Round – Oktoberfest

Guten tag, internet.

I first visited Germany in the summer of 1998. I was alone, armed only with phrases that would get me beaten to ein pulp if used in polite society. In Munich, I befriended a Canadian dental hygienist with a large purse, and we boosted two massive beer steins from the Hofbrauhaus in a move that sounded like a good idea after several hours at the Hofbrauhaus.

I returned to Munich in autumn of 2009. This time I was accompanied by my lovely wife and larger ambitions. Among them, avoid the damn Hofbrauhaus. This ambition, at least, was largely realized. We rented bikes and saw much more than I’d been able to see on foot the first time around. We stayed in a lovely hotel, visited with great friends who now live in Germany, and had a wonderful time.

However, we were not able to participate in Oktoberfest, which began in Munich the week after we left. I’m back in Cali now, and the jetlag has dissipated. So I’m going to do up my own Oktoberfest oktober-feast.

I’m putting together what is essentially Bavaria’s national dish – sauerbraten, kartoffelkloesse, and red cabbage with apples (which I don’t know the german word for). Sauerbraten is a roast from the bottom round, marinated for some large number of days in vinegar, then braised and served with a sweet sauce made from the braising liquid. Kartoffelkloesse are potato dumplings – a traditional Bavarian side dish. The red cabbage is sauteed with tart apples and tossed with vinegar and sugar. Also very traditional.

Recipes are here, here, and here (for the red cabbage).

Today, I’ll be  braising a rump roast. It’s cut from the top end of the hindquarter, on the bottom round.The bottom round is the outside portion of the rear leg of the bovine. (The top round is the inside bit.) It’s called the bottom round, because when the primal is laid on the butcher’s table, it’s done with the outside on the bottom. Hence, “bottom” round.

This cut does a lot of work and has a lot of connective tissue, which is perfect for our braising aspirations.

If I do Oktoberfest alone, oompah bands everywhere will shed fat, salty tears for their wayward American cousins. So we’re inviting our friends Andy and Jen along for the festivities. This is exciting in a couple of ways. First, we haven’t seen them in a bit, so it’ll be nice to catch up. Second, I’m cooking for other people. People I like. People who don’t owe me anything and may or may not lie convincingly if I wreck this meal. So I need to be on top of my game.

Which is why my game began Thursday. I pulled a rump roast from the iron box in my backyard, and seared it. Then I began the three-day marination. Water, cider vinegar, red wine vinegar, an onion, a carrot, two bay leaves, some cloves, some juniper berries, and some mustard into the big cast iron casserole dish that may be familiar to regular readers of these missives.

At 1p on Sunday, I pull it, add some sugar to the liquid, and stash it in my oven at 325.

This meal has sides that are fairly integral to the experience, and one of them will take a lot of work. So I get started on my potato dumplings as soon as the roast goes in, boiling two large russet potatoes, cooling them, peeling them, and ricing them with a fork. (Which, by the way, is much better than forking them with some rice. People get the wrong idea.)

Riced is nice.

Into the fridge to cool fully. Meanwhile, I dice some bread into cubes about a centimeter on a side, and brown them in a mixture of butter and olive oil.

Potatoes cooled and riced, I add some salt, freshly-grated nutmeg, AP flour and cornstarch to make a dough. It’s a little tacky, so I add a touch more flour.  Finally, an egg goes in as an additional binder.

I roll the dough out into balls. I get ten out of the batch. That should be about perfect. I put one of my browned bread-cubes into the center of each, and munch on the rest because I made too many. Math is fun. Stay in school, kids.

Now here’s where you can tell this dish is German, and not American. My Yankee instinct is to heat a load of peanut oil to about 350, and fry these little dumplings until they’re golden brown and delicious. But that isn’t in the cards for this dish.

These little guys are to be boiled, for ten-ish minutes per batch of four. They float to the top when they’re done, which is kinda a slick little indicator.

Rise, my dumplings...

While those are working, I start on my my final side. Out comes the mandoline, and shred goes the cabbage.

Pretty red cabbage ribbons head into a lidded skillet with salt, butter, sugar, and cider vinegar. (Vinegar! It’s what’s for dinner.)

