broth – Amanda Salisbury Books & Art

Over at Indelible Words, I posted a similar post with a lamb soup recipe. Tonight, I’m suggesting chicken soup with a bit of a twist. Enjoy!

Our first fall semester in a physical school since 2012 has been rocky. Day One, Middling fell on bars – that are something totally NOT monkey bars, according to him – and knocked out one baby tooth, knocked loose one baby tooth, and ‘added mobility’ to a permanent tooth. Day 3, Third had a cold and Middling slept so poorly overnight because his dad was on a trip that he was a sick little raccoon in the morning. Middling had a half day. Third is still out with the cold – on Day 4.

I want to text my kids’ teachers and be like: We aren’t that family; I promise!

But I guess we are that family. Not the one who makes up stuff and pays no attention or respect to the school. But we are the family that has learned some pretty difficult lessons in balance. We’re the family who knows that school isn’t everything but is a thing. We’re the family that may skip homework a night to rebalance, or might take a half day rather than send a raccoon to school – no matter how clean the little creature may be, or might have frank conversations about the school handbook.

We are the family who virtual schooled for nearly four years even though the primary educator in the home also taught three 20-hour semesters a year and published two books. We are the family who has been through an abusive caregiver, the deaths of people we love, a grandpa’s heart bypass, a grandmother’s liver transplant, and a mother’s depression and anxiety. We won’t be cowed by handbook threats anymore than by colds. We’re here to partner with professionals to raise these kids within the context of their village. We’re the family raising boys to be okay without us while praying we never face that test.

We are that family.

And I suspect all the other families are, too. Each family has its past and its pressing present, its beliefs, its fears and dreams. Each family has a set of circumstances, and all are less than ideal. And teachers are part of families, too! Know what family you are and embrace it – there’s only one of you in the glorious mess that is all of us. And have a bit of patience with those families whenever you forget you are that family.

Meal Math: Chicken Soup with Stars

Part 1: Pre-Seasoning

4 Tablespoons solid fat – butter, ghee, coconut oil, lard – whatever you like that is high-heat-able
1 Tablespoon salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 medium onion, diced
4 cloves garlic – or one garlic clove per eater [you’ll need more for part 5]

Heat the fat, salt, and pepper in a deep pot over high heat. Add the onion and garlic. Cook over high heat until onion is nearly transparent, about 3-5 minutes.

Part 2: The Soup Base

2 pounds raw chicken, diced with fat removed
6 cups chicken bone broth
2 teaspoons fresh parsley, off the stem [you’ll need more for part 5]
1 fresh bay leaf, off the stem, chopped [you’ll need more for part 5]
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, off the stem [you’ll need more for part 5]
2 teaspoons fresh rosemary, off the stem [you’ll need more for part 5]
1/2 teaspoon whole peppercorns

Add the chicken to Part 1 and cook until the chicken appears white on the outside. Add the remaining ingredients and cook over high heat until chicken is done through and breaks apart easily. If you like a bit more clear soup, place the herbs and peppercorns into a tea straining ball or tied up in a bit of cheesecloth.

Part 3: The Grain

8 ounces pasta, the smaller the better
2 cups chicken broth
water

Boil according to package instructions. Drain, retaining a scant 1/4 cup of the pasta water. Do NOT rinse. Cover pasta with the retained water and two cups of chicken broth.

Part 4: Add Veggies

10 ounces sweet potatoes, peeled and diced, frozen
12 ounces peas, frozen

Add the frozen veggies to the soup base and heat to a bouncing simmer for at least 15 minutes. If using fresh vegetables, cook until done to the taste.

Part 5: Boost Nutrition

1 teaspoon fresh parsley, off the stem, chopped
1 bay leaf, chopped
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, off the stem, chopped
1 teaspoon fresh rosemary, off the stem, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 Tablespoons coconut oil
salt

Three to five minutes prior to serving, add the herbs and oil. Unlike the longer-cooked seasonings, these barely-cooked herbs will retain more nutritional benefits. These herbs should be placed directly into the soup to be eaten if at all possible, meaning I get it if you have a toddler who will not eat leaves in soup.

Add salt to taste.

Part 6: Serve

Divide the pasta into bowls for the diners. Ladle 1 cup soup over pasta. Serve.

Tips

Buy fresh herbs on sale, strip them from the packaging and any dirt/roots, wash, dry, and freeze. Keep these in a crate or box in the freezer for quick access.
Frozen vegetables can be more cost-efficient than fresh vegetables, especially when buying organic and pesticide-free. Even at a store like WholeFoods, you can buy packs of multi-colored carrots, sweet potatoes, and corn relatively inexpensively. These save time, too, because they cook faster and require little preparation.
Cook your meat in advance and freeze for faster meals.
Look for sales on meats that are already trimmed and diced.
Make your own broth. It’s good for you, good for the environment, and SO delicious!

So, there are lots of ways to art. I’m sure there are more than I know and more than that, but those aren’t invented yet.

Broth is a medium of my artful life. Part food. Part history. Part future. Part marrow. Part ends. Part beginnings hoped to be. Broth is a slow, patient art that requires investment of resources and time. It is an art that gives at every step – the quick breath as you walk through the door, the sip to check flavor, the subtle invocation of meals to come from meals already enjoyed.

