Meatless Mondays

It's Monday, and the Texan and I are going meatless.

                                                 ****************************************

After reading this article in the latest issue of my UCLA Alumni magazine, I was inspired to go totally meatless a minimum of one day a week. There was only one problem: I knew I had to get the Texan to try it. Otherwise, each Monday I'd be nibbling on tofu and salad greens while he chowed down on a steak, my martyrdom to the planet spilling over onto the table between us. But how was I going to convince a guy to go meatless who owns a t-shirt from a barbecue joint in Texas that says, "Vegetarian: The Indian word for Terrible Hunter"?

I decided to take the direct approach. One evening when I knew we were going out to an area with a large bookstore, I told him I had a proposition for him that involved reading a short article. I figured this would help my cause because a) he is an avid reader, and b) he loves facts. When he finished, I planned to just come out and say that I wanted to do Meatless Mondays and I wanted him to do it with me, please. I sat him on the sofa, handed him the article, and had this conversation:

Me: (silently rehearsing elevator speech)
Texan, finishing article: "You know, we should probably eat less meat. We could do Meatless Mondays or something like that."

Me: (silently) Wait, what?
(out loud) "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. We can stop at the bookstore tonight and look at vegetarian cookbooks."

Texan: (silently) That's EXACTLY how I wanted to spend my evening: perusing tofu and bulgher wheat recipes.
(out loud):  "Great! Let's go!"

As luck would have it, we found not one but two cookbooks we both liked, one of which is appropriately titled The Meat-Free Monday Cookbook and offers three seasonally appropriate meals for each week of the year.

Over dinner that night, we had this conversation:

Texan: "You know, it's really just one day a week. We can totally do it."

Me: "Yeah, and we already eat vegetarian breakfasts, so it's just two more meals that day that have to be veg."

Texan: "But if we like it and find recipes we like, we could make it two nights a week. Or even three."

Me: (silently) The fuck?
(out loud) "That'd be cool. I have to admit, though, I was surprised when you suggested doing Meatless Mondays."

Texan, waving hands evangelist-style: "As I read the article, I was worried you had, like, seen the light and wanted to go totally vegan or something. So that's why I suggested Meatless Mondays before you could say anything: I figured one day a week was better than seven."

Ah, there's my carnivore.

                                                          **************************************

Tonight's meal? Homemade tamales, salad, and maybe some vegan chocolate cake for dessert.

The Clearance Rack

I know, I know-- covetousness is a sin. But I admit I've had my eye on something for a while now.

It's expensive. It's heavy. It's pretty. It's expensive.

Oh and also, it's expensive.

It's a Le Creuset Dutch oven. Or, as they call it, a French oven. It's essential for all those cuts of meat that get cooked for hours until they practically fall off the bone. It can be used on the stove top, the oven, or both for a single meal. Plus, it comes in a dizzying array of colors, nearly all of which I would be happy with, should one just happen to fall in my lap.

Actually, having a Le Creuset fall in my lap might break both my legs. But you know what I mean.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a store brand Dutch oven on sale for 40% off at Sur La Table.  As all mathematicians know, [Totally Ridiculous] x 0.40 = [Still Pretty Ridiculous], but the store brand's original price was Reasonable, not Ridiculous. It was available in only one color, but it happened to be a color I especially love: a deep, dark burgundy. So as not to be impulsive, I made a mental note of the item and kept walking.

I wondered, though, why is the SLT brand so much cheaper than Le Creuset? Its starting price was a mere forty percent of Le Creuset's for the same size, and the only visible differences were a shinier finish on the SLT and a stainless steel lid handle, not a composite handle. The SLT pot's weight was about equal to that of the Le Creuset, so I knew it was cast iron all the way through, not filled with aluminum or steel or some other muck.

China may have something to do with it. As I read the fine print, I noticed the SLT pot was made in China. Le Creuset pots, on the other hand, are still made in France (their bakeware is now made in China, just like everything else).  I would prefer to purchase things that are made just about anywhere but China. But I couldn't force myself to be quite stoic enough to shell out 60% more for the Le Creuset, especially when I returned to Sur La Table about ten days later.

A large sign outside the door of SLT called to me, "TAKE AN EXTRA 20% OFF ALL CLEARANCE PRICES!" Well, ok, if you insist.

The sale brought the price of the Dutch oven down to less than 50% of its original price, and to about twenty percent of the original Le Creuset price.

