Stock Raving Mad
Herein lies a tale of madness, in two acts (with intermission.)
Prolog: The day of the Turkey
ambar joined us for Thanksgiving dinner, having supplied a lovely smoked turkey from Dittmer's. We also made braised swiss chard, cranberry relish, oven-roasted beets, a bacon and sage dressing, and luscious whipped sweet potatoes. All in all, it was a relatively simple meal to prepare.
Our post-dinner discussion quickly turned to leftovers and grew fanciful: "Risotto with smoked turkey and porcini mushrooms" was one of the ideas. This set off a raid on the cookbook shelves (conveniently next to the dining table), and Ambar uttered the fateful words: Il sugo di carne.
Il sugo di carne is Italian for "the juices of the meat" and is a very concentrated flavored stock (almost a demi-glace.) A couple of spoonfuls of this in a pot makes it taste like you've been cooking all day. It's also a huge production to make, so we do it maybe once a year.
Act I: Winging it
The next day (Friday), after a pleasant morning up in San Francisco (and breakfast at Tartine Bakery that was utterly sinful), we gathered up the makings of basic meat stock: 9 pounds of turkey wings, a few pounds of beef bones, and vegetables. That all went into the giant stockpot at the same time I started dinner (gnocci in a sweet onion and tomato sauce.) Dinner came and went, the stockpot bubbled away, and we all went to bed.
About 14 hours later, the result was about 2 gallons of rich brown stock. We each sipped a little cup of the warm stock with fresh salt and pepper, and it all went into the 'fridge.
But this isn't the fabled elixir yet, just a step on the way.
Intermission
Ambar and I escaped the house for a while and sat in a couple of coffeehouses, as she did schoolwork and I worked on a writing project of my own (and sent an invoice to my client -- have to keep that money coming!) On the way back home, we bought salad, wine, bread and more meat -- proscuitto and pancetta, chicken wings, veal bones, beef bones, and extra beef. I went home and spent an hour making risotto using some of the morning's stock (which had jelled amazingly) and Molinari sausages. (And see that link there? Do yourself a great favor and click it if you don't know about the best Italian sausage available.) Even though the rice was being stubborn, the result was truly delicious.
Act 2: All hail Maillard, Reduction, and Le Chatlier
Sunday morning. I set out two pans, chopped and sliced, then sauteed the whole thing in olive oil then turned down the heat to brown it all to a deep mahogany. (The Maillard reaction is the technical name for browning, which creates intense flavors.) 1 hour down. I then started Reduction: adding red wine and quart and a half of stock a little at a time, letting it boil away between each addition to concentrate the flavor. 2 hours later, with the last bits concentrated, I added two more quarts of stock with crushed tomatoes and garlic and let it simmer. And simmer. And simmer. And go to see Harry Potter, pick up dinner, and come home. (Some 10 hours of cooking overall.)
Two kinds of straining the result, pressing out the last drops of the juices (and stirring a fat spoonfull of the dregs into the dog's kibble), and we have the food of the Roman gods.
Once it's chilled, so I can de-fat the result, I'll freeze Il sugo di carne in ice cube trays so we can toss in a cube or two when cooking serious savories. It's so good, it should be a controlled substance.
Prolog: The day of the Turkey
ambar joined us for Thanksgiving dinner, having supplied a lovely smoked turkey from Dittmer's. We also made braised swiss chard, cranberry relish, oven-roasted beets, a bacon and sage dressing, and luscious whipped sweet potatoes. All in all, it was a relatively simple meal to prepare.
Our post-dinner discussion quickly turned to leftovers and grew fanciful: "Risotto with smoked turkey and porcini mushrooms" was one of the ideas. This set off a raid on the cookbook shelves (conveniently next to the dining table), and Ambar uttered the fateful words: Il sugo di carne.
Il sugo di carne is Italian for "the juices of the meat" and is a very concentrated flavored stock (almost a demi-glace.) A couple of spoonfuls of this in a pot makes it taste like you've been cooking all day. It's also a huge production to make, so we do it maybe once a year.
Act I: Winging it
The next day (Friday), after a pleasant morning up in San Francisco (and breakfast at Tartine Bakery that was utterly sinful), we gathered up the makings of basic meat stock: 9 pounds of turkey wings, a few pounds of beef bones, and vegetables. That all went into the giant stockpot at the same time I started dinner (gnocci in a sweet onion and tomato sauce.) Dinner came and went, the stockpot bubbled away, and we all went to bed.
About 14 hours later, the result was about 2 gallons of rich brown stock. We each sipped a little cup of the warm stock with fresh salt and pepper, and it all went into the 'fridge.
But this isn't the fabled elixir yet, just a step on the way.
Intermission
Ambar and I escaped the house for a while and sat in a couple of coffeehouses, as she did schoolwork and I worked on a writing project of my own (and sent an invoice to my client -- have to keep that money coming!) On the way back home, we bought salad, wine, bread and more meat -- proscuitto and pancetta, chicken wings, veal bones, beef bones, and extra beef. I went home and spent an hour making risotto using some of the morning's stock (which had jelled amazingly) and Molinari sausages. (And see that link there? Do yourself a great favor and click it if you don't know about the best Italian sausage available.) Even though the rice was being stubborn, the result was truly delicious.
Act 2: All hail Maillard, Reduction, and Le Chatlier
Sunday morning. I set out two pans, chopped and sliced, then sauteed the whole thing in olive oil then turned down the heat to brown it all to a deep mahogany. (The Maillard reaction is the technical name for browning, which creates intense flavors.) 1 hour down. I then started Reduction: adding red wine and quart and a half of stock a little at a time, letting it boil away between each addition to concentrate the flavor. 2 hours later, with the last bits concentrated, I added two more quarts of stock with crushed tomatoes and garlic and let it simmer. And simmer. And simmer. And go to see Harry Potter, pick up dinner, and come home. (Some 10 hours of cooking overall.)
Two kinds of straining the result, pressing out the last drops of the juices (and stirring a fat spoonfull of the dregs into the dog's kibble), and we have the food of the Roman gods.
Once it's chilled, so I can de-fat the result, I'll freeze Il sugo di carne in ice cube trays so we can toss in a cube or two when cooking serious savories. It's so good, it should be a controlled substance.