My Life for Eire!

   On this, the ides of March, I bring to you a meal worthy of Caesar himself. Caesar was Irish, right? No? Well, he'd wish he was for this classic. Once a year, we all turn Irish. I think, for me, it actually goes back to my Dutch grandmother.
   If I'm not making any sense, blame it on the whiskey.
   It really is a strange thing. Neither my heritage nor Jes's hails from Ireland, but we both love corned beef and cabbage and have continued the tradition handed down from our mothers to have it on St. Patrick's Day, like so many other non-Irish folk.
   Frankly, I don't mind having it other days of the year, and until recently I never knew that Jes's and my favorite sandwich happens to be based on the same flavor combinations. Rye bread, shaved brisket, shredded kraut, and possibly mustard; somehow, Switzerland's cheese and Russia's dressing got thrown in the mix. But if it works, you'll get no complaints from us.

The Best Reuben

   I'd been eating these for years and never saw the connection, probably because I rarely eat bread with a meal unless it is a sandwich. Now, whether you choose rye bread or soda bread to butter this Thursday, chances are you're not going to pile it high with meat and cabbage; the leftovers are a different story, of course. And maybe that's how the first Reuben happened.

No Corn?

   How many of you thought corned beef had something to do with corn? Raise your hands; it's OK to admit it. (It's not like I can see your hands, anyway.) I, for one, did. Until, at least, I learned where ground pepper comes from. No, not the ground. Wow, these quips just won't stop!
   Peppercorns are dried berries which we commonly grind up as a spice to pre-season a piece of meat or to add to a plate, or use whole when infusing their flavor into a liquid. This is only half of the story, however. When I thought of corned beef in this context, the image of a clove-dressed ham came to mind, but even that isn't right. There's another definition for "corn" that clears up all of this confusion. In Old English, "to corn" was to preserve in a salt brine. Nowadays, it can also refer to a drier marinade, but corned beef—as I can see it packaged before cooking—is soaking in a juicy brine.
   This meaning for "corn" is actually the original, and the reason we call maize by this new name is because it is synonymous in Latin with "grain." Most countries outside North America refer to any cereal grain (literally, grass seed) as corn. Actually, that's probably why "corn" is present in "peppercorn." But, the grain in this case isn't a seed: it's a grain of salt.

Pickled Brisket

   Doesn't sound too appetizing, does it? Maybe if we were Irish, or at the very least Northern European, pickled meat would sound more like a delicacy. But, just because it's cured—more likely, being cured—doesn't mean we'll be eating it straight out of the package. Several hours of heat should make this look even more delectable.

March 17, 2014 - Corned Beef and Cabbage

   Our brand of choice for at least two years is JP O'Reilly's. I'm not here to compare brands or find the absolute best; I think it's pretty hard to mess up a good thing, and cured meat is one of those things.
   Our method of cooking is in the crockpot. Apparently, some people bake their corned beef, which I'm only curious to try because of that wonderful layer of fat that I spy. But that trial might have to wait for a less Irish day, because as you'll see, the liquid from simmering this hunk gets put to further use.
   Because of the limiting size of our slowcooker, we had to cut the brisket in half, and that's only more difficult than it sounds because Jes doesn't like to touch raw meat. I can't say that I do either, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

March 17, 2014 - Corned Beef and Cabbage

   The package "suggests" using the brine to cook with, which is a beautiful idea. It also asks for water to cover, but fearing an overflow, I didn't feel like covering both halves. The brine from this particular brand includes water and 4 different varieties of sodium, none of which are MSG (not that this affects me, personally), as well as "flavorings." It also includes a meat tenderizer known as papain. This is an enzyme sourced from the papaya plant, and there may be some health concerns over its dosage and general ingestion, but when used in foods these possible side effects are likely mitigated; it is the medicinal use of papain which requires greater care. But for food allergen information, papain may affect people with kiwi allergies.
   Back to ingredients, there's also that little packet of seasoning you saw. The package also made the suggestion of adding it, "if desired." I couldn't find out what exactly is in it—probably those mysterious "flavorings"—but peppercorn is the obvious potent notable.

March 17, 2014 - Corned Beef and Cabbage

   What you see here is the difference submersion makes. The package calls for boiling and then simmering for 50 minutes per pound of meat. We exceeded that mostly because St. Patrick's Day fell on a workday, and that's the best excuse to use a slowcooker. This brisket soaked for around 7 hours, twice as long as it needed. Keeping the meat covered in liquid will not only keep it from drying out (as the one on the left did), but it will also help it hold onto that beautiful color!

