The ducks went into a stockpot with a variety of herbs and veg for game stock - at least some of it will probably go into a risotto to be served underneath duck confit.
The chickens and beast bones were combined as follows for a hearty brown stock:
7:00 am. The beast bones went into a 425 deg F oven for browning.
7:30 am. Sliced carrots, onions and celery were added to the roasting pan, together with the two chicken carcasses, chopped into pieces.
8:00 am. The Kid Squid came bleary-eyed downstairs. As a morale booster, we sat down together and watched our latest Netflix arrival, Cloverfield. This proved so spellbinding I was unable to return to the pan in the oven (except for the odd stir) until ...
9:30 am. The whole lot was degreased, deglazed, and decanted into my big spaghetti pot. Water was added to cover, two bouquets garnis dropped in, and everything bought to a simmer. Skimming fairly often, I let nature take its course until ...
2:30 pm. I retrieved my piece of cheesecloth from its appointed place and lined my favorite colander in my biggest bowl. I dumped in the contents of the spaghetti pot. Tasting the result, I decided it needed reduction.
3:00 pm. I transferred the stock back into a large saucepan and bubbled it energetically until it had reduced by about half. During this time, having despaired of ever leaving the kitchen, I prepared Hasty Pudding with Corn Flour (organic! stone ground!) and Molasses.
4:00 pm. I tasted the reduced stock, seasoned it, and judged it perfect except for one small point. It was much cloudier than stocks I have made in the past:
4:15 pm. Committed to several more hours in the kitchen while the Hasty Pudding did its thing, I decided to go about clarifying the stock. I had never carried out this maneuver before, but have always been curious to try it. In my new spirit of adventure and experimentation, I dug out my well-thumbed copy of Julia Child's The Way to Cook and turned my attention to page 15. I scanned the procedure, decided it was within my capabilities, and set to work.
4:30 pm. I measured out five cups of the stock (one extra cup, destined to remain forever cloudy, was stashed in the freezer). Four cups went back into my saucepan and one cup went into a glass pitcher set in a bowl of ice.
4:40 pm. I measured out four egg whites and whisked them up until they were frothy. These I whisked into the cup of cold stock. I brought my saucepan stock up to a simmer. While this was happening I rinsed out my piece of cheesecloth, folded it over six times, and lined a fine sieve placed over Yet Another Saucepan.
4:50 pm. I ladled some of the warm stock into my pitcher, whisking like a mad woman all the time to keep the eggs from scrambling. I then added the pitcher's contents to the saucepan very slowly on the one hand, whilst still whisking furiously with the other.
5:00 pm. I brought the saucepan back to a simmer and stopped whisking. What happened next was kind of fascinating. All the egg whites rose to the top, where they formed the sort of scum normally left on a New Jersey beach as the tide goes out. As per Julia's instructions, I kept the pot at the merest simmer (without stirring) to cook the egg whites. I moved the pan around on the burner to make sure each spot cooked for its requisite 5 minutes. It was quite the production:
5:35 pm. I carefully ladled the contents of the saucepan, which by now looked like something Greenpeace might photograph as evidence of corporate malfeasance, into the cheesecloth. When I was done, the remains in the sieve looked less like effluent and more like nuclear waste:
5:45 pm. But what did I espy in my Yet Another Saucepan? Nothing less than gorgeous, crystal clear, impeccable brown stock - perfect for consomme, clear soup, or aspic. It was miraculous:
And completed just as the Hasty Pudding was ready to come out of the oven.
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