Who are you? How did I get here?

It’s Monday. I think.

Time is an illusion.

There is only With Baby and Not With Baby.

Momentarily, I am Not With Baby.

The flood of family that followed the birth has abated. It was wonderful seeing everyone, and it is also wonderful having our house back to the latest iteration of “normal.”

While our families were here, we cooked beef. And they cooked beef. Unfortunately, I didn’t document this beef cookery for the same reason I haven’t shaved, slept regularly, or been in a room by myself for the past monthish.

So here’s a quick look at what we did. It isn’t the book, but it’s the Reader’s Digest condensed version of a text that doesn’t exist. Stay tuned for Humor In Uniform.

Pot Roast -

Somebody made it. Me? My mother in law? It was chuck.

I think it was my mother-in-law.

Ribeye, grilled quickly

I remember making this, but I don’t remember for whom or when. My camera says it was on October 12. Nice, camera. I always liked you.

Before.

Grill gets hot.

Brought meat to room temp. Salted about a half our before grilling.

Salt way in advance.

After.

Ribeye Hash

The day after I did the ribeye, I had leftover mashed potatoes, onions, and a semi-functional cerebral cortex, so I made a hash.

I based it on a corned beef hash – i.e., leftover steak, leftover potatoes (mashed, in my case). Also added onions, garlic for aromatics to bring it all together. Moderated the liquid content with some beef stock.

And scallions. Forgot those.

This may have been my wife’s favorite meal post-partum.

T-Bones, grilled quickly

New batch of fam, new batch of meals. We did a steak for my folks when they came to visit. T-bones.

Same deal as above. Bring to room temp, salt liberally, wait a half an hour or so, and slap them onto a grill like the surface of the sun.

I feel bad posting more steak photos. Wanna just scroll up and look at my ribeyes again? No? Okay, then.

Pretty.

Maillard-y.

I Suck

…because I can’t remember what this is.

Pot roast, for sure. Chuck, I believe. But I do not for the life of me remember which cut this is. (Readers?)

But I do recall that I seared it and braised it in beef stock with garlic, shallots, carrots, and probably something else.

I also sauteed some red cabbage in bacon fat and served that as well.

Sorry, people. Wasn’t sleeping much.

It's a mystery.

Everybody get braisey.

Plated.

Steak Salad

Sick of seeing steak yet? I’ll do something more interesting soon, I promise.

This was a crazy fast weekday meal some day that I had a meal on a weekday. I did a very quick grill on a NY Strip, sliced it thin, and served it over screamingly fresh farmer’s market romaine with red onions, Parmesan, and a crazy fast vinaigrette I whipped up.

This one is almost too simple to post about, but I’m not documenting almost an entire cow.

Besides, it was deceptively tasty. Which is a plus for a four-ingredient salad whipped up in about twenty minutes.

Mmm... Salad.

Dug the hell outta this.

And now you’re up to speed.

The Wife Says: Hungry. Cook more.

The Sheep Says: Baaaah.

The Zombie Says: Braaaaains.

Wait, what? Where was I?

Back soon.

Up Next: Jerky, baby.

Chuck – Beef Daube

Dayum.

They call it Labor Day. And year after year, it routinely kicks my ass.

I think it’s because it’s a three day weekend. And because of this, no staid, routine Weekend Activity will do. On a regular weekend, I may go for a walk. On a three day weekend, I go for a run. Weekend: nine holes. Three day weekend: Eighteen holes without a cart. Weekend: crossword puzzle. Three day: left handed brain surgery with a blade I knapped by hand out of chert.

This weekend is no different. It’s exhausting, but a good kind of exhausting. Dearly-loved houseguests we haven’t seen in forever, a wedding, and repairing my broken water main ahead of all that so that the aforementioned activities won’t be unduly affected.

But a guy’s gotta eat. Houseguests afford me the opporunity to use some of my larger hunks o’ critter, so I’m doing just that. And again, because of my SuperPregnant wife, a braise or long, slow roast is on le menu.

