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.

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!

Chuck – Machaca

Good evening, campers, and Happy Monday.

First, a thank you to those of you who wrote in with your beef suggestions. It sounds like people want to see some offal. I’ll get on it.

But not yet. I got another request, this one from my wife. And since she knows where I sleep, I do what she asks. And she asked for machaca.

Actually, she asked for spicy shredded beef of some variety for use in tacos and enchiladas. That’s machaca. (Take away the H, and it’s a 2006 political gaffe. Different beast. But I digress.)

Historically, machaca is a dried and preserved meat, kinda like beef jerky. When a cook uses it, they rehydrate it somewhat, pound the hell out of it to tenderize, and shred it.

I’m not trying to preserve this meat, so I don’t have to dry it. I can achieve a similar effect by braising it.

And by “it,” I mean chuck. I’m using a chuck roast – a roast cut from the chuck primal, or shoulder, of the beast.

The chuck primal does a lot of work moving the animal around, and so it has a lot of connective tissue. Since I’m braising it, all the connective tissue in the meat will have plenty of time to convert to delicious gelatin throughout the long, slow, moist cooking process. The braise, therefore, favors cheaper, tougher cuts of meat with more connective tissue – like chuck. But “cheaper” does not mean “less delicious.” The last time I used chuck on this blog, I well and truly wrecked it. I’m interested to see how it turns out when I don’t flamboyantly destroy a quality piece of meat.

Friday, I zip home and whip up a quick marinade. Worstershire, lime juice, garlic, pepper, cumin and some canned Chipotle in Adobo Sauce. That stuff is magic.

I let it soak overnight. Saturday, I slip out with some friends to catch some waves. Surfing is one of those activities that remain fun, even if you suck at it. Needless to say, it remained fun.

Back at the house, I’m salty, sandy, and ready to cook. I promised my wife this dish for dinner.

The mise:

I pull the meat from the marinade and gently pat it dry. I don’t mind if the chunky garlic bits stick to the meat, but I don’t want the liquid. Messes up the maillard reaction. A quick sear on all sides, and out it comes.

A diced onion, a poblano chile, and a jalapeno chile go in over medium for a little sweat. Looking for soft onions, not brown onions.

That done, the meat goes back in, along with cumin, oregano, a little cayenne-based pepper sauce, and some diced tomatoes.  I realized too late my tomatoes had gone south, so I cheated and used canned. I’m a horrible person.

Alright. The recipe I’m basing this on doesn’t recommend adding any more liquid to the pot. I think this is crazypants. I just don’t trust the vegetation I’m using to give out enough liquid to braise properly. So I supplement with beef stock until the meat is about three-quarters fully covered.

I bring to a boil, then lower to a simmer. Nothing  left to do but wait.

Estimated cook time is two hours. It’s 6:40. That puts dinner at 8:40. Not as early as I’d hoped, but respectable.

I scamper off to YouTube.

You’re welcome.

Two hours later, I check the beef. It should be falling apart lovely. As yet, it is not.

I put it back on for another half hour.

Still no.

Another.

And another.

“Honey, is dinner ready yet?”
“Can’t rush genius, baby.”

Tick m’n'f’n tock.

Finally, as the french say: “le meat, she fall apart.”

What time is it?

Tomorrow o'clock.

I pull the meat and shred it. Back into the liquid, and reduce until it’s almost dry. Soon, it almost is.

Dinner’s ready.

Who's hungry?

Dinner has become lunch.

Everything goes into plastic and into the fridge. My wife made some lovely homemade tortillas, so at least when lunch does finally come, it should all be worth it.

Sleep.

The next day, we prepare for Sunday lunch the meal I began preparing Friday evening. Machaca on homemade tortillas. I opt for unadorned meat-on-tortilla, because I want to taste all the work I put in.

Verdict: Lovely. Smoky and rich, and quite frankly, well worth the time. This will likely become our default beef-for-Mexican-dishes… It really provides a depth of flavor that ground beef with dried spices doesn’t really match. And given that my chuck roast was two and a half pounds, I’ll have plenty of this on hand to dole out whenever.

The Wife Says: 8.99. It would have been a 9 if she could have had it when she smelled it cooking… you know, like around dinner time. She said she really sees a lot of potential in this one. This could be a ten. Encouraging.

Next up: disco flashbacks.

(Much love to Casey and Lolo for the YouTube link.)

Chuck/Round – Dude Stew

I know. The title of this post sounds like hot tub time at a frat house. I assure you, that is not how I spent my Saturday.

Tonight, my lovely wife attended a Drag Queen Tupperware Party at a friend of ours’. I believe the Tupperware is sold by – and largely to – drag queens, rather than being an emporium where one could purchase a sensible product line to keep your drag queens fresh. But I could be wrong on that.

Regardless, D and I are kicking it by ourselves tonight. No ladies. No chicas. No wives or mothers. Just a coupla dudes bein’ dudes.

