How to Make <i>Glace de Viande</i> · 12 December 2001
WHAT IT IS: Sticky goop in a jar that is a pleasure to have in the kitchen; unless you are a vegetarian, in which case you’re already going without pleasure.
WHY IT IS NEEDED: Bouillon cubes are for the idle.
WHEN TO DO IT: Over a weekend, starting Saturday morning. Your weekend will not be muddled: you can still wash the car or view sport or hit the town.
You will need bones: veal, beef and/or chicken. Gather them up in your week of cooking and carrying on (pause as the butcher hands you your change, cock one eyebrow and ask, ‘you wouldn’t have any bones, would you?’). Also acquire a pound or two of inexpensive red meat – rump or side or something – and, why not, a stewing hen should you get a chance. You already have onions, carrots, parsley, celery, peppercorns, and thyme, but you may not have leeks: go get some.
Trim fat from the bones, and plop (plop!) in a pot then cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, drain, then do it again. Cover with cold water (plus some inches), add a couple peeled onions sliced in half, some peeled carrots, some celery, parsley stems, herbs, whatever. Add leeks, but don’t bother flipping through looking for sand: it only adds robustness.
Bring to a boil and – this is the fussy bit – watch the damn thing like a hawk with a ladle in hand: any bits of scum or fat that burble up to the surface must be skimmed. Skim, skim, skim! It will be a good twenty minutes before you can go off and drink some scotch and read a book because the burbling has subsided.
For the next few hours your commitment to the project will be light; just keep the fire steady at the point where the surface goes ploop! every ten seconds or so and skim whenever anything particularly nasty forms on top. Before you go to bed, brush your teeth, kiss your loved ones and turn off the stove. Lid, yes.
In the morning, strain through a colander into a new pot and put on a low fire. The burbling should be minimal, but the steaming off should be enough so the stock reduces by half every seventy five minutes. Stand there now and again, expectant with your ladle, skimming as necessary. When things have halved, strain through cheesecloth into a smaller pot, then do that again, then again. Once you have a syrupy sort of stuff that coats the back of a spoon and tastes strong and majestic, pour through a fine sieve into a jar. Refrigerate.
Haul this out whenever you want to add some flavour to a sauce or stew or some glazed carrots or a nice soup. A spoonful can bring much happiness.
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