How to say it?

Slowly, I am learning to listen. Listening for hunger, by which I mean real hunger and not the kind born simply of boredom; for thirst, which can only truly be slaked by gulps of cool, clean water. If I don't exercise solidly three times a week, my thinking begins to s-l-o-w down and my mood darkens. Terribly. Given all of this, I'm surprisingly slow on the uptake when my body is yelling, and very loudly, for restoration.

Moving has been far more exhaustive than I was willing to initially admit. 

How to say it?  For two weeks straight I dreamed of a rich, golden broth, beaded with tiny, shiny globules (such a descriptive word) of delicious, health-giving fat shimmering across the surface of a deep, never-ending, fragrant bowl. 

Chicken soup. Bloody hell.

I hold Kylie Kwong responsible. It was she who eventually forced my hand by way of making it sound so damnably delicious. So, while I will spare the vegetarians among you of the full, naked photographic horror of the beast itself, I will add this: it was an immensely satisfying afternoon of cooking. And yes. I would (and will) do it again.    

Chicken stock, with a South East Asian bent makes about 3 litres

Take one very good chook, one that scritched and scratched about, stretched its wings from time to time and generally had a nice sort of life. Price will guide you in your search. If it costs a small fortune, you are on the right track. Besides, this is not an every day thing. Lord, no. You are attempting to make something that heals. Spend accordingly. Not taxing work by any means, but it does need to be treated with a certain amount of restraint and little more of respect.   

One weighing somewhere between 1.5 and 1.7 kilos (that’s about 3 lb's or more for international guests) should set you right. Give it a quick wash and cut off any excessively fatty bits, bearing in mind that what makes chicken stock work in the first place is the presence of a least a little fat. Fat, in this case, shall be your friend. 

Pop your chook in a large, deep pot, cover it with 4 litres (4 quarts…) of cold water – it must be cold – and add the following ingredients, trimmed and sliced where necessary:

1 leek, washed well
3 salad onions (the mild kind that are bunched together cheerfully)
1 good-sized carrot, peeled (this matters – carrot skins, even organic ones, are bitter)
2 stalks of celery
1 head of garlic, halved through its middle
8 fresh bay leaves
1 tablespoon of coarse sea salt

Then, because there were goodies left over from the previous evening’s delectable little spicy fishcakes, and with a few other meals on my mind, the following also found their way into the pot:

An elderly knob of ginger, sliced
The tough outer leaves of 2 ruthlessly stripped lemongrass stalks
The roots and stems of a large bunch of coriander

Bring slowly to the boil, lower your heat to the odd rising burble and simmer as such for 2 hours. Strain through a double layer of muslin, reserving the chicken flesh itself (a messy business, but worth your efforts) and either use within three days or freeze in carefully measured amounts for further goodness. 

Nourishing. Restorative. Fixative.

Just what was needed.

Comments

[Kalyn]

GREAT post! You are such a good writer.

[Christina]

I hope you're feeling restored and relaxed. I know the stress of moving, and for me at least, it doesn't dissipate quickly. Hang in there--it does get better!

[neil]

I will now add chicken soup to the list of things that will turn a vegetarian around, it's a short list, really.

There's nothing like a steaming bowl of brothy goodness to soothe the inner person.

Glad you mentioned about the carrot skins, peeling is good for the soup and the garden.

[Johanna]

moving house is a huge emotional and physical undertaking - and when you are low in energy you need to give your body what it craves (but I was glad to be spared seeing the naked bird as I have terrible memories of the one time I tried to make chicken soup - almost 20 years ago). Hope you are settling into your new kitchen and are starting to feel at home

[shula]

Sometimes, it's gotta be chicken soup.

It's happened to me, too.

I just ran with it, in the end. I figured I must need it, and I was right.

[docwitch]

Good plan indeed. That chicken soup looks wonderfully restorative.

Moving house can be shattering. And it can hit in that ton o' bricks way in those weeks after the dust begins to clear.

[januarygypsy]

What a lovely way to describe an old stand-by - it seems your writing can be as restorative as the soup!

[maybelles mom]

Oh, I really believe that the bodily desires are important to listen to. looks amazing.

[Simona]

Moving is both physically and emotionally exhausting, so, by all means, pamper yourself with chicken stock and anything else your body requires.

[Wendy]

OH MY GOD! I've just written a post for Kathryn's blog and guess what it is about? Chinese chicken and vegetable stock!! Really. And it was Kylie Kwong who started me making it.

Hmmmm, just realised I forgot to acknowledge that...

Anyhoo, it's wonderful, isn't it? Restorative is the right word.

[Lisa]

Well, not what I expected to find here. Moving is tiring, but I'm pretty certain I could not be persuaded to consume what was no doubt a delightful soup, as it came from your kitchen.

[Callipygia]

Whee! How can it not be restorative with a chook and one that scratched and pecked to boot? Moving, transitioning...v exhausting stuff, fat definitely needed!

[Juno]

There is something about it that heals, there are times only chicken broth serves the purpose. Be well.

[Juno]

I have been thinking a lot recently about being still enough to hear...whatever you need to hear. How have you learned to listen?

[Paula]

Chicken soup really does heal body and soul. Yours looks delicious!

[Jude]

Love the southeast asian twist. lemongrass does wonders to recipes like this.

[katrina]

Surely if we always bought chicken per your instructions above we would always make love and not war. Beautiful.

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