Let's talk about my stock.

I got excited and bought a whole chicken from the store to butcher up by myself.

Actually, let's talk about that chicken instead.

How weird is that shit, right? It's easy to get so far removed from the ugliness of being a carnivore. You eat a McNugget™, that doesn't resemble a chicken in any way. Hell, doesn't even resemble chicken, but that's neither here nor there. Even breasts, wings, legs, they're so abstracted from the animal itself. But taking a whole chicken home, putting your hand inside it to take out the...stuff, feeling its little neck, the skin which reminds you- this thing was once alive, walking around. The slack skin has lost its elasticity, reminds you of every elderly person you've ever known. It's creepy, but it's essential. It brought me closer to the cooking process and, of course, to the eating process (hell yeah?). It made me think, goddammit, this guy died so I could eat, so I'm sure as heck going to make good use of him.

So, I made traditional Arroz con Pollo (I think I used Mark Bittman's variation as a guideline). Fresh chicken that I cut up myself and honest-to-goodness stock (from a package, yes, but the whole idea is to change that) made sure that it was tasty as all hell. I can't tell you just how mouthwatering, tender and how chicken-y this is to make. And it's so basic! Inconceivable.

I plopped the carcass and all that mess into my pot and proceeded to make stock. I wanted fancy, so I used this video as a guideline. It's a great video, but it was a bit overwhelming. I didn't wind up scraping much fat off of the top during cooking, for some reason, and during the reduction at the end, I didn't realize how critical the step was and I was nowhere near as vigilant as I should have been. Resulted in a burnt mess of goo at the bottom of a pan. No good.

Defeated, I put the idea to rest for a while and sometime later, tried the very same thing. Arroz con Pollo- maybe a little too familiar, but still tasty. I decided to cut it up once the chicken was cooked, thinking it could be spooned into tortillas for a little extra mileage. According to my girlfriend, the act of eating the chicken parts whole added to the experience. So, there you have it. Try leaving the parts whole and ripping them apart on the plate?

The stock was slightly less disastrous. I was nowhere near as proactive and the stock came out fine. When it came time to strain the stock to let it cool, I put too much pressure on the colander and the bastard busted right through the strainer. Another lesson- strain in stages if I'm doing it this way. I wound up saving barely a cup of stock, my sink ate the rest of it. But, man. That stuff was delicious. I made a tiny bit of soup with it. Luckily, I'd saved a little bit of the chicken leftover on the bones when I made the stock, tossed in in there with some egg noodles and fresh veggies. totally worth it.

So, I tried once more. I forgot what I did with the chicken. I think I made Arroz con Pollo again? Maybe this time was when I cut up the chicken in the pan. You'd think I would remember. It's not important. I took to the stockpot once more, skimming when I could and just generally monitoring the fat on top and making my apartment smell like a simmering mess of poultry heaven. I did it all right (or as right as I wanted to); Simmered it, Skimmed it, Strained it. I froze all of it in shifts (I somehow only have 3 ice cube trays). I guess chicken fat doesn't freeze quite right? Did you know this? I wound up with a little bit of a frozen mass of fat at the very bottom of the ziploc bag in the freezer- the ice cubes had melted ever-so-slightly, even in my upright freezer, and kind of coalesced in a half-frozen fatty ice-pop at the bottom. Who cares? I had made stock!

I made soup. You can see some photographic evidence right over there!

Now, through some investigating and heavy, heavy thinking, I think I finally realized what made it less-than-perfect. You see, this soup, while incredibly delicious, was much too sweet. I have no problem with sweet and savory. I love sweet and savory. But, this was too much sweet for the dish and the whole time while eating it, I couldn't help but wonder why.

Things that (I think) contributed- I used too many veggies. The guidelines I've always been using called for about 5lbs of chicken parts. I think they said to use a whole chicken, but I might've misinterpreted it as a whole chicken carcass, not just the whole chicken itself. Despite what every 8-year-old thinks, carrots are a very sweet vegetable. You can really taste it in your own homemade soup. Maybe the carrots were cut too small when making the stock, making more surface area that gets cooked into the stock. But, I still think it was the lack of chicken. Chicken makes it nice and savory. Next time, I'll sacrifice the sheer volume of the final ziploc full of stock in exchange for something full of umami. I'm sure my 3 ice cube trays will thank me, too.

tl;dr I tried to make chicken stock and failed. I tried again and failed a little again. Third time, I was successful and it came out too sweet because I think I used too little chicken and too many veggies.

