I could if I wanted.

Not many things make me feel as smug about my cooking skills as making my own chicken stock from a chicken I roasted myself that we ate for dinner two nights previously. Although, if I had actually raised the chicken and then slaughtered and plucked it before roasting it, that might increase my smug factor. Yes, I realize it's unwarranted. Anyone can throw a chicken carcass into a pot with unpeeled vegetables and let it simmer on the stove for four hours. But tell that to the homemaker in me and it will go unheard. So, sometimes I open the freezer and survey the individual containers each containing one cup of frozen homemade chicken stock and I sigh in satisfaction. We might get take-out pizza once a week, but those frozen containers mean I could whip something homemade and fabulous out of nothing at a moment's notice. I just choose not to.