Alors! Let’s get our French on. My braise will consist of that Provencal classic, Beef Daube.

Beef Daube is a French beef stew whose name means “French beef stew.” Cubes of chuck, braised in wine with a mirepoix, herbs and some accoutrements. Traditionally, one is supposed to prepare the braise in a special dish called a daubiere, which I have absolutely no intention of doing, primarily because I don’t have one. But also, having a specialty pot for one dish and one dish only makes me twitch a little.

For those keeping score at home, I will be using Bittman’s recipe.

We’ll be braising chuck, the shoulder of the beast. Moves a lot, does a lot of work. Pronounced “beefy” flavor and tough as old leather unless you cook it for a very long time in liquid over low heat to melt all that icky collagen into delicious gelatin. Mine is a shade under three pounds.

Looks like:

Also, a braise gives me plenty of time to chat with my guests while the dish does that thing it does. Giddyup.

The mise:

First, Cubism.

I call this one "Three Musicians."

Olive oil and good bacon into the pot. Cooked over medium heat until crispy.

Fat rendered, I pull the bacon and brown the beef in the bacon fat/olive oil until appropriately Maillardy.

Beef browned, I pull it and introduce the veggies to the pot. There’s plenty of fat therein, so I don’t need to add anymore.

I sweat the mirepoix and garlic with fresh thyme, fresh rosemary, orange peel and a little salt to pull out some moisture.

When the onions are translucent, I add some wine and red wine vinegar, just until it bubbles.

(An aside: I used to be confused about “sweat onions until translucent.” They don’t actually become clear, as the description would suggest. At best, they become a little less opaque around the edges of each little segment of onion, and they release moisture into the pot in which they’re cooking. So they aren’t really “translucent”, as much as “translucent around the very edges.” Kinda like teeth. Which, if you look, are also ever so slightly translucent around the very edges. Seriously. Look closely at them. So sweat your onions until they look like teeth. I’m a weird guy. You’re welcome.)

When the liquid bubbles a bit, I add the beef back into the pot, cover, and forget about it for an hour.

Puppies!

This content is unrelated.

Back to it. I add the bacon back to the pot and check doneness. Needs more time.

Duckies!

More unrelated content, signifying the passing of time.

After another half hour, then hour, then hour and a half, we’re getting close. But we’re not quite there.

Also, it’s nine thirty. We fed the kids and shuffled them off to bed, but the rest of us are getting restless.

Twenty more minutes.

Bunnies!

Unrelated content signifying the passage of time... sexily.

Some bits are done, and some are not. I spot check doneness with a fork, and serve up the ready bits over brown rice with wine for those who aren’t pregnant. Milk for those who are. The rest of the dish stays on a low simmer to cook more.

Time of dinner: 9:50. I am a distinctly mediocre host, saved only by the tremendous grace and good humor of our dear friends.

The end result

The Verdict: A lovely dish, which I could have done better. It met universal acclaim, but hey. They’re my friends. They have to like me.

The texture of the meat was nice in the pieces we served, and only got better as we left the rest of the batch to simmer. Herby and floral, balanced with bacony undertones and the sweetness of the wine. Also, even better the second day.

The Wife Says: Yummy. Nice job, sweetie. We should make this again when we have more time.

What Did We Learn?: Start earlier. And be sure to dine with friends. Kind, patient friends.

Up Next: The sky’s the limit.

Rib – Crossrib Steak – I wing it.

I love Sundays.

Sunday afternoon is the denouement of my weekend. It’s where the entire thing resolves, we get our happy ending, and we move on to the next thing.

This is the first non-scheduled, stress-free Sunday I’ve had in quite a while, so I’m going to make the most of it. So mid-afternoony, I hop on my (dusty, cobweb covered) bike and head out to the market.

My bike is actually the fastest way for me to shop. I roll right up to the front and lock in front of the door (rockstar parking!), get what I need, and zip home. My ride is an Xtracycle longtail cargobike, so I can carry pretty much anything I could take in a car. No exaggeration. I’ve carried three cases of soda, flowers, and six full bags of groceries on the badboy. Occasionally I return shopping carts I find in the neighborhood. Now that I have two functioning shoulders again, I plan on using a lot more than I have been.