Broth is useful art, too. Nutrient dense. Delicious. Healing. Relieving. Uniting. Unwinding. Broth is a thing to be admired and appreciated as it is utterly spent.

On the 9th of July, I bought food. I buy my meat at WholeFoods almost exclusively. I can find grass fed beef. I can find a ready supply of amazing beef bones, too. I can find lovely hens and tender lamb. I can discover rabbit or quail or pheasant or duck, or even just duck fat, if I’m looking. And later, after I’ve carried it all home to prepare and to store, the meat smells the way I remember my Uncle Stacy’s butcher meat smelling. It smells like a thing born of care and protection and living things. It has not one whiff of chemicals.

On this particular shopping trip, I bought three hens, a 3-lb leg of lamb, and beef marrow bones, among other things. That night, I nestled the hens in my electric roasting pan with a few ingredients, and I arranged the beef marrow bones in a big cast iron pot. Last night, I roasted the leg of lamb. Now, the wee lamb’s bones are brewing in my kitchen, reminding me of dinner with my lovees and all good things.

Bones, water, mysterious sundry ingredients. A pot over a low bloom of heat. Time. Skimming. Willing. Tasting. Allowing. Straining. Cooling. Packaging. Freezing. Thawing. Or not. Adding. Or beginning. Remembering. Planning. For more. Again. Always. Simple enough, yes?

I like to imagine a surgeon looks into the human body with muddled awe and purpose. That she sees the blood and flesh and veins and bone and recognizes what once was, what is now, and what can be. I imagine she sees an art where some may only see anguish, pain, harm, decay. And she can restore all that to a state of perfectly imperfect wholeness.

This is the way I see bone broth. And I imagine that the ingredients do not fill everyone with purpose. Do not whisper of the divine to some. Perhaps intimidate, irritate, or sicken others. But it is an art I see. An art I feel. An art I must share because art beckons the sharing.

I invite you to find the means, if you can, to make broth. And if you have never had broth – not bullion cubes diluted or a pantry good purchased in a can/box – do. Do try some. At your first opportunity. Or swing by the house, I have lots.

Chicken Bone Broth

1 whole chicken

2 Tablespoons of apple cider vinegar

water

bay leaf

3 cloves garlic

skin of one onion

1 carrot, unpeeled and uncut

1/4 teaspoon sage

1/8 teaspoon pepper

salt

Separate the meat from the bone of your chicken, if you have roasted it. Place the bones (you can use a whole raw or even frozen chicken) in a pot (on the stove or in a slow cooker). Add all ingredients and cover with water. Bring to a boil. Taste the water; add salt until it tastes delicious. Skim any scum off the top (don’t be alarmed; most every hen will have some) and reduce the heat to a low setting. Allow to simmer 24 hours to magically transform water into broth. Feel akin to miraculous. Taste often. Skim often. Replenish water. Adjust salt or seasoning as required. After 24 hours, allow the broth to cool completely (you can use the refrigerator) before straining. To strain, pour broth through a fine sieve or cheesecloth. Your broth should be a lovely amber or golden color with no bones or plant particles. Package in suitable amounts. I tend to place 2 cups of broth in each quart-sized sealing freezer bag and lay on a cookie sheet to freeze. Once frozen, I transfer the quart bags to share gallon bags and reclaim my cookie sheets, though not for cookies, which I do not make, though I enjoy immensely.

Once you’ve marveled at the ease and use of broth, experiment with different seasonings and incarnations. Broth is intentionally versatile; it is purposefully driven by what you have at hand.

Now, what to do with frozen broth? Well, what do you want to do with it? You can heat it for a nutritious and body-salving breakfast. You can use broth as a base for soup, risotto, beans, or other meals. You can add to dried-out meat for revival. You can build a broth bowl by adding it to spare bits of meat, vegetables, and grain. You can drink, sip, slurp, gulp, spoon, savor, and enjoy.

As long as I have broth in my house, my family will be fed. At times when I may not be able to afford gorgeous cuts of meat or pounds of organic vegetables, I can add rice or lentils or grains of any kind to rich, lovely broth. And we will eat. Well. We will be sated. We will feel much richer than we are, and that will prompt us to a certain thankfulness we miss in unsatisfying, soulless foods aplenty.

Broth is both a luxury and a staple. It is a luxury because we have such open access to convenient food. It is a staple because it is essential to eating well. It is a way to honor the food we have – all of it: the tops of peppers and skins of onions and ends of carrots and bones of meat. It is a way to carry forward the nutrients and the work and life of these things. It is a way to make any meal more satisfying and whole.

After my July 9th shopping, I have stored 15 cups of vegetable broth, using only the peels and ends and cast-offs of my purchases (do not be deceived: I adore vegetable broth, too). I have stored 18 cups of beef broth, 27 cups of chicken broth, and 18 cups of lamb broth. I’ve stored meat in small portions to add to broth and grain and vegetables in the days and weeks to come. The process has been intensive, and I will smile each time I open my freezer to the golden bricks on which I will build our meals.

The hummingbird picture hasn’t come far since the 9th. The next book has grown by stir and bubble of broth rather than by sentence and paragraph. This is my art and it is beautiful to me.