Schmaltz

To catch up a loose end, the robins fledged last week. It turns out that one of the four eggs never hatched.

All that's left in the robins' nest

We ate our first garden harvest (not counting the asparagus that comes up annually by itself) Saturday night. I thinned the pak-choy and used it as a substitute for cabbage in bubble and squeak (a British dish of fried potatoes and cabbage with a name that ranks right up there with spotted dick and bangers-and-mash.)

Pak-choy, the first harvest from the garden

Also on Saturday, we saw the chicks in a dust bath. They were so cute! They all crowded in, vying for position. Gracie hopped out of the coop, strolled right over and plunked herself down smack in the middle. Sadly, I arrived with my camera just seconds after Terry had started weed-whacking nearby. All the chicks were cowering in the coop.

Sunday the wind blew and blew hard. My brother and his wife came out to take us to the Grandview Inn for Fathers’ Day brunch. When we got home, one of the chicks was between the chick fence and the electric fence. I grabbed it and tossed it back where it belonged. When it was bedtime, two chicks were between the fences. How were they getting over the chick fence?

Our first hypothesis was that they were escaping near the coop door. Accordingly, we spent some time this morning moving the posts of the chick fence closer to the door. We also put more earth staples around the bottom in case they were sneaking underneath. When Hilda was doing the usual chores, however, we saw the chicks walk right up the fence where it lay at an angle after she had moved the post to access the food and water. Well. Presumably, the wind had blown the fence over enough that the chicks had just walked over it literally in pursuit of the greener grass (and better dill). We reinforced the fence with another post. No escapees today. So far, anyway.

Also on Sunday, the row cover came loose from the cabbages and Brussels sprouts. When I went down after supper to secure it again, I was astounded at the size of the plants underneath. I put the cover back with plans to uncover the Brussels sprouts today, as they were getting stunted. The Napa cabbage seems close to harvest. After an internal struggle, I decided to leave it all uncovered. The downside is that it will get bugs. The upside is that it won’t be so hot, and the Coles tend to like cooler temperatures. They do look so very beautiful with the cover first comes off.

Back to front, cabbage, Napa cabbage, Brussels sprouts

I cooked the first hen today. I used her in a new recipe for red pozole from Pati’s Mexican Table. I put the pozole (hominy) in the slow cooker before I went to work. I quit in the garden at 3:30 to start on supper. I knew the chicken would need longer to cook. I figured on simmering the cut up pieces for an hour instead of the 35 minutes given in the recipe would be fine.

What I learned is that I have never in my whole life cooked a grown-up chicken. The first surprise was how thick the skin was and how much fat that chicken had. Big blobs of bright yellow fat were under the skin, by the joints, around the neck and belly. Also, the chicken was hairy. A fair number of inch-long hairs were here and there, especially on the wings. Those hairs were not easy to pull off. Knowing I was going to throw out the skin anyway, I gave it up fairly quickly.  I covered the chicken with water, put in the onion and cilantro, and set it to simmer. After an hour, I took the pieces out of the stock, let them cool a bit, and tried to get the meat off the bone. I couldn’t even get the skin to peel off. I had to slide a knife beneath it and cut. I had to peel the tendons away from the entire outside surface of the leg muscles. The wings and thighs were almost as bad. It took forever. Only the breast meat behaved normally, except that I had to pull the tendons out of the middle. I gave up on the back. These were some hard-won calories, let me tell you. I feared that the meat would be inedibly tough. Note to self: cook the hens longer.

On the top of the broth was the most schmaltz I have ever seen from one chicken. I ran it through the gravy separator and ended up with a little over a cup. It was the same amazing bright yellow color it had been in the chicken. Seems almost a shame to throw it out, but it is neither healthy nor part of my cultural heritage.

One cup of bright yellow schmaltz on top of some by-catch broth

So after all that, I was feeling pretty flustrated, as one of my coworkers in Mandan used to say. But when I tasted the broth, well, it was all so totally worth it. It was the best stock I have ever made. While the chicken was cooking, I had rehydrated dried chiles and put them in a blender with seasonings, garlic, and onion. I sautéed the paste in oil until it was thick and mixed it into the pozole, chicken, and stock. And then I read the part about “simmer another 25 minutes.” So much for supper at 6:00. At 6:30, three hours after I began, we sat down to eat. The chicken was not as tough as I feared it would be. And I was grateful to Ina, Ingrid, Giada, Bridget, or Nigella for her sacrifice. Whoever she was, she was delicious.

The finished red pozole