That’s What She Seder – Brisket

Shalom, interwebs.

Happy Passover to those of you who celebrate it, and Happy Holy Week to those of you who roll thusly.

Passover celebrates the events of Exodus, when Moses led the Hebrews from Egypt to Israel. Notable elements include the Ten Plagues inflicted on the Pharaoh, forty years in the desert, unleavened bread, eating mana (+2 to spellcasting!), receiving the Torah, parting the Red Sea, the casting of Charlton Heston, and a cast of thousands.

Jews today celebrate Passover with brisket, Manischewitz, and slouching. I enjoy all three of these things. As a result, we decided to put together an impromptu Seder for Monday night.

There is a small problem here, in that I am not Jewish. On a good day, I might be Jew-esque. But I’m not familiar with the intricacies of the Seder ritual. During the events of Exodus, my ancestors were out burning a Wicker Man, or dying in a bog or something.

So out of equal parts respect and ignorance, I’m skipping big parts of the Seder ritual. But for safety, I printed out some copies of Michael Rubiner’s Two Minute Haggadah from Slate. And I stapled them together on the right side, for accuracy.

Our dear friend Ellen passed along her recipe for The Best Passover Brisket Ever. Sunday, I shop for ingredients. Whole berry cranberry sauce, Lipton’s dry onion soup mix (oddly specific), a can of beer, and ketchup.

I am immediately concerned that none of these food items are natural foods.

Meh. What do I know? Off to the market.

So I learned a few things. When you’re shopping for Passover, there’s regular Goyim Chow, there’s Kosher, and then there’s Kosher for Passover (superkosher?).

I originally picked up a Knorr French Onion soup mix. Close enough for jazz, right?

Then I bounce over to the Kosher foods section. Everything’s here. Ketchup, matzo, gefilte fish… the works. And there, front and center are box upon box of Kosher for Passover Lipton’s dry onion soup mix.

Kosher. Duh. I check my box o’ Knorr’s. No circle-K. It may as well have a picture of bacon on it.

I also pick up some Manischewitz (both Concord grape and Blackberry. Seems like everybody loves the Concord) and some kosher dill pickles. What the hell.

Whatcha got here is a good ol' fashioned Manischewitz-off...

Back home, I thaw and survey my brisket.

Brisket is virgin territory on these pages. Each steer only has two, and I’ve been saving them. It’s the breast of the beast, between and in front of the two front legs. Only meat from the front half of the steer can be considered kosher – as a result this cut is especially associated with Jewish cuisine.

My brisket appears to be Second Cut – it’s triangular with a pronounced grain structure, and weighs a little over three pounds. (First Cut brisket is much bigger – 8 pounds-ish – and rectangular.) It’s about an inch thick, and flat. With its large grain structure, it looks kinda like a thick, triangular flank steak.

Brisket, since it does a lot of work, is tough but flavorful. It needs to be smoked or braised, and if you wreck it, you’ll really wreck it.

My recipe asks me to 1) mix ingredients, 2) dump ingredients onto brisket, and 3) cook brisket at 325 until soft but not falling apart.

Okay, wait. This recipe is essentially a braise. I’ve braised a lot. I know braising. First you sear, then cook low and slow in a flavorful liquid until connective tissue converts to gelatin, yada yada yada.

This recipe does not include a sear.

I confer with the Missus. “Honey?”
“Yes, dear.”
“This recipe doesn’t include a sear.”
“So?’
“So… it just seems like it should. And I’m thinking of adding some beef stock. I’m not sure this is enough liquid.”
“Whatever you want to do, sweetie. You’re clearly a Jewish matriarch, having grown up in a Jewish household and cooked this for your own family every Passover for decades. This is only supposed to be The Best Passover Brisket Ever. I’m sure you know best.”
“Valid point.”
“You’re over-thinking it. Just do what it says.”

Half can of beer, whole berry cranberry sauce, soup mix, and ketchup. Over the brisket in a baking dish. No sear.

