On Reluctantly Eating Chicken

I was a vegetarian for many years and then went even longer without eating chicken. If pressed, I would say that chicken is “disgusting” and that mine wasn’t necessarily an ethical choice, although once one knows anything about the factory farming situation in this country it’s tough to rationalize sticking a Chicken McNugget down one’s throat. 

On the other hand, I’ve always been a big fan of acupuncture and have no less than three amazing acupuncturists that I see for various reasons. (Caylie See is super talented and like a dose of mom; Rebecca Rapaport Ness is one of the most nurturing people I’ve ever met and knows her yucky Chinese herbs; Andrew Castellanos is a true healer and gives an amazing massage.) One of the things that acupuncturists consistently seem to recommend is chicken broth for whatever ails you. I once asked Caylie if I could use vegetable broth instead, and she said, quite poetically, “No.”

Luckily, a few months ago I discovered a new, summer-only farmers market in my neighborhood in Mill Valley. It’s tiny—like ten vendors—but that’s pretty much all you need at a local farmers market. One of the consistent vendors is a rotisserie chicken truck. The first time I walked by it, the smell was intoxicating. I cautiously approached.

Turns out, this chicken vendor uses happy chickens. Not just “free range,” which means basically nothing in chicken industry parlance, but chickens that actually run around on a farm in nearby Sonoma and live out their lives in relative liberation from suffering. Now, I can’t be absolutely sure of this without having seen it with my own eyes, but I grilled him quite extensively and I’m pretty confident that, if I’m going to eat chicken, this is the chicken to eat.

So now I have a new ritual. Every Tuesday night, I walk to the farmers market and buy a half a rotisserie chicken and a side of rosemary potatoes. (They sit in the tray at the bottom of the rotisserie with chicken fat dripping on them all day. Holy hell yum.) Then, I come home and strip the chicken for dinner. The scrap—-the “carcass,” if you will—goes in a big pot… and I make a broth.

The broth is the real goal of this operation. It’s just about the most wholesome-tasting concoction ever, and so good for you too. Not just because of its actual nutritional components, but because there is something really satisfying about making stock from scratch. It makes me feel like I’m on the Maggie B. and I’m taking supreme holy care of myself (and my imaginary little brother James). Also, it makes the house smell amazing, and is a great way to get rid of wilting vegetables and the surplus of herbs from my garden. So, here’s how it goes, more or less:

Chicken Broth, from scratch:

• Throw ALL the scraps of chicken—skin, bones, all the gnarly parts-into a pot.
• Some assortment of the following vegetables, cut into big chunks: onion, potato, carrot, other root veggies. You don’t have to peel them or clean them up; just rinse them.
• Heavy on the garlic and/or ginger root (the latter is particularly healthy for ya)
• An entire bunch of parsley or cilantro
• A handful of peppercorns (or ground pepper if that’s what you have)
• A hunk of sea salt
• Whatever fresh herbs you have handy, or dried will do too—rosemary, thyme, oregano and sage are my usual suspects.
• Fill it up with water.
• Bring it to a boil.
• Turn it down to medium-ish flame and let it simmer for the rest of the evening.

The exact amount of time doesn’t really matter, but the longer you simmer it for, the stronger the broth gets and the less of it you’ll end up with. I usually keep it on the flame until the vegetables have lost all their luster and the broth has a nice fatty sheen to it.

Then, you simply drain away the broth into a bowl, compost the solid parts, and let it cool. You can freeze it for soups later on, or what I love to do is transfer the stock back into a pot and put it in the fridge for tomorrow, when I take it back out and cook up some arborio rice, and have it with the leftover chicken. SO healthy!