Chicken stock: or, how to fool yourself into thinking summer is over

On this horrifically hot and humid day I am inside enjoying the evocative, cool-weather smell of chicken stock. I finally gathered enough chicken bones in the freezer to make some, and just in time. I really hate buying those little boxes of broth (except during holiday sales when I have coupons), knowing that it costs pennies and part of an afternoon to make a few perfectly serviceable quarts to keep in the freezer. Here is my usual recipe, adapted from Gourmet.

NOTES: I hardly ever have celery or thyme on hand, so take it from me that this stock is still very good without those things. I mostly gather the bones and rib sections from bone-in split chicken breasts, which are so cheap and easy to carve, and keep them in a bag in the freezer til I have enough. The biggest rookie mistake with stock, I think, is one I actually committed today (while I was drafting this post and doing laundry and making sherbert, which see below): letting it simmer too quickly, or worse, boil. You don't have to be super attentive with stock, but you do want to check now and then, especially at the beginning (when you have to be around to skim the foam anyway), that the liquid is just barely at a simmer (180 degrees is ideal). Otherwise, it will boil down too quickly, becoming concentrated and not yielding the amount you were trying to get. Probably it affects the flavor is some way too, but I don't know, I'm no connoisseur. Obviously. Due to this mistake it looks like I only got about two quarts today, quite a bit less than usual. Oh well.

Rich Chicken Stock
adapted from Gourmet magazine

3-3 1/2 lbs. raw chicken bones and/or wings
2 celery ribs, halved
2 carrots, halved
2 onions, unpeeled and halved
4 garlic cloves, unpeeled
6 parsley sprigs
2 thyme sprigs
12 black peppercorns
2 cloves
1 bay leaf
3-3 1/2 quarts (12-14 cups) water
1 tsp. salt

1. Combine all ingredients in a large (at least 8 quart) stockpot and bring to a simmer. Skim foam off the top as it rises, then let cook for 3 hours, maintaining a very gentle simmer and skimming occasionally.
2. Remove large solids with a spider or slotted spoon, then pour stock through a fine-mesh strainer into a large bowl or pot. Cool in an ice bath, then move to refrigerator.
3. If using immediately, skim off fat from surface first. After chilling for several hours, the fat will be much easier to remove off the surface of the broth; do this before returning to the fridge for up to 5 days or storing in the freezer for months. (I like making a couple ice cube trays full of broth for pan sauces and other small-amount uses: once frozen I dump the cubes into a bag, and then I can readily see how many tablespoons I have. The rest goes into various 1, 2, and 3-cup portioned bags.)

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Alas, I still know it's summer because while the stock was simmering I mixed up David Lebovitz's chocolate-coconut sherbert, reputed to taste like a Mounds bar. Last time I jumped on an endorsement like that it didn't quite live up, but any combination of chocolate and coconut (and rum) is a hard thing to regret no matter how it turns out. The perpetual appropriateness of ice cream is definitely one of the few advantages to summer.

Oh, and speaking of DL, his ice cream sandwiches---let's say they are recommended with reservations. My first complaint is, who in their right mind in 2011 is going to eat two 3" cookies with ice cream sandwiched in between? I mean how do you justify that, even if you are physiologically able to eat it all in one sitting? And my second complaint is not really DL's fault, but as with all dark colored cookies (I've had this problem making "Oreos" before), it's very difficult to tell when they're done to the degree you want: here I wanted something fudgy and chewy, but they came out quite crisp. Easy solution: I will shorten the baking time when I next make these. Complicating that is my plan to seriously downsize the cookies as well. So we'll see. I have to say the flavor is absolutely spot-on, and I wouldn't change anything about the recipe formula itself.