December 07, 2013

Turkey and noodles

This year I froze the turkey bones.

Because I knew I was going to do this, I didn't fuss too much with the carving.  I was going to make soup with the bones, and soup needs meat.

So yesterday, I thawed the bones and threw them in my large soup pot with water.  Into the pot I tossed the rest of the fresh herbs I'd bought for Thanksgiving, as well as a few haggard-looking carrots from my crisper drawer, some celery stalks with leaves, an onion, some garlic, salt, pepper, a lemon (halved), and a splash of vinegar.

Did you know vinegar will leech all the good stuff from the bones?  Neither did I, 'til my friend, Karis, told me.

I simmered the broth for two hours, adding water as needed.  Meanwhile, I made the noodles.  I had a helper.
No fancy noodle recipe was used.  Just my trusty, butter-stained, steam-wrinkled Betty Crocker that I got when I married, 11 years ago.

This part of the noodle-making process was tedious, and my helper lost interest.  He went to work, instead, on his friend Everett's Christmas present.  What little boy wouldn't love to open a handmade Ninjago banner for Christmas?  I assured Zion that Everett will love it.  It is now rolled-up and waiting under the tree.

Bright, on the other hand, spent his afternoon working on a romantic essay for home school about the dwarf seahorse.  Yes, I did say romantic.  Did you know that the dwarf seahorse, which is, incidentally, the slowest fish in the sea, forms monogamous pair bonds?  Neither did I, until Bright told me.

Okay, so the broth was ready after two hours, at which point I poured it through a sieve and began pulling delicious, fall-apart meat from the bones.  I added the meat back into the strained broth, along with four fresh carrots, peeled and sliced, and put the soup back on to simmer on medium-high for a half-hour, until the carrots were tender.  Then I added the noodles, which had been drying on a lightly-floured tea towel.  I left the noodles to boil, uncovered, until they rose to the top, and then I began testing them for doneness.  You want them firm but tender. 
The house smelled like Thanksgiving all over again.

And just about the time Daddy walked in the door, the preschoolers were up from their naps, and dinner was on the table.  I took my enzyme (to help me digest the wheat, garlic, and onion) and set to work devouring a huge bowl.  I needed it, too, because I'm fighting an early winter cold that WON'T QUIT.  Nothing like from-scratch food to feed the body and soul.