Mise:

*Not the actual mise en place. I neglected to take a photograph.

By the way, this braising liquid is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s fizzy and fruity and chunky and strange. But nevermind. I must have faith.

Pretty.

Three twenty five until the brisket is soft but not insulted.

When it’s done, I pull the meat, slice, and return to the liquid overnight. In the morning, I’ll skim off the fat, and then reheat the brisket before dinner tomorrow evening.

Ellen suggests pairing it with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Amen to that.

I don’t usually post recipes on here, because I don’t own them. Instead, I link to them so that those who did the hard work to devise them get the credit they deserve.

Mashed potatoes, however, are one instance where I can list a recipe in its entirety.

Back in college, I worked as a freelance film grip on indie shoots throughout the midwest. That’s where I met Baconchef Ben, who was my key grip for most of them. I also met a gaffer named Ian, who may still be the tallest human being I’ve ever personally met.

Anyway, Ian liked potatoes. He gave me a great recipe for mashed potatoes, and I’ve tweaked it over the years to produce one of my go-to dishes for whenever I’m asked to bring a side to any sort of dinner event.

Jared’s Mashed Potatoes*:

Boil five pounds of potatoes until appropriately soft. Drain. Add one 8oz brick of cream cheese, one cup of sour cream, two teaspoons of onion powder, a teaspoon-ish of kosher salt, two teaspoons-ish of garlic powder, (preferably white) pepper to taste, and two tablespoons of butter. Mash. Butter a 9×9 inch baking dish, and fill with the potatoes. Store until a half hour before dinner. Then, peak the potatoes with a fork, and bake at 350 for a half hour, or until the peaks are just barely golden brown and delicious.

Potatoes refrigerated until dinner tomorrow. Ditto beef.

The Next Day

This is gonna be an easy meal. Essentially 1) reheat meat, 2) finish potatoes, and 3) grill some asparagus that has been treated with olive oil and kosher salt.

But we have a Seder to attend to.

We sit. I check out the two-minute Haggadah-esque document I printed out as a guide.

“Thanks, God, for creating wine. (Drink wine.)” Totally.

“Thanks, God, for creating produce. (Eat parsley.)” Huh?

Got no parsley. I have some week old cilantro, but no. Not gonna do it.

Dill pickles. This is the dill pickle course. Kosher dills. Done.

Four questions, four answers, four kinds of children… moving, I’m sure, in the proper context. Skipping for now.

Hiding the Matzo. All over it. Hey, kiddo… go look under the coffee table. Nice work.

It was hidden under a table. We took precautions.

Ten Commandments, Red Sea, Let My People Go… skipping ahead… slouching. Got it.

Mamacita, this is some sweet, sweet wine. What’s the residual sugar in this? Go on a bender with this stuff and you’ll wake up in Tijuana with a Star of David tramp stamp and type 2 diabetes.

Eat matzo. (Dang. I got merely kosher matzo, not superkosher. Good thing I’m only Jew-esque.)

A final glass raised in thanks, and dinner is served.

L'chiam.

Verdict: My wife was right to keep me from overthinking. The brisket is lovely. Sweet and slightly fruity, with just a hint of bitterness on the back end. Really delightful. I’m very glad I didn’t add any beef stock.

The potatoes and asparagus are old favorites, and exactly as we’d hoped. Ellen was right, they do pair very well.

The Wife Says: Really really good. I might actually eat leftovers. That’s saying  something.

In all, a lovely meal for a lovely evening. I would happily do this again. We didn’t get all the details right (or close to right), but we sat down as a family and shared a pleasant meal on a cool spring night. And sometimes – often, even – that’s enough.

Don’t over-think it.

—

[* recipe copyrighted, all rights reserved, blah blah blah, yabba dabba doo. Enjoy 'em, just say where you got 'em. ]

Chuck – Quick Chuck Roast*

*If ten hours is quick.

Good morning, internets.