So far, my Dutch oven seems to perform well. The metal handle does get hot, so I must use a towel or pot holder each time I open the lid, but this is not a major disaster. I'll spare my readership a soap box speech on the downfalls of cheap consumer goods, though it plays in my head often, because for now the pot is a way to cook well, eat well, and be well.

Want Some Coffee With That?

Thumbing through John Ash's Cooking One on One, the Texan and I both said, "Oooooh!" when we turned to the page with a recipe for brisket braised in coffee.  Neither one of us knew exactly who John Ash was, but we figured he knew what he was talking about with that recipe, which combines two Really Good Things.

Wouldn't you know it that John Ash has had a restaurant and a radio show here in northern California for a few years. Or 30. He does the whole fresh/local/seasonal thing a la Alice Waters, only in Santa Rosa, and his dishes are created to match the wines being made in that region. He also does a few other things. Like teach at the culinary academy in the Napa Valley. Whatever.

Wouldn't you also know it that the Texan and I have somewhat different definitions of brisket. His version involves a barbeque and slicing the beef. Mine involves simmering in a Dutch oven for hours on end, a tomato-y braising sauce, and meat that just falls apart when it's done. So imagine his surprise when I spend all day simmering the meat, he spends all day thinking about the barbecued flesh he's about to eat, and he sits down to a meal that has no slices in sight. Poor thing.

With The Texan's homemade bread and some sauteed vegetables with toasted pecans.

Whatever our differences, we agreed that a) the meat was ridiculously tender and flavorful; b) we couldn't really taste the coffee, but perhaps its job was simply to tenderize, not to flavor-ize;  c) there is more than one way to cook brisket. In fact, the Texan liked it enough to want it for dinner the following evening, as we were getting ready to go up to our local observatory for a meteor shower. There was just one small problem:

I'm the blue. He's the white.

His surprise was not due to my having eaten the brisket for another meal. His surprise was due to the cut of meat I used WEIGHING TWO POUNDS and there being so little left that it wouldn't satiate him for dinner. As in, "Where the %@*# did you put it? Your hollow leg? Or are you now thirty pounds heavier?"

He swears he would love me at any weight. To which my response is, "Really???"

Brisket Braised in Coffee

adapted from Cooking One on One by John Ash

serves 6-8

(I cut the recipe in half)

4 lbs beef brisket, trimmed of excess fat

4 TBSP olive oil

3 yellow onions (1 1/2 lbs total), sliced

1/4 C sliced garlic

2 TBSP powdered chiles, such as ancho or Chimayo (this is NOT the same as chili powder, which is a blend of several spices and flavorings)

2 tsp whole fennel seeds

2 tsp cumin seeds

2/3 C packed brown sugar

2/3 C apple cider vinegar

4 C strong brewed coffee

1 C chicken, beef, or vegetable stock (or use canned broth)

1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juice

salt and pepper to taste

1. Season meat with salt and pepper. Heat 2 TBSP olive oil in a Dutch oven or other large pot. Brown brisket on both sides over high heat. Remove meat from pot, discard excess fat, and leave about a tablespoon in pot.*

2. Saute onions and garlic in fat over high heat until they just begin to color. Add powdered chile and saute another minute. Add fennel, cumin, sugar, vinegar, coffee, stock, and tomatoes, and bring to a simmer. Return brisket to pot, cover, and let simmer over a low flame for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until meat is very tender. 

3. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Allow brisket to sit (e.g. on an unheated back burner) for 15 minutes. Serve. 

*You can discard all meat fat and saute onions in olive oil if you prefer, but using the fat already in the pan yields more flavorful results.

Woman, where's my dinner?

Many years ago, I dated a man from a rather, um, patriarchal culture. He expected a meat-centric dinner, piping hot, whenever he stayed at my house. Note I didn't say he helped me prepare a meat-centric dinner.

My cooking skills were still under development at that time. (In truth they always will be, but they have improved tremendously.) I knew which flavors I liked, and which ingredients I was willing and able to use, but didn't always have technique perfected, nor did I have much patience for dishes that needed to simmer for hours on end. Those simmery dishes, though, are the ones that are usually filled with meaty bits and starchy bits, good for filling this man's professional-athlete appetite and quieting his inquiries as to the status of his next meal.

I remembered my mother making beef stew many times, which she usually served over egg noodles. She also used the terms 'beef stew' and 'bouef bourguignon' interchangeably, at least as far as my adolescent ears could tell. I knew she put some wine into the dish, and carrots and maybe celery, but I didn't know how to make it, exactly. Or if there were some small but important distinction to be made between stew and bourguignon, besides that Julia Child made the latter and we Irish made the former.