The Search for the Least-Favorite

I think I have a new favorite band. I haven't had one in years- this is a very big deal.

I stumbled upon The National when looking around music blogs for new recommendations. I'd heard of them before, which was good because I don't like my music too obscure (unless I'm going down that rabbit hole myself). I wound up with Alligator and it wasn't until I was making the 45-minute drive home from my girlfriend's a few weeks later that I had the courage to try something new. And new it was. I found them impossible to pigeon-hole; they are assuredly not an equation-band (This + That = Band!). My early favorite was Karen. I was so bored with all of my old music and even most of my new stuff as well. The chord changes in that chorus- each one more unexpected than the last! The melody when he says "America," listen to the way his voice drops down before coming back into the first line. That chorus slithered around my brain like a serpent. I knew I liked it, but even after a few listens, I had trouble pinning down the rhythm and the strange repetition. After becoming obsessed with this album, I learned that there is a definite method to the way these men plot out their compositions, but I still had a long ways to go. This was something new to me. I couldn't memorize the melody and just start singing along halfway through. I just couldn't see it coming.

Since then, I've become pretty obsessed with it. For a while, I would just keep singing songs without noticing- my girlfriend would bring me back to Earth. "The National?" and I'd mumble an affirmation with my eyes closed and keep hearing the music. I remember she was getting ready for bed and I put on Mr. November 6 or 7 times in a row while I was waiting. This album was just what I needed. I've actually been scared to delve deeper. I don't want to spoil myself- I want to keep this level of joy and excitement at a slow, steady simmer. All the wine is all for me and I need to take it in slow gulps. Last night I ordered their next album, Boxer. I'm not a superstitious person at all, but it seemed appropriate to listen to it all the way through to the end, to Mr. November, on the last day of November. Then shelve it for a while.

Since the infatuation began, I started to look, not for my favorite, but for my least-liked song on an album that I truly love every moment of. At first it was easy enough to pick from the songs I'd heard more. Looking for Astronauts is kind of silly. But, no. I love the line, "You know you have, a permanent piece, of my medium-sized American heart." I can't deny the breathless intensity when he sings, "Take all of your reasons and take them away, to the middle of nowhere and on your way home, throw from your window your record collection."

How about Lit Up? It's a bit too fast-paced and full of what feels like fluff, for sure. Well, that's wrong. It's just all attitude, the verses as tight as a straightjacket. The sextuplets on the drums leading to the bridge might be my very favorite National moment right now.

I kept thinking of The Geese of Beverly Road as being long and overly-meandering. One morning, driving into work, it just clicked with me. It's gobsmackingly beautiful in an immediate way that sets it apart from the rest. I remember going the rest of the day, closing my eyes with my head tilted back, thinking, "We'll run like we're awesome, totally genius." I love the section about serving the sky is lovely in a way that leaves me without the language to describe.

Baby, We'll Be Fine? It's a bit obtuse, the guitar is all angular. But, those are reasons to adore it. It's a genuine, heart-felt plea. For what, I have no idea, but this is another one where the imagery really strikes you in its surrealism. I can't tell you how much I enjoy the idea of this guy laying awake at night, praying for just an attaboy from his boss.

City Middle is surely too sing-song, too repetitious. But, it has this slow rhythm that builds to this gentle and explosive climax that seems to last for days. By the time he mentions Tennessee Williams, it just soars.

Since this is a search, something needs to be found. Val Jester is not a bad song. It's a cliche, but even the worst songs by The National have their amazing redeeming qualities. It floats along on its own tumultuous course, with a quiet intensity slowly brewing just underneath the surface.

I'm so hesitant to actually begin another album. What do I do? Do I toss it in during a drive and listen in spurts? Do I set aside and hour and concentrate on every moment? I feel mildly psychotic putting this much thought into it. But, I feel so relieved to have this kind of passion for a band again.

Pre-emptive

So often, I compose these blog posts in my mind. I say to myself, I should start blogging again. I miss long-form writing, even if all my poorly-chosen word go unread by all but a few people. I feel like it's a waste to let all these thoughts fizzle out in my poor memory. I constantly tell myself to start a new blog, but I think too much to let it happen. So, this is me letting it happen.

Part of the panic comes from a subject. I thought about gaming, but I know the world does not need another gaming blog. I could chart my recent experiments in the kitchen, and I'm sure I will. Music, sure. Anything else is up for grabs. Who needs a theme?

Let's just start blogging and see what happens.