Home cooks learn pretty quickly that homemade broth is a treasure, making as much of a difference in a finished dish as, say, decent parmesan cheese as opposed to the vile stuff in the shaker box. We eat so little meat around here that I ration broth as a precious nectar.
So I just have to get this off my chest. When we were in California, we made enchiladas, using a convenient rotisserie chicken. From the carcass, we made a yummy broth, for which we did not have an immediate purpose. As our time there wound down, I looked with anxiety at the broth. I made tortilla soup for lunch with about 1/3 of it. The rest languished.
I asked my sister-in-law if I should freeze the rest. No, she said, we'll give it to Pixie.
Pixie is the DOG. Somehow, I just don't think Pixie fully appreciates homemade broth.
This event recapitulates another. In my role as advice-giver and nag, I was explaining to a colleague who is always lamenting her money problems, hatred of cooking, over-reliance on fast food, and lack of time, how to solve all at once. She had a slow cooker, so I told her to buy a pot roast. I explained that the pot roast, plus one onion, and a little water, would yield several meals for her and her children. Day 1: success! For Days 2 and 3, I explained, she would eat left-overs the first day, followed by a beef and whatever (pasta, barley, vegetable) soup made with the abundant broth the slow cooker yields.
Oh, she said, we have no left overs.
The second day, I fed the pot roast to all the little boys who came over after school.
OKAAAYYYYYYYYYY. But what about the broth?
Oh, she said, we gave it to the dog. He looked so hungry while we were eating the pot roast.
Thank you for letting me get these upsetting events off my chest. Now I can move on.
And Dog People, am I a bad person to deny dogs homemade broth?