Inventory Soup

Noticing the contents of my refrigerator looking a little unruly, I decide that today's a good day for a cleanup, and that includes digging to the bottom of the produce drawer. I always enjoy recovering the neglected and forgotten vegetables. Quite often, given a little cleanup, like removing wet outer leaves from leeks, these homely bits can become marvelous nuggets of flavor. I know of no better way to tackle this small housekeeping chore than to make soup. I call it "moving the inventory."

Given that there is a small, 3 1/2 lb bird in the fridge, today's soup will be chicken with vegetables. Since there's a NYC blizzard raging outside the window, I'm taking an all-afternoon, slow-cooked rich chicken broth approach; no boiling allowed, just a long, fragrant, barely visible simmer.

Carrots, celery, onion, a garlic clove, of course, all coarsely chopped. Additionally, the aforementioned leek, a parsnip denuded, and a remnant of fennel, tidied up. Such a lovely pile -- I like to let it build on my cutting board before adding the entire mound to the pot of melting olive oil mixed with butter. Add (don't be shocked) a spoonful of turbinado sugar, sea salt, freshly ground pepper, and freshly grated nutmeg. After a few minutes of heat and stirring, just as the vegetables are melting and before even a bit of browning has occurred, I open up a small well inside the vegetables and plop in the chicken, top side down, for a bit of gentle browning directly against the pot bottom. Turn it right side up just as the skin takes on a golden hue.

At this point, into the pot I empty the remains of the Brita water pitcher (which needs cleaning); the final contents, about a cup, of last night's Riesling; the rest of the Kitchen Basics beef stock, a little more than a cup, in the container on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator; and enough fresh cold tap water to just barely cover the chicken and vegetables. Following the advice of Sara Jenkins and Mindy Fox ("Olives and Oranges"), I bring the whole pot to a bare simmer, add a little more water and reduce the heat enough to keep the whole at a very slight simmer. I toss in a gigantic bay leaf and a sprig of thyme, give a stir, and go out with Ben to walk the dog in our Winter Wonderland.

The lusciousness hits us as soon as we walk in the door. The whole apartment has turned into a fragrant den of savory aromatics. The pot's contents have turned a golden, saffrony yellow. Another two hours, total cooking 4 hours, and my little nuggets have turned to liquid gold. All that's needed now is some extra salt to taste. I throw in some dried fennel seeds as well. The poached chicken is so meltingly soft that I serve it, as is, for dinner, smothered in the vegetables and with a bit of broth to moisten the whole dish. Sublime. And there's a lot more room in the refrigerator.