I haven’t posted in a bit. We took a weekend trip to see sequoias, and then caught a truly gnarly stomach flu. I was incapacitated for a fair length of time and was able to neither cook nor eat.

However I did have a lot of lying-motionless-trying-not-to-breathe time, and used it thinking up new taglines for NyQuil.

“NyQuil: Knocks your ass out.”

“NyQuil: Sit down. Sit down NOW.”

“NyQuil: I said what? When did I say that? To your face? Really?”

I’m back up and running now. And this weekend looks to be a jumbo tub of crazy due to the upcoming holiday. So I’m gonna use this Friday morning to get dinner ready for Friday night. Then we can nosh on it all weekend.

I’m braising a chuck roast. I’m calling it a quick roast because it’s Friday morning before I head into the office. I have to get toddler, dog, and me ready for the day, and I don’t have a lot of time.

Chuck is the shoulder primal of the beef critter. Moves the animal around, works all the time. Very tough, but very flavorful. A long, moist cooking method will convert that connective tissue (which makes it tough) into gelatin (which makes it delicious), while preserving the roast’s abundance of beefy loveliness.

I’ve done a very similar dish before. This time, I’m going to try to improve on it.

On to the show.

Mise: Use your imagination. Seriously, I’m up against it here.

Toddler has yogurt and toast in the next room. He’s good.

Dog has succumbed to gravity. She’s good.

TGIF.

I chop a quick mirepoix. I’m using red onions because I’m feeling frisky.

I put some beef stock on to simmer.

I also slice two cloves garlic. Further, I have some green onions I got at the farmer’s market a few days back. I add them to the mix.

On to the roast. Generous amounts of salt and pepper, and, per my friend Eben’s suggestion, a liberal dusting with flour.

Quick sear on all sides.

Shoes on toddler. Food for dog. Shoes for me.

When the roast has a good sear, I set it momentarily on a plate and tent it with foil.

This is going to cook all day, so I can’t use an oven. I’m going crockpot with it, like Grandma used to do.

Veggies into crockpot, with enough stock to cover. I also toss in some ground cumin, ground thyme, and a bay leaf.

Roast in on top of the veg, and more stock. Enough to cover three-quarters of the way up.

Yes, I added more stock than this.

Pot set to low for ten hours.

I set up a quick series of booby traps and tiger pits on the front edge of the counter to make sure my dog doesn’t try to eat before I do.

Gotta go. Good morning, LA traffic.

–

On my drive home, I get a text from my wife: “It smells amazing in here.”

When I get home Friday evening, I can smell my roast from the yard. In a good way.

It’s been ten hours, so my roast should be more than ready. A quick peek, and yes. It’s falling apart. We’re in good shape.

I prep some polenta with some Parmesan. Another Eben suggestion from last time I braised chuck.

I pull the meat, stash on a plate,  and tent it with foil. Set aside.

Cooking liquid into a sauce pan. Reduce, reduce, reduce. Strain, et monter au beurre.

Plate: a scoop of Parmesan polenta, a few slices of beef, and a partial ladle of sauce.

Saucy.

Verdict: Okay, did I mention I could smell this from the yard? I was a little more aggressive with the cumin, and it worked out well.

I tried to improve on my last effort, and I think I succeeded. I managed my liquids a little better, and tweaked my spices a bit to the positive. And Eben’s cheesy polenta suggestion was a stroke of genius.

The meat was unctuous and lovely, with just a few savory notes from the onions and the herbs.

Braising in stock rather than wine was fascinating… it put the beef more out front, I think. In my previous effort, the acidity and the tannins of the wine were always lurking and commenting on the beef. Here, the beef was presented almost without counterpoint, with the veggies and the spices providing some nuance.

Then, paired with the parm polenta, hell to the yes. The sauce with the cheesy starchd was a big hit all around.

The Wife Says: She thought it was the best thing I’d made in a long time. I’ll take that.

Next up: Thanksgiving prep.

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!