To the store. I buy some stuff. Among the stuff… ice cream. Buying ice cream when you’re on a bike can be a pretty ballsy move. You’re writing a check you hope your legs can cash. Today, I’m feeling it.

Home again. I unload the goods and the ice cream is hard as a rock. Rawr.

Time to cook. What do we have? I have several appropriately-sized packages for the meal I hope to make for my wife and son. I settle on a crossrib steak. What’s that? It’s a steak. Cut across the rib. I suppose. I don’t feel like looking it up right now. (Answers at the end.*) It’s about the right size, so that’s what I’m making.

A note: I also don’t feel like cracking a cookbook. I’m in a zone. I’m just gonna wing it.

Now. What do I do with the thing? Looking it over, it looks like it has a fair bit of connective tissue. So I’m gonna try a braise. Also, upon thawing, I notice there are two steaks in the pack. I’ll save the second for later and try something different later this week.

Did I expect two steaks? I did not.

Right. Braising. In what? I have beef stock, so I’ll go with that. I don’t really feel comfortable braising in wine, because (drum roll) my wife is pregnant! We’re expecting our second child, a daughter, in September.

So no braising in wine. Also, no rare steaks for a while. Back to the show.

Beef stock. I got it, it’s delicous, done. I chop up a quick mirepoix, add in some mushrooms, shallots and garlic, and I’m ready to rock.

Mise:

Since I’m braising, I salt and pepper fairly heavily and dredge the meat in flour.

Off to the Dutch for a quicky sear.

I know the meat’s seared when it has a hard, golden brown crust and the fire alarm goes off. I set it aside to cool its jets.

A little more olive oil, and in with the vegetation. Meat on top like it’s a little beefy hovercraft riding on a cushion of plants instead of air. On with the liquid. Bada bing.

Elapsed time, like, all of ten minutes. And the steak will braise until… it’s done? A while. I’m winging it.

Out to mow the lawn.

Lawn tamed, house smells great. Time for a treat.

...with artsy dutch angle.

Yes, I bought a Clamato beer, specifically for an after-mowing treat. I’ve never had one before. It’s beer, tomato juice, clam juice and lime. My beer has a warning on the can that it contains shellfish. This is a food item that simply should not be.

It’s so wrong. It’s so right.

I’m gonna grill some potatoes for a side, so I prep them for the party. Have I mentioned it’s a beautiful day? It is.

Stash the spuds in foil.

It’s been about an hour and a half. Steak’s like buttah. Stash it in foil, too. Note to self: I need to get more foil.

Sauce. Remove lid. Boil. You know, this clam/tomato/beer thing isn’t half bad.

Strain sauce. Plate and serve.

Verdict: Okay, yes. This is great. The steak is falling apart tender and this is easily the best sauce I’ve ever made to accompany a meat dish. I let it reduce further than I thought I should, as my sauces have wound up a little loose in the past. This is perfect. This coats the back of a spoon, and tastes like a hug wrapped in a backrub stuffed inside endorphins and dipped in chocolate. This one worked.

The steak is tender and luscious. The beef flavor is pronounced and vibrant, with a soft shallot note that I really dig. I used a lot of shallots.

Freshly cut lawn. Weird clam/tomato beer. Quality steak with a sauce I consider a personal best. Happy family. I can get down.

The Wife Says: Why don’t we do this more often?

It was also the perfect portion size for two adults and a kiddo. My two year old chowed down on this one. That’s saying something.

I love Sundays.

–

*Crossrib steak comes from the Chuck. It’s taken from above the rib, like a ribeye. This cut is just further forward on the beast than the ribeye. Of variable tenderness, so most books suggest marinating or braising. It’s primarily composed of a single muscle, and is frequently compared to a ribeye in terms of taste, but at a fraction of the price. There ya go. Now you know.

Next up: There were two in the package. Let’s see what we can do with the other one.

