I have always loved chicken.
I also love chickens, but that's another matter.
I remember as a child, cleaning off the chicken carcass until there was not a scrap of meat left. Dad always said we didn't need a dog in the house because we had me. I just loved meat that much. Pork crackling, chicken skin, the parson's nose, beef gristle, tongue, you name it, I slurped it up. Except for innards. I have never done innards.
And today, my dad would be proud.
Having bought three (!) Costco rotisseried chickens on Good Friday, I was left with massive amount of which to dispose after the feast. Bethany nabbed one of the carcasses to make stock (after telling me I should clean off all the meat because she wouldn't) (but she makes her mama proud nevertheless) and I decided to try canning some good homemade stock from the other two.
Jeff was out of town for most of last week, so I ate leftovers until Thursday, and after that I couldn't make another bite of mashed potato and chicken go past my lips.
I just couldn't.
So I threw the carcasses and some leftovers veggies and an onion into the stockpot and boiled it all for about 24 hours. The plan was to be brave and can up the stock on Friday, but the day got away from me. We were heading to the beach for a bit of a relax, so I got it all ready and put it back in the fridge.
I arose this morning and knew I was doomed to face the pressure cooker today. I could procrastinate no longer. Fear was in my heart, as it always is when I contemplate using the beast.
But darned if I didn't get it done, after talking to a couple of friends and Google and reading the manual.
And look what's sitting on my kitchen counter while seven more bubble away in the canner and Crystal Gayle plays on the stereo.
I think they are purely beautiful.
And with a bit of extra stock and some carrot water and the last of the mashed potatoes and carrots, I made some soup which I ate for lunch and will eat for lunch again tomorrow.
The only thing that would make it better is if I could share a bowl with Dad.