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More Broth

On cold days like today we like to put a pot on the stove to make broth. The smell makes the house seem warmer and the steam doesn’t hurt the low humidity caused by the furnace. I woke up today hungry for Savory Oats and found I’d used the last broth in the fridge earlier in the week. I could pull some out of the freezer but I know we have plenty of broth materials around the place.

A fair amount of broth recently has gone into my Savory Oats breakfast. I have been trying to work more whole grains into my diet, especially oats with soluble fibre since it’s got the reputation for scrubbing out arteries. Trouble is, I really don’t have a sweet tooth so the traditional bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar sets my molars on edge. I’ve started making what I call “Savory Oats.” Instead of plain water, I make the oats with broth, usually in the ratio of one cup oats to two cups of broth. If I’m feeling fancy, I’ll saute up some white onion or carrot in a bit of the broth but honestly, good steel cut oats are enough on their own. I use the “Quaker”-style quick oats in a pinch an they’re good too but the texture can so easily turn to glue. The essential ingredient for oats as I suppose for all food is to season it correctly. Our broth is naturally low sodium so a pinch or two of sea salt on the final bowl really brightens up the flavor.

So I’m making broth.

We’ve stumbled into the perfect set-up for broth but we made it pretty diligently even before we settled into our current equipment. We have a 3-gallon stainless steel pot with a clear lid and a deep basket that fits inside it. There’s also a much shallower basket for steaming. I suppose that this basket was designed for pasta, and we use it for that too, but it’s also a great place to put the materials for broth as we slowly simmer out their flavor-rich goodness. Previously we used a pot and then poured the broth through a strainer into another pot.

What goes into broth? I know a “foodie” will make the distinction between “broth” and “stock” – one contains bones – but the glory of our broth is that all items are welcome. It’s like the compost pile of the kitchen. This batch for instance has:
• raw chicken skin from some breasts,
• cooked chicken skin from a whole chicken we roasted,
• the bones of the roast chicken –
• the ends of the onions I’ve chopped up for the past couple weeks, minus the papery outer layers
• a small bag of carrots leftover from someone’s lunch
• that little bit of juice left from the roasting pan when we’re not making gravy
We save all these scraps in a Ziploc storage bag in the freezer door until it’s time for broth. Honestly, the materials are more likely kept in several bags. When I’m collecting the bits and pieces, it’s usually in the midst of making dinner or cleaning up, that is, it’s never the focal task at the moment. It’s more important that the scraps get saved than that they all get saved in the same bag. Keeping all the broth bags on the door makes them easier to find. Another note, don’t worry about discarding some material because it has too much fat. The fat has a lot of flavor and there’s a trick that helps get rid of it.

The other ingredient, of course, is water. Add just enough to cover the materials. I find it so heartbreaking when I’ve made a batch of broth that smells fantastic but that is over-diluted. I use cold water, not hot water. I suppose I could say there’s some kind of magical process where the water extracts different nutrients at different temperatures – might be true for all I know. But I’m thinking more that I don’t use the hot water from the tap for very much since before the water comes out hot, it’s got to warm up a fairly long length of copper pipe. Since I’m using the stove heat anyway, cold water is just fine.

Bring it all to a boil for a minute or two and then turn it down to a simmer. The boil is good to kill any bugs that might have hitched a ride on the leftovers but the long simmer will wipe them out as well. Within a couple minutes you’ll get a whiff of deliciousness. I usually keep a lid on the pot. Ideally, we’d let the pot simmer most of the day.

How do you know when it’s done? That’s the question indeed. There’s no point in rushing here. How much time do you have? If you absolutely have to go out, cover the pot, turn off the heat and go about your errands. If your business out in the world took you longer than you expected, that’s probably fine too. We’ve left half-finished broth (covered, mind you) on the back of the stove overnight and finished it off the next day. Your mileage may vary, ESPECIALLY if room temperature is warm due to climate or season. We’ve had a batch go sour when we tried to push things too much longer, but again we didn’t cry too hard because the ingredients were items most folks would have discarded anyway. I’d be careful to bring things up to a nice rolling boil if you’re restarting after a break.

The trick for making the lowest fat broth is to strain the finished broth and let it cool completely. In winter time, we take advantage of the great outdoors and the free chilling that comes with living in Michigan. Just don’t forget about it outside in the winter, or your broth will freeze through. Once the broth is thoroughly chilled, the fat will rise to the top and set in a nice, neat, easily removable layer. Use a spoon to skim that off and you are home-fat-free… or at least reasonably reduced. If you’ve forgotten your broth pot over night and the contents are frozen solid, the fat is the soft layer on top of the rock hard broth.