Determined to show his chauvinistic self I could do it, I called my best friend and begged her to tell me what to do. I knew she'd know, since she'd had more than one live-in boyfriend and was adept at cooking for them.  She told me to cook it for a while, which I thought I did, but apparently not long enough. It never came out quite right, and the wine flavor was never quite tame enough. He always gave me his full, unabridged critique.

Years (and relationships) later, I have finally learned to be patient with meat. I cook my stews long enough to create depth of flavor, and really tender meat. But I hadn't made a real bouef bourguignon until now. Julia Child made it famous, but Ina Garten made it simple: Barefoot in Paris contains a recipe with an introductory note specifically saying how un-fun it is to cook this dish all day long. To which I say, Amen, sister!

I leave the skin on the potatoes for a bit of added color and texture.

I was skeptical about using two different kinds of meat in one dish. To me, that always seems like flavor confusion, since each meat (e.g. beef, pork, chicken) has its own unique flavor. Well, maybe not chicken, since everything tastes like chicken, but beef and pork certainly do. Nevertheless, I seared the beef in the bacon drippings, as directed, and then coated the vegetables with all that fat and a few herbs, too. The wine went in early on, and combined with some broth and a little roux at the end to create a rich, flavorful gravy that could stand alone over mashed potatoes. 

Ina Garten suggests serving the dish with some country bread that has been toasted and spread with a bit of olive oil and garlic. My neighbor just happened to make a loaf the same night I made bouef bourguignon, so I ate it with both bread and mashed potatoes. I'm sure Julia Child and the entire nation of France would be horrified, but if ever there were a bowl full of Man Food, this is it.

Mia's cooking: 1, Patriarchy: 0

Bouef Bourguignon

adapted from Barefoot in Paris by Ina Garten

**I started with 1/2 lb beef and 1/3 bottle wine, and adjusted the rest of the ingredients accordingly, since I made this for myself and not for the entire Russian army. I also cooked mine on the stovetop, not in the oven, since I don't have a Dutch oven.

1 TBSP olive oil (I omitted this, since the bacon will render off plenty of fat)

8 oz bacon, diced (I used applewood-smoked bacon)

2 1/2 lbs beef stew meat

1 lb carrots, sliced diagonally into 1-inch chunks 

2 yellow onions, sliced

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1/2 C Cognac or brandy (I omitted this)

1 (750mL) bottle dry red wine

2  to 2 1/2 C canned beef broth (I used low-sodium vegetable broth)

1 TBSP tomato paste

1 tsp fresh thyme leaves (I used dried)

4 TBSP unsalted butter, at room temperature, divided

3 TBSP all-purpose flour

1 lb frozen small whole onions (I omitted these)

1 lb mushrooms, sliced (I omitted these)

Salt and pepper to taste

1. Preheat oven to 250 degrees, if using a Dutch oven.

2. Heat a Dutch oven or other large pot. Add bacon and cook over medium heat for 8-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the bacon is lightly browned. Remove bacon from pan with a slotted spoon and set aside. 

2. Sprinkle beef cubes with salt and pepper. In a single layer (work in batches if necessary), sear the beef in the bacon fat 3-5 minutes, until brown on all sides. Remove beef cubes from pan and set aside with bacon. 

3. Toss carrots, onions, some salt and pepper (I added thyme here too) into fat in pan and cook over medium heat 10-12 minutes, stirring occasionally, until onions are lightly browned. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more. Add Cognac if using, STAND BACK, and ignite with a match to burn off alcohol. Return meats to pan, along with juices from the plate. Add wine and enough broth to almost cover the meat. Add tomato paste and thyme, if not already added. Bring to a boil and either cover with lid and put in oven for about 75 minutes, or simmer over low heat for 75-90 minutes with cover just slightly askance. Meat and vegetables should be very tender when pierced with a fork.

4. Place the stew on the stove top, if not already there. Combine 2 TBSP butter and the flour with a fork and stir into the stew. Add frozen onions, if using. 

5. In a medium pan, saute the mushrooms, if using, in the remaining 2 TBSP butter over medium heat for 10 minutes, or until lightly browned, and then add to the stew. 

6. Bring the entire stew to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes. Season to taste. 

Serve with sliced country bread rubbed with garlic, or mashed potatoes, or egg noodles.