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.

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.