As far back as I can remember, my dad boiled turkey bones to make stock. Only, in our family, it was called broth and it was immediately used to boil egg noodles. We always looked forward to the day after Thanksgiving, when the house would be filled with the aroma of boiling turkey broth.
I loved watching him tear down the carcass, chop the onions and get the process started. Boiling it down to just the right flavor was of the utmost importance. You had to sacrifice the amount if you want rich-tasting broth. Too much often meant weak and watery flavor. When he was telling me how to do it, he would tell me to… “boil it down more, boil it down! Nothing worse than weak broth!”
Dad had hit or miss results (usually “hit”) – because he sometimes put so many noodles that the broth was dried up. He always cautioned me when I was boiling noodles from some of the leftover broth, not to put too many in, because “they soak that broth right up.”
For me, the noodles also remind me of his mother, my grandma Ariel. She was raised by a Pennsylvania Dutch grandmother and I can remember her making chicken and dumplings on Sunday afternoons. I’m sure my dad inherited the egg noodle/broth eating from her. For years, I never came across other families who ate their noodles in turkey broth, or who partook in our family’s habit of eating noodles boiled in canned beef boullion, either. Most of my friends just boil egg noodles in water. However, once they tried them at our house, they loved them.
This picture is from November 25, 2011, the day after Thanksgiving–the last one with my dad. He wasn’t too “with it” that day, but he did enjoy the noodles I boiled from the turkey carcass! I guess some things can’t be forgotten.
Memories of grandpa on a car trip…he hummed constantly.