← Back to Blog

Turkey Stock — What Roberto’s Ceremony Leaves Behind

Thanksgiving. Year Two. And this year, for the first time, there are four of us at the table. Marcus, Jessica, Sofia, and Diego. A family of four. It still surprises me when I say it. Four. We take up more space now. The car has two car seats. The grocery cart has twice the diapers. The noise level has tripled (Diego accounts for approximately two-thirds of total household volume). But the table — the table has one more chair, and that chair changes everything.

The menu, refined from last year: smoked turkey (cherry wood this year, per the firehouse trial — the sweetness was confirmed), tamales (from the November early batch Mom made), my green chile cornbread dressing, Jessica's mashed potatoes (Diane's recipe, still unreasonable butter), cranberry sauce (still from a can, still non-negotiable), green bean casserole (shipped from Duluth, still frozen, still delicious), my mom's rice and beans, pumpkin pie (bakery, not homemade, I know my limits), and tres leches cake.

Jim and Diane flew in from Duluth. This was the first time they'd met Diego in person — they'd only seen him on FaceTime, which Diane uses with the technical proficiency of someone who learned it last month, which she did. Diane held Diego and cried. Jim held Diego and didn't cry but his chin did the thing that men's chins do when they're trying not to cry, and I recognized it because my chin does the same thing. Sofia showed them her dinosaur costume, which she insists on wearing for all family events regardless of appropriateness. Jim said "that's a fine dinosaur" with the absolute sincerity of a grandfather.

My parents came. Roberto looked at the table — twelve people this year, the most we've ever had — and said nothing, but his face said everything. His family is growing. His table is expanding. The cinder block grill in Maryvale was the start, and this — this house, this yard, this table with grandchildren and in-laws and a turkey I smoked myself — is where it led. He carved the turkey again, because that's his job, and he did it slowly, with the care of a man who understands that carving is not cutting. Carving is ceremony.

After dinner, I sat on the back patio with my dad, Jim, and Orozco (who stopped by for dessert because firefighters always know where the food is). Four men, four lawn chairs, the Phoenix sunset. Jim asked Roberto about the cinder block grill. Roberto told the story of building it in 1990 with cinder blocks from the Home Depot on 35th Avenue and rebar he got from a construction site. Jim said "we have a Weber in Duluth." Roberto said "I'm sorry." Jim laughed. Roberto didn't. I don't think he was joking. The cinder block grill is sacred. A Weber is a tool. There's a difference.

My dad carved that turkey slowly — the way he does everything that matters — and there wasn’t much left on the bone by the time twelve people had their fill. But the carcass? The carcass is where the cherry wood lives longest. The next morning, while Diego was doing his two-thirds-of-household-volume thing and Jim and Diane were still sleeping off the tres leches, I broke down what remained of that bird and started a stock. It’s the thing Roberto taught me without ever saying a word about it: nothing from a good table goes to waste. If the carving is ceremony, this is the quiet part after — the part that turns one feast into a week of meaning.

Cherry Wood Smoked Turkey Stock

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 3 hrs 30 min | Total Time: 3 hrs 45 min | Servings: Makes about 3 quarts

Ingredients

  • 1 smoked turkey carcass (from a 12–14 lb bird), broken into large pieces
  • Any reserved drippings or pan juices from the smoked turkey
  • 2 large yellow onions, quartered (skin on)
  • 4 medium carrots, broken in half
  • 4 celery stalks, broken in half (include leafy tops if you have them)
  • 1 whole head of garlic, halved crosswise
  • 3 dried bay leaves
  • 1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns
  • 4 sprigs fresh thyme (or 1 teaspoon dried)
  • 4 sprigs fresh flat-leaf parsley
  • 1 teaspoon kosher salt (start light — smoked carcasses carry salt)
  • 5 quarts cold water

Instructions

  1. Break down the carcass. Snap or cut the smoked turkey carcass into pieces that will fit comfortably in your largest stockpot. Include any reserved neck, backbone, or wing tips from the original prep. If you have drippings saved from the smoker or resting pan, add those too — that’s where a lot of the cherry wood flavor hides.
  2. Cold-start the pot. Place the carcass pieces in a large stockpot (8-quart or larger). Add the onions, carrots, celery, garlic, bay leaves, peppercorns, thyme, and parsley. Pour in 5 quarts of cold water — cold water helps draw out flavor gradually and keeps the stock clear.
  3. Bring to a bare simmer. Set the pot over medium-high heat and bring slowly to a simmer, about 25–30 minutes. Do not let it reach a rolling boil. As it heats, use a ladle or large spoon to skim any gray foam that rises to the surface — this is especially important in the first 15 minutes.
  4. Simmer low and long. Reduce heat to low and maintain a very gentle simmer — just a bubble or two breaking the surface every few seconds. Cook uncovered for 3 hours. The smoky sweetness of the cherry wood will deepen into the liquid as it reduces. Resist the urge to rush this.
  5. Strain the stock. Set a fine-mesh strainer lined with cheesecloth (or a clean kitchen towel) over a large bowl or second pot. Carefully ladle or pour the stock through. Discard the solids. Let it rest 10 minutes so fat rises to the surface.
  6. Skim and taste. Use a wide, flat spoon to skim excess fat from the surface, or refrigerate overnight and lift the solidified fat cap off the next day (easiest method). Taste for salt and adjust. The stock should be rich, subtly smoky, and deeply savory without being salty.
  7. Store or use immediately. Use the stock right away for soup, gravy, or tamale masa. To store: refrigerate in airtight containers for up to 5 days, or freeze in 2-cup portions for up to 3 months. Label with the date — this stock is too good to lose track of.

Nutrition (per serving, approximately 1 cup)

Calories: 38 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 1g | Carbs: 2g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 210mg

Marcus Rivera
About the cook who shared this
Marcus Rivera
Week 86 of Marcus’s 30-year story · Phoenix, Arizona
Marcus is a Phoenix firefighter, a husband, a dad of two, and the kind of guy who'd hand you a plate of brisket before he'd shake your hand. He grew up watching his father Roberto grill carne asada every Sunday in the backyard, and that tradition runs through everything he cooks. He's won a couple of local BBQ competitions, built an outdoor kitchen his wife calls "the altar," and feeds his fire crew on every shift. For Marcus, cooking isn't a hobby — it's how he shows up for the people he loves.

How Would You Spin It?

Put your own twist on this recipe — what would you add, remove, or swap?