The last lingering relatives have returned to the land whence they came, you’ve enjoyed the last slice of apple pie with your morning coffee, and once-proud Tom—now a shambles of bone, gristle, and dangling ribbons of skin—is taking up half the refrigerator. (Vegan friends, you may wish to bow out at this point. May I recommend 7 Hacks for a Very Vegan Holiday Feast?) Good environmentalist that you are, you don’t want to let any remaining nutritiousness go to waste, do you? Especially not when 50 million of your neighbors are food-insecure. Also, your holiday-jangled nerves probably need coddling. They need turkey soup.

So first we’re gonna make turkey stock. You’ll want some kind of large vessel for that—a stockpot if you have one. (Le Creuset is very good, but it might get you attacked by Fox News.) If the bird doesn’t fit, it must submit (in other words, just cut up or smash the carcass until it does). Be sure to include any leftover wings, necks, and legs. Cover with water by a couple of inches and bring to a boil, preferably on your nice clean induction cooktop.

I’m warning you now, there will be scum. (Vegans, I told you that you weren’t going to like it here.) After the initial boil, an unappetizing gray goo is going to rise to the surface. That’s good, because then you can get rid of it (in the compost, of course). Reduce the stock to a simmer and then use a big spoon to skim the scum. The more you get, the clearer your resulting broth will be.

Next you need some “aromatics,” by which is meant flavorings like onion, leeks, scallions, parsley, bay leaves, thyme, peppercorns, things like that. This is a good opportunity to clean out that vegetable bin in the refrigerator. A carrot or two would go nicely, as would a couple of ribs of celery. Don’t overthink this stage—it’s very hard to go wrong. (Exception: adding too much salt. Taste, taste, taste! You can always add more salt later, but you can’t take it away.)

Now return the broth to a steady low simmer, then go on a nice hike or bike ride. How long? I dunno, how long you got? We’re talking preindustrial technology here; it ain’t rocket science. If I’m making a big pot of stock, I sometimes leave it to cook overnight. But if you’re in a hurry, an hour or two should do the trick. 

When you think the carcass is sufficiently cooked, run it through as fine a strainer as you have. If you only have a colander, run the stock through that once to remove the big chunks (save the chunks!), then run it through again, this time with the addition of some cheesecloth. When the turkey bones cool down, you can pull off any remaining meat to either add to the soup or hold onto as a treat for dogs and cats. All the rest goes in the compost, if you’re lucky enough to have a municipal program that takes anything organic. If you only have a backyard pile, keep the bones out of it or you’ll have a rat problem pronto.

To finish the soup off, return the broth to a boil in a clean pot, adding chopped-up carrots, celery, potatoes, turnips, what have you. Also, any reserved too-good-for-the-dog meaty bits. For some reason, barley is a traditional element of turkey soup, but be wary of adding it directly to the pot—I once added too much and ended up with a gallon of solid mush. It’s far better to cook the barley separately, then add it to the bowls when serving. Throw in a salad and some bread, and say thanks to the turkey for providing yet another fine meal.