Let Me Tell You About Chicken Necks and Feet

You know, if you’d told me a few years ago I’d be writing up my chicken necks and feet recipe (of all things!) I’d have probably laughed and gone back to scrambling eggs for dinner. But honestly, this has become one of those dishes I pull out when the weather’s gone sideways, or when I want that old-school, stick-to-your-ribs kinda meal that smells like Sundays at my gran’s place. My cousin still teases me for the time I tried to make this in a pressure cooker and ended up with, well, let’s call it ‘chicken paste.’ Anyway, here’s how I’ve figured it out over the years. If you’re squeamish, I promise, the magic is in the flavor (and the stories you get to tell after).

Why You’ll Love This (Well, I Do!)

I make this when I’ve got a bag of bits in the freezer and not much else. My family goes a bit mad for it, mostly because it turns into that silky, rich broth you want to dunk your bread in. Plus, let’s face it, there’s something satisfying about using every last bit of the chicken (less waste, more taste, right?). Sometimes I get annoyed peeling all those little claws, though. But hey, that’s what podcasts are for.

What You’ll Need (and What You Can Swap)

1 kg chicken necks and feet (if you’ve only got necks or just feet, that’s fine—just adjust quantities; my gran swore by feet for gelatin, but honestly, both work)
1 large onion, roughly chopped (I’ve used shallots when I’m feeling fancy, or—don’t tell anyone—a scoop of onion powder in a pinch)
2 carrots, sliced thick-ish (parsnips work if you’ve got them, but not everyone’s a fan)
2 celery stalks, chopped (I skip this if I’m out; it’s not a dealbreaker)
4 garlic cloves, smashed (sometimes more if I feel a cold coming on)
1 thumb-sized piece of ginger, sliced (or a splash of apple cider vinegar instead—learned that trick from Serious Eats)
2 bay leaves
Handful of black peppercorns
Salt to taste (I start light and fix it at the end)
Water, enough to cover everything in your pot (about 2.5 litres usually)
Optional: A splash of soy sauce or fish sauce (for umami—my sneaky addition)

How I Actually Make It (With My Odd Habits)

First, I rinse the necks and feet in cold water. Necks are simple, but feet need their little claws snipped. Honestly, sometimes I skip the snipping when I’m in a rush. If you’ve bought them from an Asian grocer, they might be ready to go.
Put everything (all the bits, veg, spices) into your biggest pot. And yes, just dump it in—no need to be precious.
Cover with cold water, then bring it up to a gentle boil. This is where I usually wander off, forget about it, and come back to a bit of a mess. Skim the foamy stuff (scum? not a nice word, but that’s what it is) off the top with a spoon.
Drop the heat to a simmer. Cover and let it burble away for at least 2 hours. Sometimes I go longer if I’m distracted, or shorter if I need dinner pronto (but it’s always better slow).
About halfway through, I sneak a taste. Don’t worry if it tastes bland—that’s normal. It’ll come together in the last hour, promise.
Strain everything out—careful, it’s hot. I use a big colander over a bowl, but if you don’t have one, a slotted spoon and a steady hand will do. Pick out the meat if you like (it’s fiddly, but good in soup or rice).
Season with salt, soy, or whatever else you fancy. Serve straight away, or pop it in the fridge for tomorrow (I think this actually tastes better the next day).

Notes From My Own Kitchen Fails

If it turns jelly-like when cold—congrats! That’s the good stuff. Don’t freak out. That means extra flavor.
Forgot to skim the scum? Me too, half the time. It just looks a bit cloudy, but tastes fine (at least, my family hasn’t complained yet).
Feet can make things a bit greasy. Skim some fat if you like, or keep it for frying potatoes. That’s what I do when I remember.

Variations I’ve Tried (and a Fail or Two)

Once, I tossed in a handful of dried shiitake mushrooms—worked a treat.
Tried adding star anise once. It was…let’s say “not my favorite”—a bit overpowering for me.
You can chuck in a few potatoes at the end and make it a one-pot meal (kids love this, or at least they don’t complain as much).

Equipment (And What to Do If You Don’t Have It)

A big stockpot is easiest, but I’ve actually done this in a slow cooker when my stove was acting up. Don’t have a colander? Just use a slotted spoon, but be steady or you’ll end up chasing bits round the counter. No shame in using a bowl to catch spills—trust me, I’ve been there.

Storage (But Honestly, It’s Gone Fast at My Place)

Pop leftovers in an airtight container in the fridge. It should keep 3–4 days, though honestly, in my house, it never lasts more than a day! You can freeze it too—just leave room in the container so it doesn’t burst (ask me how I know…).

How We Like to Serve It (But You Do You)

I love it with crusty bread—proper bakery style, you know? Sometimes I ladle it over rice with a drizzle of hot sauce. My uncle puts a squeeze of lemon on his, which I used to think was odd, but actually, it’s not half bad. You could also go the full Bon Appétit route and add a handful of fresh herbs.

Pro Tips (Learned the Hard Way)

I once tried rushing the simmering step. Don’t. It ends up tasting thin and blah. Let it go slow—have a cuppa while you wait.
Try not to over-salt early on. It reduces as it cooks, so wait till the end. (I’m notorious for forgetting this and then wondering why it’s so salty)

Real Questions I’ve Been Asked (And My Honest Answers)

Is it weird to eat chicken feet? Nah, loads of people do. It’s a bit odd first time, but you get used to it. And honestly? The flavor is worth it.
Can I use a pressure cooker? You can, but it’s easy to overdo it and get mush. If you try, maybe check out this pressure cooking guide—I wish I had before my first attempt!
What if I don’t have necks or feet? Use wings, backs, whatever’s scrappy. It won’t be quite the same, but close enough. Actually, I find it works better if you mix a few different bits.
Why does it look so gelatinous? That’s the collagen. Sounds fancy, but it just means you did it right. Won’t win a beauty contest, but tastes lovely.

Oh, and before I forget, if you ever cook this for someone squeamish, maybe wait till after they rave about the flavor to tell them what was in it. Worked a treat for me last Christmas.