Chuck – Braised Chuck Roast

Hey. Hi, there. Remember me?

I used to cook stuff now and again, and then bore people to death by telling them about it in this space. How ya doin’?

Then everything blew up and I haven’t had ten minutes to think, let alone cook, shoot, or wax poetic.

But I’m back now.

And I’m taking a sick day from work because my son isn’t feeling well. He’s down for a nap now, which gives me an opportunity to stitch together a meal and update my little corner of the interwebs.

For today’s adventure, I’m relying on some guidance from my very old and dear friend Eben. I consulted him when I first began this project, and he was hugely helpful.

Eben is a hugely talented professional chef. He’s forgotten more culinary knowledge than I’ll ever learn. He played a large role in my beginning to think and care about food and fine dining, and if he hadn’t cooked that meal for my wife and I on our first date, she probably would’ve seen me for the mouth-breathing, Boyardee spaghetti-monkey I truly was, and ran like hell.

I’ve done plenty of pot roasts before, but E provided me some tips on braising I hadn’t previously used. So thank you again, Eben.

Let’s dance.

The meat in question is a chuck roast. Two point two six pounds of beefy goodness. It comes off the chunk primal, which is the shoulder of the steer. It’s a big primal, and it works like hell moving the beast hither and yon. Does lots of work = lots of connective tissue = potentially tough yet potentially very flavorful.

Slow, low, moist cooking (i.e. braising)  breaks down said connective tissue into gelatin, which is what deliciousness is made of. Go too fast or too hot, and it’ll stay intact as collagen, which is fantastic for plumping the lips of rich cougars, but tastes like chewy garbage on the end of a fork.

The “moist” bit will be achieved with a moderately priced red wine, accompanied by mirepoix veggies (2:1:1 Onions:Carrots:Celery, if you’re keeping track.) We’ll keep it simple.

Alright. Prep’s done. Meat’s thawed.

Mise is tres simple:

First, we dust with seasoned flour and sear.

Like a big, fluffy meat pillow.

What do we mean by sear? It has nothing to do with “sealing in the juices.” In general, it’s a little oil in the pan, high heat, and judicious turning so all sides are golden brown. The high heat guarantees heat doesn’t go too far into the meat. But what it does do is create delicious amines on the surface of said meat which our taste buds appreciate. It’s all about flavor. You’ll be sorry if you skip this.

Then what kind of oil? The choice is yours, but you would be well served to know your oils. Different oils have different smoke points, beyond which they degrade and have limited (or detrimental) use. Since I’m searing here, I’m using Canola. It’s a highly refined (and thus both flavorless and damn-near indestructable, i.e., high smoke-point) oil. If you used extra-virgin olive oil here, it’d smoke (and degrade) at too low a heat for my purposes.

Roast is seared. Photo is blurry.

Squint.

My guidelines say to ensure that the braising liquid is hot before adding to pan. I have to do it slightly differently, because I’m committed to this pan as a cooking vessel, so I evacuate the meat to a foil-tented plate and add the liquid and mirepoix to heat. I also toss in a few cloves of garlic, and some dried basil and thyme, scraping the bottom of the pot to release the fond. I would have preferred a bouquet garnis, but I can’t pop out to the store right now, becuase my son is still asleep. Thou shalt not fuss with a sleeping sick baby.

I also preheated the oven to 300.

Meat into the liquid. Meat’s very warm, liquid is simmering. My math mojo worked out, so the meat is three quarters covered.

Into the oven.

I check it about three hours later. Looking good. Not quite ready yet, but close enough to start on some rice.

Twenty minutes later, and we’re definitely in the ballpark. I pull the meat, foil it on a spare plate, kill the oven, and stash it back inside. There’s enough residual heat in there to keep dinner from dying.

Time to reduce the sauce. Lid off. Heat on full. Go, go, go.

Sauce reduced to gorgeousness, I pull the rice and put a couple scoops in two bowls. Then the roast, in pieces. Then the sauce, strained of all the chunks.

Giddyup.

Dinner is served. Next time I’ll do up some veggie side-action. This is not next time.

As per E’s words of wisdom, the starch of the rice is a fantastic sop to all the loveliness that is a side effect of a braising liquid, reduced to golden gorgeousness.

There are no sides to this dish, per se. But that’s my thing… If I’d wanted sides, I would have made them.

Historically, I’ve dropped a few potatoes into the braising liquid with the meat, and served them with the main dish. I skipped that this time, and I don’t think I’m the poorer for it. There’s something to be said for a differently-cooked starch to accompany a braised meat.

First, there’s the texture difference. Braised potatoes feel different in your mouth than steamed rice. Next, taste. If I braise something in the meat’s liquid, they contribute to the dish’s overall profile and meld their flavors. If I do a starch up separately, I get to add an unaffected counterpoint. I like that.

Verdict: Simple, yet wonderful. I used a bare-bones approach, but the end result was also a strong argument for a bare-bones approach. This, dear friends, is simple, lovely food. So simple I feel slightly stupid writing about it, but so good I’d feel silly not to.

The Wife Says: For aroma coming home from work? Twelve out of ten. Everyone should come home to this.

Eight out of ten overall, quoth she. She is both gentle and wise.

Quoth I: whatever you leave momentarily on the plate, I will devour. And whatever I miss, our dog Basil will disappear. This is crazy good.

Quick! Look over there. What?

I’m very glad I did this today. And E’s guidelines are a very solid base to explore further braising. Which is exactly what he intended, and exactly what I intend to do.

Next: That’s no moon! It’s a space station!