Consider this:

Bone Broth Blues

My good pal, whom I’ll call Janet, has been making bone broth for years, thanks to friends of hers who supply her with bones from their small herd of organically raised cows. After listening to Janet rave about this curative concoction, I decided to accept her offer of a few bones and brew some broth myself. (Note to reader: I regularly make chicken stock, and I have no idea if or why it’s considered inferior to the bovine variety. But based on how much Whole Foods et al. charges for beef-based bone broth, mine is either sadly lacking something or we’re all buying a load of hooey. Perhaps literally. Just saying.)

Janet tells me she’s on her way with fresh bones. I’ve got a few gallon-sized bags at the ready, and I’ve rearranged my freezer to make room for the incoming delivery. Then I open my front door and see Janet straining to lift a bulging, black, industrial-strength garbage bag. I quietly slip the freezer bags back in the drawer.

Inside Janet’s dark sack is a bloody carcass. Well, parts of a bloody carcass, anyway. Oh look! There’s a femur. Why, hello, tibia! I see bits of red and white marbled flesh still clinging to the pure white bones.

This is where I admit I’m a vegetarian in spirit. And I spent fourteen years as a vegetarian in practice. I really, really don’t like touching, preparing or even thinking about meat (I’m looking at you, raw chicken). Even eggs can make me squeamish (what is that weird squiggly thing attached to the yolk, anyway?). If it weren’t for my family members who love nothing more than burgers and steak, I’d pretty happily live on veggies, grains and a few bites of Brie. So right now, peering into the trash bag filled with the heavy, iron-infused odor of raw meat, I feel a little ill.

Regardless, I rearrange my freezer once again. I manage to stuff in the bulky black bag and shove the drawer closed. For the next two days, I periodically open the freezer a crack, peek inside and then slam it shut. When my husband complains there’s no room for ice cream, I haul out the bones and get to work.

The bones are so big they stick out several inches above the top of my tallest soup pot, which I’ve filled with water, onion, carrots, bay leaves, garlic and seasonings, plus a couple tablespoons of white vinegar. Vinegar, Janet assures me, is critical for drawing out the marrow. Marrow, apparently, is where the magic lies. I try to think about other things – like lentils – and turn up the heat under the pot. When the broth starts to bubble, the stench of boiling bones fills the house. Janet tells me I’m to cook this stinky stock for 24 hours. About ten minutes in, I start to gag. I open every window in the house.

“What died in here?” demands one of my boys, coming into the kitchen in search of snacks.

“Something smells disgusting,” declares the other.

I don’t disagree. But then I think about all the incredible health benefits that only bone broth can provide: protection from winter colds! Immunity against Zika! Higher I.Q.! Okay, I made up the last two, but I’m determined to find some reason to keep my odiferous elixir simmering for two days straight. I’m going to finish what I started, dammit (Janet).

After two days of constant cooking (plus constant complaining about the smell from my family and constant lurking near the stove by my dog), I declare the bone broth done. Janet asks how it tastes.

“Great!” I lie. Truth is, I simply cannot bring myself to sample what I’ve been simmering around the clock. My inner vegetarian, who finds this entire process somewhat revolting, is revolting. And I haven’t even completed the next fun step: Refrigerating the broth so a thick, dense layer of white cow fat can coagulate on top, which I will then scrape off.

“Don’t throw away the tallow,” says my dad, a dedicated carnivore whose been tracking my bone broth adventure with interest. “That ‘beef butter’ is liquid gold!”

“I’m sure you right,” I tell him as I scrape it into the garbage. Gross.

Another 24 hours later, I’ve strained, measured and poured my bone broth into individually labeled freezer bags, all ready to serve as the base for soup or for sipping straight. Problem is, I still haven’t tasted it. Frankly, I’m not sure I will. (I gave a little to my dog, though, and she seemed to like it. Which is nice.)

Turns out for me, making bone broth was one of those life experiences that you have to go through – all the way through – to figure out if it’s right for you. Now that I’ve done it, I’m officially declaring that bone broth just ain’t right for me.

On the other hand, kombucha. Seems this fermented, vinegary drink also has magical powers, and no living creatures (let alone carcasses) are involved in the making of this beverage. Unless you consider Symbiotic Cultures Of Bacteria and Yeast (SCOBY) to be living creatures.

Which I don’t.

I think.

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Cook this:

Cinnamon Applesauce Muffins (G.F.)

Nothing smells better than apples and cinnamon baking happily together in the oven. Your nose and your taste buds will thank you for whipping up a batch of these super-easy cinnamon applesauce muffins, which are loaded with almond butter, flaxmeal and oats. For extra deliciousness, you can sprinkle a tasty streusel on top. I found the original recipe here (and I recommend checking out lots of other recipes on this great site!).

Cinnamon Applesauce Muffins

1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce

6 Tbs honey

1/4 cup creamy almond butter

1/2 cup oats

2 Tbs flaxmeal

1 egg

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

2 tsp cinnamon (I use a heaping teaspoon)

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp salt

1/3 cup raisins (optional)

Streusel topping:

2 Tbs quick oats

1 tsp brown sugar or coconut palm sugar

1 tsp coconut oil

1/4 tsp cinnamon

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Spray your muffin pan (I like making 24 miniature muffins, or you can use a standard nine-muffin tin) with cooking spray or rub each cavity with butter.

Prepare the streusel topping by combining all ingredients in a small bowl. I usually mix everything with my hands so everything’s thoroughly coated. Set aside.

Add all muffin ingredients except for raisins (if you’re using them) to a high-­speed blender or food processor in the order listed. Blend on high until oats are broken down and batter is smooth and creamy. Stir in raisins by hand, then pour the batter into prepared muffin pan. Fill each cavity about ¾ full. Sprinkle with a small spoonful of streusel topping.

Bake for 15 minutes, or until the tops of your muffins spring back when touched or a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Allow muffins to cool in pan for about 10 minutes before removing. You can store the muffins in an air­tight container for up to a week – but I’ll bet they’re long gone by that time.

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Read this:

The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate

John Newbery Award, 2012

AND

Half Brother by Kenneth Oppel

ALA Best Book for Young Adults, 2011

This week’s recommendation is a two-fer, since both are about primates. The One and Only Ivan is a beautiful, poignant, quiet story of a gentle, artistic Ivan, a silverback gorilla who lives in dreary captivity in a sad, empty mall. Even though talking animals are not usually my thing, author Katherine Applegate gives Ivan and his friends (including elephants Stella and Ruby and a tenacious tiny dog, Bob) such strong yet understated personalities that I happily suspended all disbelief. Ivan is based on real events (well, not the talking part), and it is both heartwarming and heart wrenching at the same time. Don’t be fooled into thinking this illustrated book is strictly for kids. The One and Only Ivan is a tale will fill your heart no matter what your age.

On a related theme, my family and I recently spent eleven hours driving on the East Coast listening to an audio CD (is that redundant? I want to call it a “book on tape,” but of course, that no longer exists) of Half Brother by Kenneth Oppel. We were all transfixed by the drama of 14-year-old Ben, who shares his home and his parents with a chimpanzee named Zan. Ben’s father, a renowned behavioral psychologist, is trying to raise Zan as a human – specifically, to teach him to use language – in the name of cold, hard science. But Ben thinks of Zan as brother, not an experiment, and things get real complicated, real fast. This story of intense family dynamics is absolutely compelling.

Award worthy? We went bananas for both Ivan and Zan.