Maybe we’ll watch some football. Maybe we’ll rebuild the transmission on that old ‘78 Firebird I got up on blocks (Huh? shut up). Maybe we’ll wrassle some ‘gators. Who knows.

It’s also gonna be a crazy weekend. I likely won’t get to cook at all unless I do it tonight.

Luckily, I have help.

The crew.

Alright.

We’re looking for a no-fuss, relatively quick meal. We had swim lessons this morning, so we’re also looking for something hearty. Something stick-to-your-ribs. I’d also like to use some of my recently-delivered organic vegetables that I got in on Wednesday.

It’s summer, but we don’t play by anybody’s rules but our own. Let’s make stew.

This dish uses either chuck or round… I’m not entirely sure which. The butcher who partitioned my beastie was under orders to cut stew meat from both primals. From the looks of it, I’m guessing round. It doesn’t seem to have the marbling I’ve seen in the chuck I’ve used from this steer.

The mise:

You got anything for me to do?

This dish is pretty simple. We do have some prep, though. First, we peel some garlic.

I got this.

Gotta peel onions, too.

That's how you do that.

And carrots.

And, because we’re dudes, we’re gonna use some bacon.

How ya feel about bacon?

Me too.

Ready to cook.

First we crispify the bacon. How much bacon? Some. Measuring’s for chumps. Remove.

Beef in to brown in baconfat. Like God intended.

Beef out.

Baconfat good.

Onions in. Until soft-ish.

A little flour in, to make roux’s first cousin, “a little flour fried in baconfat with onions.” Then bay leaf, thyme, and some beef stock. I don’t have any in the freezer, so I use boxed. (Nobody’s rules but our own!)

Boil, baby.

Once we’re boiling, lid up and drop heat to low. D and I retire to watch some “Science.“

When the iphone beeps a half-hour later, we deposit some carrots and potatoes, re-boil, re-drop, re-lid, and kick back a while longer.

Forty-ish minutes later, veggies are soft and the meat is like buttah. Peas in, bacon in, and wait five minutes for what D calls, the “big boom.”

Dinner up.

Verdict: Quite good. It wasn’t revelatory, but it was definitely solid. The bacon added a nice smoky note to a very earthy, satisfying dish. I think next time I’d like to use half wine, half stock to braise the meat. This is a dish I think I could get better at, should I do it more. Which I intend to.

The Wife Says: Yay! Tupperware!

The Son Says: Sometimes one spoon just isn’t enough.

Up next: Patagonian monkey rugby.

EDIT: This was even better the second day. And still better yet the third. Time is on your side.

Chuck – Super-Slow-Roasted Rosemary-Crusted Chuck Steak

Now we’re talking.

See? I told you this wasn’t just a dude-who-makes-steak-over-and-over blog. I’ve been busy. Cut me some slack.

While I was out cavorting on Whitney, my wife had designs of her own. She was prepping an outright feast.

Namely, a recipe out of the Grassfed Gourmet cookbook that Chaffin Orchards turned us on to when we brought home our beef.

In essence, it’s a chuck roast, roasted over very low heat for a very long time.

Chuck is the shoulder of the steer. It’s large, and it does a lot of work. As a result, it’s very flavorful, but can be very tough. It’s also one of the most economical cuts of beef at retail. Consumers see a little less of it now than they used to, because it’s one of the cuts most commonly turned into ground beef.

You generally have to cook chuck low and slow, which causes all the collagen (connective tissue)  in this particular collagen-heavy cut to convert into gelatin, which is delicious. It creates an unmistakably unctuous mouthfeel. It’s a huge component of the richness we tend to associate with many comfort foods.

The roast. Three pounds o’ chucky goodness. Brought to room temp, liberally coated with a Garlic-Rosemary rub.

We slide it into a 250 degree oven for a few minutes. Then, we knock the temp down to 170, and let it go for four hours or until internal temp hits 125, but no higher, lest it be wrecked.

Hey, wait… Our oven thermostat doesn’t go down to 170! Eh, I’ll just guess.

Friends, do not just guess.

We check it at two and a half hours, out of an abundance of caution. And because it smelled really good.

Internal temp: 157.

Ladies and gentlemen, we wrecked it.

We pulled it, and laid out dinner. We had some other stuff, but I want to talk about the roast. So let’s say we had sides of fugu, durian, and an ‘88 Chateau Lafite.

The chuck,  needless to say, was overcooked. And because it cooked so quickly, most of the connective tissue remained intact. There was a lot of slicing to separate meat from nonmeat.

Regardless, the chuck still tasted very… chucky. I found it fascinating, as I’m not sure I’ve ever had a piece of unadulterated chuck before. I’ve had it ground, primarily. Never whole.

This is the flavor that non-beef items try to emulate to taste beefy. It was far richer than the steaks we’d done previously, or even grain-fed pot roasts I’ve made. It was rich and robust. It had a certain piquant fullness at the top of my palate. This could be very, very good.

I need to try this again. And I think it’d be a hoot to do it without ruining dinner.

Moral of the story, kids: get an oven thermometer.