, he captured the runoff in a pot. He was saving this tomato water to turn into soup the following day. “What some call waste,” he said, “others call flavor.”
I lift the pot lids to check our progress. The bubbles and steam blast toward me. We are ready to tackle the hardest step.
My quart jars line the counter. My colander and funnel stand poised. Two giant bowls are at the ready.
I kill the flame, removed one pot top, reach for my oven mitts. My focus is laser sharp as I pour boiling liquid from the pot into the colander set inside a bowl. Unlike nearly every other colander use, I am not aiming to capture the solids. My quest is six quarts of liquid gold.
I lift the strainer and wiggle the blanched and wilted leaves and bones. I gently press the globby mess, then pitch it into the compost. What’s left in the bowl is the color of wheat, sunshine, joy.
I pour again. This time from huge bowl through funnel into jar, set inside another bowl, to capture any splash. When the quart has just an inch of air at the top, I wipe away any stickiness, place on a lid, and twist the ring.
I work fast to preserve as much heat as I can. Fill. Place. Twist.
I am done with both pots.Six jars stand gleaming. I am sweaty and burned. And so satisfied. A battlefield of dirty dishes surrounds me.
The jars begin their music. Pop. Pop. Pop. I shuttle them toward the fridge nonetheless. The heat creates a seal, but there is not enough acid in these quarts to keep them on pantry shelves. I store them cold and work through them quickly to ensure that nothing spoils before I can partake of its goodness.
Always, I end happier than I began. I feel ready to face the cold and dark.
I have done worthy work. I have the food to show for it. What could be better?
Making stock has become routine for me. As the jars that live in my fridge dwindle, I set aside a few hours to replenish them. I find it a way to slow today’s busy pace, provide a nutrient-dense base for many foods that I prepare, and reduce food waste — a triple win!
This recipe is loose. The more high-quality your ingredients (organic vegetables, grass-fed meats) the more healthful your stock will be. The only guiding principle for choosing which vegetables to add is to think about balance. You don’t want too many bitter greens or onions; those flavors will dominate. Aim for a mix of all kinds of vegetable parts and choose herbs that will complement their flavors.
Finally, this recipe is not for bone broth, but for a simple stock that will be added to rice and used as a flavorful beginning to soups. Enjoy the process of the making — and the tasty results of your labor!
Ingredients
Makes 2-3 quarts of stock. Double if you want more.
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil (or fat of your choice: lard, bacon grease and butter all work)
3 cups coarsely-chopped veggies (These can be the ends and peels of onions, carrots and celery that you’ve collected in your fridge throughout the week. Be resourceful: cabbage cores and broccoli stems, the tops of peppers. Nothing should be spoiled but any vegetable part will do).
4-5 whole cloves of garlic
3 tablespoons fresh herbs (Try thyme, oregano and rosemary, as these are mostly available year-round in your herb garden. You can also use dried herbs, but cut the amount in half).
2 pounds animal bones and bits (Save the carcass of your roasted chicken or the bones from your pork chops in a bag in the freezer; defrost in the fridge just before you’re ready to make stock. Meat, skin, necks, feet are all fine to include).
1/2 teaspoon whole black peppercorns
1 tablespoon fine sea salt
4-6 quarts water
For storing:
3 glass quart jars
3 jar rings (can be reused)
3 jar lids (new)
Colander
2 large glass bowls (must be wide enough to set colander and quart jars in, with a stable, flat bottom. Also must be able to hold boiling liquid.)
Wide mouth canning funnel
INSTRUCTIONS
Heat oil in a large stockpot or Dutch oven over high heat. Add veggies and garlic and sauté, stirring frequently for 2-3 minutes, until veggies begin to soften.
Add remaining ingredients and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer, uncovered, for about 2 hours.
Pour the stock into a colander set in a large bowl until it’s full. Then lift the colander out, trying to squeeze as much liquid as possible into the bowl. The colander will need to be emptied into the compost or trash.
Place the quart jar, topped with a wide mouth funnel, inside a second large bowl. Pour the hot liquid from the first bowl into the jar. The second bowl captures anything that spills over.
Fill the jar to within an inch of its top. Wipe the rim and outside of the jar with a damp cloth to clean. Top the jar with a ring and fresh lid. These jars will need to be kept in the fridge because their acid content is not high enough to make them shelf stable, but the heat of the stock will seal the jars adding an extra layer of preservation.
Repeat (pouring from the stock pot into the colander into the jar) until there is no more stock. Add any liquid captured in the second bowl to the last jar.
Line the jars up on your refrigerator shelf and use as needed. Plan to cook with them all within three months.
This column and recipe first appeared in our Fall 2024 Issue.
Christina Nifong is a gardener and home cook, a mother to three, a writer of essays and articles, and the communications manager for Local Environmental Agriculture Project (LEAP). She loves the amazing flavors captured in a meal made with local food, the satisfaction of finding words that make an idea spark from the page, and sharing those passions with others. Find more of Christina’s writing at: christinanifong.com.