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/Round – Chili Brew Beef Stew with Floating Biscuits

Good afternoon, interwebs. Great to rap at ya.

It’s autumn here in the City of Angels, and the signs are everywhere. People wear scarves in fifty degree weather. Schools and civic groups begin to think about importing snow-making machines. And high above, it’s vaguely overcast. Maybe. If you squint.

I’m a Kansas kid and I love the fall, so I’ll take it when I can get it. My family and I went on a long bike ride yesterday in Santa Barbara, and I had to put a hoodie on over my t-shirt. I’ll take it.

Because it’s fall, we’re feeling like comfort good. But which? Is it cold enough for a stew? Chilly enough to knock out some Beef Bourginon? I know Los Angeles thins the blood, but I need to save the culinary big guns for when I really need it.

Thankfully, the Grassfed Gourmet cookbook has some options. I decide on some chili.

There are as many chili recipes out there as there are DNA sequences. Frequently, they call for ground beef. I’m not really interested in using ground beef today. I have some time and effort to spare. So I find a recipe in the Grassfed Gourmet that interests me.

It calls for “stew meat,” which I have and have used in this space before. However, it also calls for bones and/or oxtails. Fascinating. I’m saving my oxtails for something special, but I have plenty of stew meat and bones.

Plus, it calls for beer, biscuits and (weirdly) turnips. I’m onboard. Let’s see what you’re all about, Turnip Chili.

The mise:

Note the root veggies on the right.

The recipe calls for 1.5 pounds of meat in any combination of stew meat, oxtails, and soup bones. I have stew meat in one pound increments, so I have a half pound to do something or nothing with. I vote something.

I find a big soup bone that isn’t really suitable for roasting for marrow (go go gadget future plans!), and that weighs about a half pound. Ish.

One of these things is not like the other.

I dust everything involved in seasoned flour.

All the meat gets a quick sear in olive oil, including the bone. Set aside.

More olive oil, and the onion goes in for a sweat.

A little more olive oil, and in go the diced carrots and turnip.

My recipe calls for three carrots. My veggie delivery service this week provided peeled-and-washed baby carrots. I estimate.

Close enough for jazz.

And the turnip is still just weird to me.

Onions are just starting to brown. Back in with the meat and the bone.

In goes a can of beer, enough beef stock to cover, thyme, and a couple of bay leaves.

Boil, reduce to simmer, cover.

An hour and forty-five later, and the meat chunks are soft and lovely. I pull the bone, and throw together the rough biscuit dough for the topping. After I apply it, I stash the pot uncovered in the oven.

Fifteen more minutes, and everything is golden brown and lovely.

I can get down.

Plate.

Ah, fall.

Verdict: Some number out of some larger number. Frankly, I’m not where to start on this one.

First, it was lovely. The meat was braised nicely, the beef flavor was pronounced, and the biscuit was, quite frankly, a show-stopper. And my toddler son devoured it by the spoonful fistful.

For good or ill, I was not aware of any particular turnip presence.

But chili? Really? I wouldn’t call that. I’d call it a nicely done beef stew topped with biscuits.

Further, either my heat was a tad high, or the biscuits absorbed a fair bit of the liquid beneath them. Because the biscuits didn’t so much float on the “chili,” so much as they rested on it.

Still, if you’re looking for comfort food on something resembling a fall day, this is a fine choice.

The Wife Says: If you’re expecting competition-style Terlingua chili? 5 out of 10 peppers. She thought it had more in common texture-wise with stuffing than with chili.

However, if you’re interested in a hearty and fulfilling fall meal that’ll make the house smell delightful… 9 out of 10. It was delicious and satisfying, it just didn’t resemble her concept of chili.

However, I’d make this again. The beef really shone. And if I massaged it a bit, I think I could manage the liquid content better so that it didn’t remind anyone of stuffing.

The Son Says : Ten! But that’s because that’s the highest he can count, and he’s pretty excited about it.

Is this a turnip? In chili? Really?

I would, and will, make this again.

Next up: Everything goes all spangles and tarts.