The Last Stocks

veggie, fish, chicken

We are here at the penultimas.

I think you could tell a lot about a person from their stock, or lack of. What are your leftovers. What’s your schedule. Do you have a cold?

Stock is a personal affair, so I’ll say very little about it.

Here’s what I’ve learnt on my own journey with Tucci’s liquid litres, and words from friends:

Keep your trimmings and make a hot noodle soup in the spring. Or if you’re going above and beyond for a risotto. Why not? It’s effort with no occasion that is the most beautiful.
Emma’s equation: Some alliums (onions, leeks, garlic) + some root vegetables (carrots, celeriac) + bunch of herbs
Pro tip: celery for a sweet stocks
Balancing flavour is not the same as layering it. A well-made stock might be just the antidote you need.
No, it’s not the same as just boiling vegetables.
Boiling is back? Apparently.
Waiting that long is worth it i think.

It’s been a longggggggggggg walk through this book. Taste. Momentum is a difficult beast to tame. Quite like a recipe: the planning makes the execution. I hate to plan, I love to execute. Very French of me.

For a couple of months there I was all rehearsed and measured out (like cooking tutorials on Youtube where a tablespoon of sugar has been neatly put into a little ramequin ready to be poured). Then, somewhere in there, I must have run out of an ingredient and had to run to the store, or I moved kitchen and needed new tools, either way – all off kilter was I.

I’ve written a diary since I was fourteen. The last few years of entries are begun ritualistically with an apology. Unsure if it’s because I’m apologising to myself, or to whatever conscience I’ve imbued into the inanimate book. It always goes something like this:

Dear diary, (I like to start entries this way. It’s very Britney Spears)

I’m sorry it’s been so long.

(Long diatribe, secrets secrets, etc.)

How sweet.

I like to anthropomorphise my belongings as much as the next nostalgia-crazed 21^st century girl. So I think maybe my diary enjoys resting between entries. And in that vein, maybe it doesn’t matter how much time I leave between cooking Tucci’s recipes, the cookbook enjoys the rest! It certainly doesn’t matter to you, and it doesn’t matter to the world.

But maybe maybe maybe maybe it’s all a bit more Disney. More beauty and the beast. Those candlesticks and teapots claim that they’re oh so bored being unused. They want to host. Just like me! Maybe the cookbook is upset I’ve left it behind for weeks on end.

[I’m rambling. Anyways speed and consistency in cooking and writing THAT WAS THE ORIGINAL TOPIC.]

Perhaps inconsistency is fuelled by a feeling of dissatisfaction. Like I should be improving more. What I need is the skill of recipe-following. Of patience, and adjustment.

Don’t you find instruction has such little power over inspired insurrection? Responding to the immediate is so much more exciting than being told to wait and see. It’s satisfying kind of like understanding what your dog wanted or why the baby was crying or why your sim is uncomfortable. Why is my dough this sticky? Add a bit of flour. Why are my egg-whites not whipping up. Maybe you startled her with the sugar and now she’s all choked up, add salt, just a little. I wish to know my ingredients.

Consistency and motivation are great. Having a true understanding of what you’re working with is perhaps greater. And I’m working with a girl who’s a little inconsistent. Nothing wrong with that.