Surviving My Own Kitchen Nightmare

Recently I was encouraged to repeat what is undoubtedly the single most dedicated culinary endeavor I have attempted to this point: demi-glace.  I'd done it once before and it turned out just the way it should (or the way I think it should at least): a deep golden brown syrup with the scent and taste of the purest essence of roasted veal - that "something in the middle" flavor that adds richness and depth to nearly every French brown sauce, any soup or stew, and as I discovered last Thanksgiving, to turkey gravy.  What started as 20 pounds of veal marrow bones, mirepoix of leeks, carrots and onion, bouquet garni, a dollop of tomato paste, and 16 quarts of water became, after 35+ hours of roasting, simmering and skimming, a scant 4 cups of liquid magic. I was running low on my earlier batch, and the permeating smell of roasted veal had just reached the category of "faint memory" in my mind, so it seemed like a reasonable undertaking.

It all started out so well.  Bones (warning: this link is not for the squeamish): check.  Recipe: check.   30+ hours with which to focus on just one thing: check.  The vegetables were prepped.  The bones were roasted and the bouquet was garni-ed.      

That part was a snap - it only took about 30 minutes of chopping and 4.5 hours of roasting (in two batches because the recipe was doubled).  Next up: deglazing the roasting pan and commencement of simmering and skimming.  A breeze, right?!  NO! 

"The strength and concentration of your demi-glace will be determined by the length of time the stock simmers. For the minimum amount of extraction, it should simmer for at least 6–8 hours, but we recommend 12–24 hours for a richer, more gelatinous sauce...  Skim fatty froth from surface of stock with a ladle every 5–10 minutes during first hour of cooking to prevent it from clouding stock. After first hour, skim the stock every 30 minutes or so."    

 FOR 12-24 HOURS, PEOPLE!  Great - are we finished? NO!

"Simmer stock over medium-high heat, skimming occasionally, for 4–5 hours until reduced to 2 cups."

Oh. My. God. You skim and skim and skim.  When you can't stay awake anymore, you set your alarm clock to wake you up in an hour, you skim again, reset the alarm and fall back into bed.  An hour later you get up and skim.  You open all the windows in the place, even though it's February, just hoping for a little cross ventilation that doesn't smell like this stuff.  The entire time, of course, the smell is gaining intensity and infiltrating everything in every room that hasn't been shut off by a closed door with the distinct smell of roasted meat: your clothes, your hair, your skin. (I think it's this smell that I found so disgusting on late night BART rides home while sitting in the same car with a chef or line cook who had clearly just finished service.)  

You finally turn it off some 30+ hours later and wait for it to cool enough to put into small containers in the fridge.  This time there was just one wee problem.  After having spent one night as described above, I passed out on the second night and I left it on the stove, with no heat under it, for several hours - each passing minute bringing it closer to the Food Temperature Danger Zone and the dreaded bacteria that comes with it.

I wish I could adequately describe the shock and dread I felt upon waking at 6 am on Sunday with that realization flooding my brain as I scampered toward the kitchen to witness my own love's labours lost.  After all that time and devoted attention, however, I wasn't ready to abandon it.  It went into the waiting containers and into the fridge and I went back to bed.  When I woke up again it was decided:  I would not throw it out until I'd risked a bout with botulism by sampling some of it myself.  (visual relief from horrid story above.)

It took a couple of weeks (ok, a month) to get up the nerve to sample it.  How did I do it?  I swirled some in glass of warm water and drank it like a shot.  I quickly followed that with a glass of wine (ok, several) and a fine dinner of chicken piccata with puree of garlic potatoes.  I am happy to say I've experienced no facial paralysis or respiratory failure in the week that has elapsed and I am looking forward to finding many delicious uses for my magic elixir.  Drinking it as a shot is NOT one of them.