Fifteen-ish minutes, and I pull it off the heat.

Dumplings are resting quite happily under a warm, damp towel. Roast and cabbage are pretty much done… they just need a final procedure apiece before plating, which won’t happen until my people arrive, and they’re running a few minutes late. I’m quietly pleased that everything is on schedule. This is a rarity.

I have a few minutes to kill, so here’s a picture of my dog.

And I helped!

Andy and Jen! Great to see ‘em. Go time

Sliced apple into the cabbage with a tablespoon of flour over medium heat for a little sautee and thickening action.

The roast comes out, and I stash it under foil in my microwave/holding area. The recipe calls for reducing the sauce with the help of a handful of crushed gingersnap cookies. I dig this recipe.

Sauce reduced, and we’re in business. Cabbage is done, dumplings are done, roast is rested. Plate.

Verdict: Eminently edible, and definitely the best plating I’ve presented on these pages.

The roast was especially “beefy,” and the sour of the vinegar was nicely offset by the sweet notes in the sauce. However, the roast was ever so slightly drier than I would have preferred. The dumplings turned out very well. I also would have preferred a little more crispness in the cabbage, but it wasn’t a dealbreaker, and the flavor was tart and lovely. All in all, I call it a success. Add a nice marzen bier, and we’re golden.

The Wife Says: Looked great on the plate. Agrees that the roast was a tad dry, but the sauce and the dumplings made up for it.

But here’s the thing – a meal is much more than the sum of it’s parts. It’s an event. An experience. A rest from toil (until the dishes pile up), and a pause for reflection. A happy progression of moments that allow us to chat, to drink, to laugh, and to taste the fruit of a day’s labor. Those elements are the hallmarks of a great meal, of which good food is only a part.

And on one fall Sunday, we were able to share a meal with good friends, catch up, and linger over the dusk of another fading weekend.

I’ll take it.

Next up: L.A. friends, you’re on notice.

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.)

Eye Round – Roast

I bet you thought I was going to let the rest of that eye round go to waste, didn’t you?

This is Year of the Cow, not Year of Some Of The Cow.

After my (phee phi) pho phun, I had a half an eye round roast left. It weighed about a pound.

I needed to do something with it.

A lot of my dishes here have been dinner-y meals. But with this, I wanted to do something lunch-y. Something I could whip up in a hurry.

So Friday when I got home from work, I pulled out my eye round. I rubbed it with canola oil, salt and pepper, seared it for two minutes a side, then dropped it into a Ziploc bag with a handful of bruised sage, some rosemary sprigs, and something like a half a bottle of Merlot. Then I chucked it into the fridge and forgot about it while I wandered off with the rest of the wine.

Next afternoon, I emptied the content of said bag into a dutch oven, lidded up, and parked it in the oven at three hundred degrees before wandering off to do something or other.

When my new – wonderful! – meat thermometer chirped at me, I pulled my dutch oven and stashed the whole thing in the fridge. Back to my distractions.

Sunday morn, I put the dutch oven back on the fire, warmed the meat, then pulled it and reduced the liquid to a nice little sauce.

My wife had whipped up some sandwich bread the day before. A little swiss, some of my thinly sliced eye round, and bingo. With a little red wine reduction sauce for dipping.

Lunch

Verdict: It turned out well. It was a nice little roast beef sandwich, but it wasn’t a showstopper. We’ll keep the rest and slice it for lunch sandwiches next week.

The roast was a little dry. I take this to be partly my fault – I think more liquid during the braise and the reheat would have benefited the dish. In addition, the piece just dries out easily. There’s no fat on it to preserve moisture. Further, I think slicing it even thinner would really benefit this particular cut. I need to pick up a full-blown slicer. I love my chef’s knife, but it’s not able to slice this meat as thinly as I’d like.

The sauce really helped the sandwiches. We kept it on the side and treated it like a french dip. It was hearty and earthy… slightly sharp with the wine and the sage.

My wife’s bread, as usual, was a high point.

Next up, chicken fried steak.

http://www.bagpipelessons.com/

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.