Six steps, 36 hours

Every batch starts with grass-fed beef bones or free-range chicken bones from small farms in the Mafra region, an hour from Lisbon, just inland from the coast. Grass-fed and free-range because the quality of an animal's life shows up in what its bones give back. Better bones, better broth.

Then we roast them dark before the slow cook. Roasting is what turns a pale, thin liquid into something with real depth, and it's the step almost every commercial producer skips, because it costs an hour and a tray to scrub.

Matsu means "to wait" in Japanese. Thirty-six hours, every time.

In Chinese medicine, making bone broth is a practice as much as a recipe. The bones are prepared in stages before the long cook even begins, each step there for a reason.

And it's never boiled hard. Aggressive heat damages a therapeutic broth, so it sits at a gentle simmer for the full thirty-six hours instead. That's what lets the collagen break down into gelatine, the minerals leach out from deep in the bone, and the herbs give up everything they have.

Hot liquid and plastic don't belong together, so everything goes straight into sterilised glass while it's still hot.

Every batch is three jars. That's a week of meal replacements, or two weeks of morning cups. The jars are yours to keep, or send them back clean with your next order and we'll refill them. Good jars, like good broth, deserve a second life.