I wrote this post
puuuuuuurty much a lifetime ago, and so much has happened, and everything has changed so much, and I'VE changed so much, but I read it just now and you know what?
Turns out: NOT REALLY! (Clicks heals.)
Not really at all! I'm still that me! Or I'm BACK to that me! And I love that me! And I'm seriously not being narcissistic here, I'm just saying that a very few days (FOUR) after I wrote this post I found out that I was pregnant with my Peabody, and then I was SIIIIIIIIIIIICK, and then I was DEEPLY, DEEPLY, PREGNANT, and then I had a newborn, and then, and then, and then, and on and on and on and on, and I wondered, "Where'd I goooooo? Who am I nooooooooow?" and frankly, I worried. I did. Have y'all ever worried about YOU? Where you were? Where your YOU mojo'd gotten to?
But I read this post today and finally. FINALLY. I recognize me as THAT person again. I'm not so tired I can't laugh. I'm not so sick I can't think beyond the next hour. I'm not so emotionally drained that I can't enjoy my people, and situations, and LIFE for the crazy, fun, heart-filling ride that it all is, together.
I'm ... I'm ... free again.
And ... I have an undeniable yen to make homemade chicken stock.
WATCH OUT WORLD. MAMA'S BACK.
----------------------
I'm not posting another recipe today because I'm guessing by my stats that we've reached
Recipe Critical Mass now and it's time to put Betty Crocker to bed for a few days.
I mean, not that I ever look at my stats.
(Hold please.)
(Clickity click click.)Ahem.
Where was I?
Oh! No recipes, but I
am gonna confess to you right now that I make REALLY EXCELLENT HOMEMADE CHICKEN STOCK. I mean like chicken stock that causes that
stuff in those
boxes and cans turn 400 shades of red and rush to hide behind the institutional-sized jugs of Hellmann's™ Real Mayonnaise and dill pickle chips when I turn my cart down its aisle. Yeah, THAT good.
When I am all stocked up with homemade chicken broth, I feel positively RICH. This may explain my propensity to
over-produce in this area on occasion.
Which brings me to the point of today's little yarn.
One day a few months ago, I'd just finished brewing up "a little extra" chicken stock when I discovered, much to my dismay, that I had brewed up about 2 quarts more stock than I could feasibly store in my freezer. What would I do with the excess?
I puzzled and puzzed 'til my puzzler grew sore, and then it came to me! I'd give it to
Nicki (My Boys and Me), who loves to cook, and does so frequently, in large volumes and also! Also, she owns a large chest freezer!
I dialed her up breathlessly, poised to spring this piece of fantastic news on her and then stand
WAY back for her excited, enthusiastic reception.
"Nicki! I've just made some homemade chicken stock and have some left over that won't fit in my freezer. Would you like to have it?"
(Pause.)
And. She didn't want it! Didn't know how she'd use it. Thanked me profusely for my kind offer but turned down. that chicken stock. flat.
I was crestfallen. Not only because Nicki didn't WANT my chicken stock, but also because it meant that I was going to have to (and it pains me even now to write it out, months and a couple of counseling sessions later) pour homemade chicken stock
DOWN THE DRAIN.
GASP! Quelle horreur! I know. Are y'all crying yet?
We have mended our fences, though, and all has been forgiven. It's been hard, but we're neighbors, you know, and we have to see each other pretty much daily, so I thought it best to just apply a generous helping of grace to the situation so we wouldn't become like the Hatfields and the McCoys and end up duking it out over the porkchops-on-a-stick and sweetcorn at Bubba and Bean's wedding.
A little foresight goes a long way, even in the face of snubbed chicken stock.
Today I had to go get some
Design Assistance on a little project I'm working on from Nicki, so Bean and I ran across the street to her house for a minute. When I'd finished picking Nicki's brain, I mentioned we were headed out to the grocery store next to pick up a few last minute items for Thanksgiving dinner.
And there was a little pause... a quiet, thoughtful, calculating pause... in the conversation.
"If I give you some cash will you buy me two boxes of chicken stock?" Nicki spat out.
"Absolutely! You don't even have to give me cash, you bought me onions a few weeks ago, remember?"
And then.
I remembered
The Chicken Stock Incident.
"You know, Nicki, I seem to recall a phone conversation..." I laughed.
(And her eyes said,
OH, BOY. HERE IT COMES!)
"...not too long ago when I offered you some of my homemade chicken stock and you just couldn't think of why you'd ever need it."
"Yes," she giggled back, "I seem to recall that conversation too, and I
KNEW you were gonna bring that up when I asked you to buy me some."
And she was right.
And I am
vindicated.
And the next time I make chicken stock, you can bet I'll be making a half a gallon extra.
Originally posted November 20, 2007 - a short four days before Peabody made made his first line on a stick.
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