Stocking up

The basics of making meat stock

By Kelly Myers

February 7, 2008

“What are you making?” asked the woman.

I had shopped at this Vietnamese grocery store many times, but it wasn’t until I stood in front of the store’s meat case filling my basket with duck wings, a beef shank, and chunks of bones cut to expose their white marrow that I found myself in conversation.

Somewhat reluctantly, I explained to my friendly questioner that I was making a meat stock for soup. Reluctantly, because who was I to speak of soup? I would kneel humbly to get a bowl of pho, the Vietnamese beef noodle soup whose soothing broth is infused with hints of star anise, cinnamon, and clove.

On cold wet nights, my family goes out into the rain to get the best pho in the city, at an otherwise charmless restaurant just a few blocks from our house. But their pho is masterful, as much elixir as it is soup.

After claiming that she knew nothing about cooking, the woman pointed me to the smallest beef shank in the case. She explained that because of its size it had a greater ratio of tendons to meat. “Delicious,” she murmured, referring to the tendons.

After they simmer for a while in my stockpot (otherwise known as the pasta pot) and soften, I will serve the tendons to my gristle-loving husband. He appreciates a chewy experience. I, on the other hand, will be glad of the silky gelatin that will melt from them and put a shine on my soups.

A foundation of chicken or meat stock gives soups, stews, and braises a strong start in life. And stock’s soft meatiness helps mellow other ingredients and brings them together into a harmonious dish rather than a mere assemblage. Chicken stock ably lends bland starches like rice and couscous a little warmth and personality. Risottos truly require stock to cohere. And just a few tablespoons of stock revive leftovers.

Think of stock as the bass line that holds the music together, or as the candlelight that invites conversation. Really, a carefully made stock is the Barry White of a cook’s bag of tricks.

But if the image of Barry White and candlelight does not convince you to take on a six-to-eight-hour cooking process, I have a more practical tip: Don’t set out to make a batch of stock if you are not already planning to do some cooking. Tack stock-making to your list on a weekend day when you’re already in the kitchen.

Start the stock first, and let it go while you finish your other projects and eat dinner. After dinner, take the stock off the stove and drain it. Let it cool at room temperature in the interim between dinner and bedtime. Right before bed, put it in the fridge. And that’s it; the stock has mostly taken care of itself.

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Stock-making has few rules and many opinions. Yet diversion from the key principles will leave you with a liquid that is less golden and soulful than gray and watery. In a nutshell, here are the basics:

1. Start by filling your stockpot one-half to three-quarters full with bones and meat. Don’t be a miser. If you can’t squirrel away enough leftover meat trimmings and bones, buy some. I’ll explain which ones later, as well as which vegetables.
2. Add cold water to cover by about three inches. More water than that will dilute the flavor.
3. Immediately after it reaches the initial boil and you skim off the foam that has risen to the top, turn down the burner to low. The stock should remain at the gentlest of simmers — a mere burbling — for at least 4 to 6 hours. Do not let it boil.
4. Salt stock only if you are not going to reduce it later. Reducing liquids concentrates the salt. On the other hand, know that adding salt to a stock while it simmers produces an incomparable flavor not easily matched by salting afterwards. Try adding salt if you plan to use the stock exclusively for soups or stews, or for any application where the liquid is not reduced much.

Why is it necessary to use both meat and bones?
The best path to a rich, full-bodied stock lies in the use of a combination of bones and meat. Meat contributes its juices and characteristic flavor. Bones, cartilage, skin, and tendons are needed for the gelatin they yield. Gelatin is a protein that carries flavor.

Gelatin also thickens soups and sauces and gives stocks a softer mouthfeel, making it seem that the broth lingers in your mouth a bit before slipping down your throat. Gelatin is what makes chilled stock look like jelly.

Which bones and cuts of meat are best for stock?
Not many home kitchens require a steady supply of demi-glace, the classic veal stock that is reduced to an essence and whisked into velvety pan sauces. Stocks are used at home for soups, stews, braises, and the occasional sauce.

So I’ll limit this discussion to poultry stocks, beef stock, and all-purpose mixed-meat stocks. (While chicken stock is versatile, so is a mixed-meat stock, which makes efficient use of leftovers and boasts a well-rounded flavor.)

Whenever you prepare a roast or a stew, glean as many meat trimmings and bits as you can. Save them in the freezer until it’s time to make stock, well wrapped to avoid freezer burn.

For poultry or chicken stocks, use any combination of backs, wings, and feet along with hindquarters or drumsticks for their dark meat. To make a poultry stock evocative of chicken noodle soup, throw an entire bird in the pot — the older, the better. Ask at the meat counter for a stewing hen. At farmers’ markets, ask for old laying hens where you see eggs and chicken being sold.