The used up bits aren’t good for much. They’ve given their all. If the broth has been boiled long enough the bones will even crumble to the touch. I suppose a risky soul might add these to a compost but I wouldn’t. No use attracting the local wildlife. Our usual process at this point is to dump the remains in a doubled plastic bag – one of those “paper or plastic” bags. If the next day doesn’t happen to be trash day, we stow the bag in the freezer, again to make them less interesting to the raccoons and woodland gnomes.

We store the broth in one quart plastic tubs. It’s best if the containers are clean and sanitized before you add the broth. We usually have a container in our fridge while the extras go in our basement chest freezer. I’ve also heard tell of making “broth cubes” with ice cube trays but we got rid of our ice cube trays when we got the new fridge (it’s got ice and cold water in the door!) plus I don’t know if there are a lot of times I’d really want *only* an cube or two of broth. It sure would be convenient if I did.

In the time it’s taken me to write this post, a glorious smell has arisen from the kitchen. It sort of fills in the gaps of the cold day and makes the place feel a bit more like home.

Posted in • Cooking.

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Dark Harvest

There’s a time and a season to every thing and every purpose. In mid October it was my mom’s time to die. Although she’d had cancer for over a year and had been in Intensive Care for nearly two weeks, it still was a shock. She’d always gotten up, always gotten better, always gone on. Until this time — her time — when she didn’t.

I’m mentioning her death on what is ostensibly a gardening site for a couple reasons. This fall, the time of year when Jan and I normally are bringing in last harvest and preserving this bounty, we were busy with other activities. The frequency of our posts here suffered as well. As we prepared a eulogy for Mom’s memorial service, it felt a bit like a harvest, a dark harvest. We gathered together the items collected and produced by her life, and we tried to preserve them as best we could. It seemed very natural to think about death as a “reaper,” a harvest worker. The very force of death as with the forces of life found in the garden is out of our full control but we were called on to ease the transition and gather up the pieces afterward.

It’s been over two months now, and I still can’t get through a day without getting stopped up short, unexpectedly struck to the point of tears. Mom and I didn’t always get along. We squabbled and fought, but I sure miss her.

If there’s anything I learned from the process of sorting through Mom’s belongings — anything like a “take away message”– it’s that I didn’t really have any idea how important a call or a letter is to a lonely person. My mom apparently saved every card she was given. Although she was generally a cheerful and optimistic person, her journals — obviously written when she was alone — spoke of profound sadness and fear. She lived a quarter of a mile away from Jan and me, she had a phone, a cell phone and computer for e-mail. She printed out the email messages she received so she could hold them, touch them. Mom was a part of our every day life but still she was lonely at times.

We made turkey rice soup this week with broth from the carcass and bits of turkey breast that might have been too dry for sandwiches. We would have eaten up every drop but without thinking too much about it, Janice took a quart of it over to the elderly woman next door, the one who lets us use her back yard to garden. This is what we must do. Don’t wait to figure out something perfect. I’d say don’t even wait for someone to tell you they’re lonely because you might not know until after the person is dead.

Find someone. Do something. Don’t think too much about it.

Posted in • Sitting Still.


Stakes: Our Tomato “Experiment”

By calling it an “experiment” rather than a “mistake,” I hope it sounds more like something we planned, like a conscious hypothesis we intended to prove. If so, let me state for the record that pruning and staking up tomato plants is incredibly important (especially for “indeterminate” varieties) because this year we did neither very systematically and in the end we paid the penalty.
Continued…

Posted in • Growing.

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Thankful Days

Thankful — for just another day in the garden.

I thought it was over. I believed the gardening year was finished while so many of the final projects were still unfinished. And then, on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, a glorious clear afternoon gave us the opportunity we needed to put everything to bed.

The central activity was to run the lawnmower out of gas. If gasoline is left over winter it turns to a sludge that’s not good for the engine. Sure, we could buy gasoline stabilizer but it’s just as easy to use those last drops around the yard.

The grass has been making hay, so to speak, during all the stray bits of warm days and sunshine and so could use a healthy trimming. There were also enough stray wind blown leaves that had evaded the rakes. The lawn mower also chopped everything up nicely to a mulch.

We were able to put an ample but not necessarily generous blanket of mulch on the large round bed and on the side “tomato” bed– once we finally removed the cages and dry twisted vines from this year’s crop. Janice climbed up the ladder to the second story of the barn, and I handed the cages up to her so they’re safely stowed away ’til next spring.

