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Chicken Stock from the Sunday Roast Carcass

Chicken Stock from the Sunday Roast Carcass

Created by Chef Thomas

Yesterday's roast chicken, quietly transformed into a pot of pale golden stock, the kind of Monday morning ritual that turns leftovers into the foundation of a whole week's cooking.

Sauces & Condiments
British
Batch Cooking
Freezer Friendly
10 min
Active Time
3 hr cook3 hr 10 min total
YieldAbout 1.5 litres

There's a moment on a Monday morning, the roast from Sunday still picked-over on the side, the kitchen quiet, the kettle on, when you either bin the carcass or you don't. I don't. I never have. A roast chicken has one more gift to give and it would feel rude to throw it away before asking for it.

This is barely a recipe. It's a pot, some water, whatever vegetables are rattling around the bottom of the drawer, a bay leaf or two, and time. You put the carcass in, cover it with cold water, and let the morning do the rest. By lunchtime the kitchen smells of something gentle and old-fashioned, and by the end of the afternoon you've got a litre and a half of pale golden stock that will carry you through risottos, soups, a Wednesday braise, a Thursday grain bowl. The week's cooking, quietly underwritten.

I wrote it down in the notebook years ago and I've never bothered to revise it. "Monday. Carcass. Onion, carrot, celery, bay. Three hours. Jellied when cold." That was enough then and it's enough now. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. Use what you've got. Skip what you haven't. The stock doesn't mind.

What you get from this isn't the clarified consomme of a restaurant kitchen. It's better than that, because it belongs to your house. It tastes of your Sunday roast, the herbs you rubbed on the bird, the way the skin went crisp in your oven. It's the afterlife of a good dinner, and it makes the next three dinners better.

The technique, the tradition, and the story behind every dish.

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Ingredients

roast chicken carcass

Quantity

1

with skin, wing tips and any pan juices

onion

Quantity

1 large

unpeeled, roughly quartered

carrots

Quantity

2 medium

scrubbed and roughly chopped

celery

Quantity

2 sticks

roughly chopped

leek top (optional)

Quantity

1

washed and roughly chopped

garlic

Quantity

1 head

halved across the middle

bay leaves

Quantity

2

parsley stalks

Quantity

small handful

black peppercorns

Quantity

6

sea salt

Quantity

1 teaspoon

cold water

Quantity

around 2.5 litres

enough to cover

Equipment Needed

  • Large stockpot, 5 litres or bigger
  • Fine-mesh sieve
  • Ladle
  • Storage tubs or containers for freezing

Instructions

  1. 1

    Break down the carcass

    Pull the carcass apart with your hands. Don't be precious about it. Crack the ribcage, snap the backbone, tear the legs from the body if they're still attached. You want everything broken down enough to fit into the pot and sit below the waterline. Any scraps of skin, the wing tips, the bits of meat nobody bothered with at dinner, all of it goes in. Scrape the roasting tin too. Those sticky brown bits at the bottom are the whole reason this stock will taste of something.

    If the roasting tin has a pool of fat and jelly left behind, tip the lot in. The jelly is pure flavour. The fat will rise to the top later and you can lift it off then.
  2. 2

    Into the pot

    Put the broken carcass in a large stockpot with the onion, carrots, celery, leek top if you have one, the halved garlic, bay leaves, parsley stalks, peppercorns and salt. No need to peel the onion. The skin adds colour and it's all getting strained out anyway. Cover everything with cold water by a couple of inches. Cold, not hot. You want the flavour to draw out slowly, not seize up.

  3. 3

    Bring it up slowly

    Set the pot over a medium heat and bring it to a bare simmer. This shouldn't be a rolling boil, ever. A boiled stock goes cloudy and tastes thin. You want the surface barely trembling, the occasional lazy bubble breaking through. When the first scum rises, skim it off with a spoon and discard. After that, leave it alone.

    Trust your nose. Once the kitchen starts to smell properly of chicken and bay, you know it's doing what it's supposed to. That smell is the whole point of a Monday morning.
  4. 4

    Let it go

    Three hours, give or take. Lid slightly ajar. Check on it now and again, skim if you need to, top up with a little hot water if the level drops below the bones. Otherwise, leave it alone and get on with your morning. Read the paper. Write a letter. The stock doesn't need supervising, it needs patience.

    You can push it to four hours if you like, but there's a point of diminishing returns with a cooked carcass. The bones have already given up most of their flavour in the roasting. This isn't a twelve-hour bone broth. It's a gentle, honest stock and three hours is plenty.
  5. 5

    Strain it

    Set a large sieve over a clean bowl or pot. Ladle the stock through, then tip the rest through in stages, pressing very gently on the solids with the back of the ladle. Don't mash. You want the liquid, not the pulp. Discard the bones and vegetables. They've done their job. What you're left with should be a pale, clear, golden liquid that smells like the kind of thing you want to drink straight from the ladle. Taste it. If it's underseasoned, that's fine, you'll season it again when you use it. Stock is a starting point, not a finished thing.

  6. 6

    Cool and store

    Let the stock cool down on the side until it's no longer steaming, then move it to the fridge. Once it's properly cold, a layer of fat will have set on top like a pale cap. Lift it off with a spoon, or leave it there as a seal if you're freezing the stock in tubs. Underneath, if your chicken was a good one, the stock will have set to a soft jelly. That's exactly what you want. Jellied stock is the sign of a job done properly.

Chef Tips

  • The better the chicken on Sunday, the better the stock on Monday. A proper free-range bird has bones and connective tissue with flavour to spare. A cheap bird gives you a thin, pale stock that tastes of very little. This is one of the quiet arguments for spending a bit more on the Sunday roast: you're buying two meals, not one.
  • Don't be tempted to add tomato, wine, star anise, soy sauce, or any of the other things that turn up in recipes trying to make stock more interesting. A Monday chicken stock is a neutral, useful thing. Keep it plain and it will work in almost anything you cook this week. Season it when you use it, not now.
  • Freeze it in useful portions. I do a few in 500ml tubs for soups, a few in ice cube trays for deglazing pans and finishing sauces. Label them. You think you'll remember what's in the freezer, but you won't, and a mystery tub of brown liquid in February helps nobody.
  • If the stock tastes weak after straining, don't panic. Put it back on the heat and let it reduce by a third. Concentrating is always an option. Diluting isn't.

Advance Preparation

  • The stock keeps in the fridge for up to four days. If you haven't used it by then, bring it back to a simmer for a few minutes and it'll keep another two or three days.
  • Freezes beautifully for up to three months. Freeze in a mix of portion sizes: 500ml tubs for soups and risottos, ice cube trays for sauces and pan deglazes.
  • If you can't face making stock on Monday, freeze the bare carcass whole in a bag and make the stock the following weekend. It loses nothing in the waiting.

Frequently Asked Questions

Nutrition Information

1 serving (about 250g)

Calories
30 calories
Total Fat
1 g
Saturated Fat
0 g
Trans Fat
0 g
Unsaturated Fat
1 g
Cholesterol
5 mg
Sodium
390 mg
Total Carbohydrates
2 g
Dietary Fiber
0 g
Sugars
1 g
Protein
3 g

Note: Chef personas and recipes are created with AI assistance. Cook with care: follow safe food-handling practices, check doneness with a thermometer when needed, and adapt for allergies and your kitchen.

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