The Mother of Flavour: A Global Guide to Stock and Broth
From Korean master stock to French fumet, this is a simmering tribute to the heart of every kitchen, infused with memory, tradition, and the taste of time.
Stock - The Mother of Flavour
A good stock is the mother of flavour in the kitchen. She holds the essence of tradition, carrying the soul of countless meals before her and whispering secrets of the past into each simmering pot. She is a grounding presence, steady and rich, shaped by time and the hands of the cook who tends her.
A stock is more than just a base, it is the thread that connects generations of cooks, a silent custodian of the flavours of a region. A well-made stock captures the terroir of its ingredients, infused with the warmth of home, the patience of its maker, and the collective wisdom of the culinary traditions it represents. Whether coaxed from bones, vegetables, or the briny gifts of the sea, stock is a living memory of the hands that have stirred it and the tables it has graced.
A good stock does not rush. It waits, deepening in complexity, absorbing the layers of time and care, each slow bubble unlocking more of its essence. It is both a foundation and a flourish, humble yet irreplaceable, a quiet force that transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
In this guide, I’ll explore how to make essential stocks, chicken, fish, beef, vegetable, and mushroom, along with variations for different meats and seafood. We’ll also dive into stocks infused with regional flavours, from the classic French and Italian bases to the complex broths of Vietnam, Korea, and China. To finish, we’ll discuss storage methods and the pros and cons of commercial stock powders.
The Tradition of Perpetual Broths
Some broths are not just made, they are nurtured, tended, and continuously replenished, creating an evolving elixir of flavour that deepens with time.
I recall one evening in Seoul, during my time studying the History of Korean Medicine at Kyung Hee University. The rain had turned the streets slick with reflections of neon signs, and I had taken a wrong turn, wandering into a quiet, unfamiliar part of the city. Just as unease began to creep in, I saw a warm, golden glow from a fogged-up window. Inside, a traditional Korean restaurant housed a massive vat of simmering broth, its copper sides shining as steam curled upwards, filling the space with a deep, umami-laden scent. I learned this was a Korean master stock, kept alive for years, each day drawing from it and replenishing it with fresh ingredients, an unbroken thread of flavour linking every meal it touched.
This practice is not unique to Korea. In China, master stocks have been passed down for generations, used for poaching meats and imparting layers of spice and aromatics that build over time. A well-kept master stock is never discarded, only refreshed, its history preserved in the essence of every meal.
In Japan, a similar reverence is given to certain broths. Some oden broths in small family-run restaurants have been simmering for decades, their complexity deepened by years of careful tending. The broth carries the history of all the ingredients that have passed through it, an edible testament to time and patience.
Then there is the famous Wattana Panich beef stew in Bangkok, a bubbling cauldron of richness that has been continuously simmering for over 45 years. The restaurant adds fresh ingredients each day while drawing from the broth, ensuring that every bowl of soup carries the flavours of years past.
These perpetual broths are living things, growing more intricate with time, imbued with the hands and traditions of those who care for them.