The last thing we did was to split up a bit of wind fall branches and leftover cedar from the barn. I’ve mentioned elsewhere the fun we’ve had with this cast iron wood stove a buddy of mine got for me. (It was clearance marked at the warehouse style home improvement place where he works.) I’ve gathered up wood haphazardly ever since but I didn’t have a place to keep it dry. Inspiration struck this weekend, so I used a splitting maul and Janice used the bow saw to make the pieces small enough to fit the wood stove. And then we put the wood pieces in plastic trash cans to dry out. Our city recently switched to using large domestic dumpsters that can be emptied semi-automatically – (score one for high-tech gadgetry and zero for wage-earning humans.) We scavenged several of the “old school” trashcans to use as water-tight garden storage. We’ve got one full of compost for instance. And after Saturday, we’ve got two of them full of firewood. Just to be sure that no rainwater gets in, I also put a tarp over the top. The plan now is sometime this winter, perhaps Christmas Eve or Mid-Winter, we’ll fire up the wood stove that sits in the middle of the garden and roast some chestnuts, maybe pop some corn and sip some warm cider.

We’re not fanatics by far about getting everything in its right spot for winter. It would have been fine if we didn’t get the chance to tidy everything up. But this morning, as I was scraping the thick crust of frost off my car, I looked out over the garden. A white dusting of frost crystals outlined the leaf mulch in the beds and the points of the grass in the yard and everything seemed at peace.

Posted in • Sitting Still.

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Tough Love: Pruning the Raspberries

Looking down at my right hand I am reminded of that not-funny joke about child-rearing, you know, the one that goes “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” Well, I’m finished pruning the raspberries this year and though I can’t comment on how much I hurt the raspberries, the scratches and gashes on my hand show that I was hurt a bit in the process. It was well worth it.

I worked more than my allotted 20 minutes yesterday but this is one time of the year where a little bit of extra effort can really pay off. The black raspberry harvest is over and the second year canes that bore fruit are beginning to die, leaves turning yellow. It’s time to get those canes out of the way to allow the first year canes space to grow, to spread and to send out new branches. In other words it’s time to prepare for next year’s harvest.

Clipping out the dying canes is also good hygiene. The theory is that any dead tissue should be removed from the plants because you don’t want to encourage diseases that grow on such tissue. For this reason, I carefully remove the dead canes and put them in a compost bag for the city to take away, rather than using them in my own compost. I’m being extra cautious. I had a very terrifying brush with the dreaded Orange Rust a few years back. Basically Orange Rust is one of those cash-in-your-chips-thanks-for-playing catastrophic plant diseases. I was lax about bramble hygiene before that wake up call. I’m more vigilant now.

It’s easy to tell second year canes because they’re purple. Yup. Purple. I know an artist who used them in one of her pieces, though I have absolutely no idea how color fast the pigment is. First year canes are green, usually a vibrant “spring” green. If there are canes that are grey or brown, they’re even older than two years. Get them out too.

I wear a leather palmed glove on my left hand and I hold the pruning shears with my right. I find I can’t operate the shears with a gloved hand so that’s why I end up with so many scratches.

Inevitably, some of the first year canes are going to be bent over and kinked. That’s fine because they need to be pruned as well. Raspberries bear near the tip of their canes. Left to their own devices, each cane has only one tip. But, I bet due to the same process that makes apple trees send up suckers and water sprouts, raspberries can be coaxed into having multiple tips per cane. At this time of the year, I prune them pretty low, about two feet off the ground, though I’ll sometimes go a little higher if there aren’t any leaves on the resulting cane. This height corresponds pretty well to the first tier in my raspberry trellis so they have some kind of support.

Before fall, each one of these pruned canes will start sending out three or four lateral shoots, so the harvest is potentially four times larger. I’ve been told I could get another pruning in during the fall but I usually wait for spring. I’ll prune the canes about a foot beyond where they’ve split from the original cane. I like to do this pretty early in the spring to allow the new tips to grow and bear fruit. In the spring, the plants are putting out first year canes as well as so I know they’re under some stress. I’ve never had to fertilize my raspberries any more that the layer of thick mulch I have spread around them. I know some folks don’t mulch around their brambles but you already know how much I hate weeding and weeding around plants with nasty sharp thorns is the worst.

It’s always a little discouraging to look at the patch after pruning. The plants that were so mighty and formidable just a couple weeks ago are nipped down to clusters of sticks poking out of the ground. This of course is the perfect time to adjust the trellis, to shore up the posts and tighten the wires. I also took advantage of the elbow room to weed and spread a nice layer of fresh straw. By the end of August, though, the patch will have regained its look of vigor and it will be set for next year.

And the gashes on my hand will have healed up too.

Posted in • Growing.

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