Meat, Braise, Love

Short Ribs, Carrots, and Potatoes in a Zinfandel-Chili Braise

Just for the record, I've neither read the book, seen the movie, nor, for that matter, given any serious consideration to either, for the simple reason that, fairly or unfairly, I'm reasonably certain that I'd be repulsed but, like a car accident, find it impossible to look away. I strongly suspect that the experience would be very much like being force-fed Indian desserts while attending one of those made-for-TV mega-church Sunday sermons: Cloyingly sweet and offensively preachy, all at the same time. Although, come  to think, perhaps there's a novel strategy in there for producing a decent fois gras.

Still, while I don't really mind dishing out snippy reviews of books I haven't read, this post is about food, specifically the sort of food that you get to smell all day long while it cooks, that makes you want to open your best red wine and eat in your PJs at the same time, the sort of food that can make a girl's toes curl. For better or worse (likely both), my wife doesn't really eat land animals, so my best shot at getting a toe-curling endorsement, inasmuch as cooking is concerned, is probably mac-n-cheese, but that is the subject of another post. Today, I want to talk about braising. Specifically, braising hunks of prehistoric-looking meat, wrapped in butcher's paper and replete with large bones and the potential to disturb small children when first unwrapped. Producing a braise in your own kitchen is a bit like making porn in your own bed: It rewards practice, because if you can get it just right, it's the best you'll ever have, and all the times you can't, it'll still be a long way from sucking.

The zin-chili short ribs pictured above, re-plated for service.

There is so much to love about the braise: Purely from a gastronomic perspective, no other cooking technique, at least in my kitchen, comes close to creating the depth and concentration of flavor that I can get from a properly executed braise. It rewards the intelligent use of cheaper cuts and transforms, as if by magic, what would otherwise be too tough to chew into fork-tender nuggets of gustatory gold. It produces exceptional sauces and gravies as a byproduct, almost as if by accident. It can accommodate protein, starch, and vegetables all in one pot, which can then be served family style in the cooking vessel or re-plated and dressed up in style. And provided one follows some basic principles, an effective braise provides the cook with an exceptional amount of interpretive girth, requires no careful measurements, no indentured servitude to recipes and cookbooks.

I'm not going to provide recipes, except for maybe one really basic catch-all, in this post - I've got lots of favorites, some entirely mine, some not, and I'll put a bunch of them up over time. All I really want to do here is to inspire anyone who hasn't braised to do so forthwith, and for everyone who has, to do it better, and more often. Larousse describes a braise as "a moist cooking method using a little liquid that barely simmers..." and goes on to point out that the classical technique involves browning the meat in a little hot fat, which is then arranged on a bed of cooked vegetables, partially covered in cooking liquid, and allowed to simmer slowly in a tightly covered pan so as not to lose moisture (or flavor) to evaporation. That pretty much sums it up, although there are some other basic guidelines (e.g., you want to use a cut with some connective tissue, you want to have some acid in the liquid, some aromatics, some general sense of how the flavors all work together, to work in proportions that fit the pot, to finish the sauce at the end) that, if followed, will invariably improve the results.

In his essential On Food and Cooking, McGee further advises that the meat be kept in relatively large pieces; that the initial browning kills microbes in addition to creating flavor; and - in a departure from most of the cookbooks I've read - recommends starting the pot in a cold oven and restricting the final cooking temperature to around 200F, which is considerably cooler than most recipes you'll find. I have, in the past, used pre-heated oven at a temperature of anywhere from 250-350F, depending on the particulars of the cut the dish is based upon. However, I make a general rule of listening to McGee, so I'm going to do another one soon using his particular technique.

A Basic Braise

Shoulder of lamb in a Syrah-Rosemary-Garlic braise.

1. Choose a cut such as a shank, shoulder, or short rib - something that is flavorful, adequately fatty, and has collagen and gelatin in the connective tissue and bone that will break down during cooking and thicken the sauce. Grass-fed beef and especially lamb from a local rancher would be obvious choices (if you're in the 707 or surrounding environs, I've been using meats from Black Sheep, the Owens Family, and the grass-fed locker at Willowside meats, all with great results). Make sure the cut will fit in your pot. (The pot, by the way, must be tall enough to accommodate the meat,  vegetables and liquid below the top, be oven-proof, and must have a heavy bottom and lid that fits.). Figure at least a half-pound per person, assuming it's a bone-in cut.
2. Put a small amount of neutral cooking fat in the pot and get it good and hot, medium or medium-high. Pat the meat dry with a towel, season reasonably aggressively with salt and paper, and thoroughly brown in the pan on all sides, turning to ensure even cooking and to avoid scorching.
3. Remove the meat, turn the heat down to medium or medium-low, and add a couple of cups of mirepoix. Thomas Keller, in Ad Hoc at Home, suggests putting the vegetables in a sack of cheesecloth to keep the meat and sauce separate from particulate matter (in typical Keller fashion, much like wiping down prep bottles to avoid getting fingerprints on plates, perfectly emblematic of how, for all the well-deserved hype, he is a cook first and foremost); I think it's a terrific idea, but must confess that I'm typically too lazy to bother. After the mirepoix has been cooked through and caramelized, add a tablespoon or so of tomato paste; continue to cook until it gives off a sweet aroma and loses its raw-tomato taste. 
4. Deglaze the pan with some wine, maybe a quarter- to a half-bottle, scraping the bottom and sides to release all the concentrated bits of flavor. A hearty dry red is the smart-money bet, not necessarily too fancy, but - as ever - only cook with what you'd drink (a Cotes-du-Rhone or modestly priced Syrah from the Russian River Valley would do wonders for lamb, and a merely decent Sonoma County Zinfandel would pair perfectly up with short ribs, pot roast, osso bucco, you name it.)
5. Arrange the meat on top of the vegetables and fill the pot with enough stock to reach about 2/3rds of the way up the sides of the meat. Home-made stock would be ideal and will improve the final product immensely, but you can make an awfully good one with store-bought chicken or beef stock, provided you're careful to get the one with the shortest list of ingredients, and preferably without salt (pre-seasoned stocks will screw you up later, because they'll reduce heavily and mess with your ability to adjust seasoning at the end). Cover with the lid and transfer to an oven pre-heated to around 300F (200-250 for a really long braise, maybe 350 for a shorter one).
6. You will ultimately braise the meat this way in the oven for a total of 2-3 hours (a baby lamb shank could take as little as 90 minutes, a tougher, larger roast might want 4 or more hours), basting with the cooking liquids from time to time, and adding water if the pot begins to dry out. However, if you are adding vegetables, and you are going to want to - classically carrots and potatoes, but you could try mushrooms, turnips, or peas with great confidence - have them cleaned and prepped into medium-sized, uniform pieces, and add them 45-60mins before the final cooking time is up.
7. The meat is ready when it is fall-apart-fork-tender. If the veggies are ahead of schedule, you can always remove them and reserve until the meat is done.
8. Once the food is cooked, carefully remove the meat and vegetables to another plate and make the sauce by straining out the mirepoix and any other particulates left over from cooking and heating in a clean sauce pan. De-grease it as you go. The sauce, when finished, should have a smooth, glossy texture and should have the nap to coat the back of a spoon. Check the seasoning and adjust.

 All those astoundingly good short ribs that seem to have made their way on to every menu in the City? That's all they are. Really.