Stock

It's winter and that means cozy home cooking.  Face it, when it is hot, no one wants to cook anything for more than ten minutes unless it involves beer and a grill.  When winter comes, then slow cooking and toasty ovens come into play.  While many love the smell of baking bread, for me, it's the smell of chicken stock.

Throughout the year, I gather the leftover bones and such from my chickens and turkeys, so that when winter comes knocking, and I think he is here, I can whip up a gallon and a half of chicken stock.  It's no big whoop, but the house always smells amazing.

Right now, the stock is setting up in the fridge.  The next step is to pull the fat disc from the top of the set stock and then re-heat the batch for straining.  Then back into the fridge for a second chill and skim.  Then portion it up into usable portion, about a quart each.  It may seem like a lot of work but it's mostly a process of waiting.

Life is that way too.  Waiting with and for people is the best part.  Waiting for stock to set is a glorious precursor to my pasta vegetable soup or baked barley or rice pilaf.  The potential for some other wonderful thing is set in motion by the waiting.