Irish Roots

   Corned beef and cabbage is, more traditionally, a type of New England boiled dinner, where the meat is not often the star. Root vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, turnips and onions, in addition to cabbage, are boiled alongside the roast, which may be beef or pork.
   Some people will defend their Irish roots by saying that corned beef and cabbage is an Irish-American variant of Ireland's traditional bacon and cabbage meal. Being 100% American myself, I can't stand up for them on that front, but I will go on believing that it's more Irish than some people would like to admit.

March 17, 2014 - Corned Beef and Cabbage

   Back to the wonderful topic at hand, while the meat is resting (and covered in foil to keep its heat), we drain the drippings into a stove-ready pot and throw in some red potatoes, carrots (baby, that year), and after 30 minutes of covered, high-heat simmering, probably half a head of green cabbage.

March 17, 2014 - Corned Beef and Cabbage

   Jes and I love cabbage. Raw, it has some spice to it that can aid an Asian-inspired salad or even be used to turn one into a wrap; a light sauté in stir fry can also exemplify this characteristic. Pickled, it doesn't break down as much as other vegetables, so it keeps its crisp crunch whether you're eating it on the side or adding it to a hotdog. But for a leafy vegetable, moist heat is really how it stands out. Its thick ribs are my favorite part, softening to just the right texture over the next 30 minutes of cook-time.

March 17, 2014 - Corned Beef and Cabbage

   If you prefer your potatoes and carrots to have more bite to them, you can probably add the cabbage in earlier and lessen the time. But I think this is just the sort of meal where their fall-apart texture is desired—if anything, to keep the corned beef from feeling left out.

Hazy Days

   Yesterday, Jes and I had beef stew for dinner, and while it wasn't homemade, it was as equally pleasing to consume. The brand was Dinty Moore, the source was my mom's pantry, and with those two points this became a meal down memory lane for each of us.

Putting the Heart in "Hearty"

   A year or so ago, when the extent of my culinary expertise was in knowing which flavors go together, I attempted my first beef stew. I'd like to say it was from scratch, but I didn't yet know how to make my own broth. Back then, I also found no qualms in using "cooking wine."
   Not only was it not from scratch, I can't even take credit for it. So why am I sharing this? Because there is still value in walking the path already laid out. In following a recipe already mapped, you first have faith that it will be as good as they say. Then, in putting it to practice, you experience the work that is required to bring it to fruition. If your aim is to learn, you will certainly have plenty of opportunities to do so, with less trouble than if you had gone your own route. Some of the best recipes out there, no doubt, have been refined through trial and error, and they are written up with the purpose of avoiding further error. But we're all different, and some of us trip where others stride. The key is not to let it drag you down, not to let it keep you there.
   Yes, there's a secret thread I'm weaving here, but inasmuch as that ulterior thought is creeping in, I really am equally talking about the stew. So, allow me to get to it, and you'll at least see half of what I mean.

The Meal

   This recipe comes from a Lisa Lavery at Chowhound, one of those sites I find just by searching Google. I have to admit, the ingredients' list is daunting for a minimalist like myself. It isn't so much the variety of ingredients that find their way into the melting pot, but the ones that are there strictly for science. In this case (in my mind), flour and wine.

October 9, 2014 - Beef Stew

   This may be the first time I'd thought to use flour, and I'm not ashamed to say I wouldn't have considered it on my own. Indeed, it took another recipe to get me to realize just how useful it could be outside of baking. Growing up, I'd seen my mom using it similarly with an egg-wash beneath, but directly, I'd never applied it to a meal.
   Lisa called for a 3-lb. chuck roast to be trimmed and cubed. We skipped ahead and simply bought pre-cubed beef conveniently labeled "for stew." The perfectionist in me made an ordeal of coating each piece in the lightly seasoned flour, so this may have been the longest step for me.

October 9, 2014 - Beef Stew

   Cooking the meat calls for browning, which isn't enough to cook it throughout, but to ensure that red center stays juicy when it comes time to return it to the heat. This is where I erred, and the culprit is none other than the oil. What was meant to become a flavorful crust of brown turned into splotches of charred oil, thankfully inconsistent among the cubes. The real damage, however, was dealt to the pot.

October 9, 2014 - Beef Stew

   I believe those onions were leftover from kebabs—which only explains the holes that some of them are showcasing. The smoky resolution of the picture is no joke, and this result is as much burned in our minds as it was to that pot, as an example of poor cooking. If I knew then what I know now.... Hey, mistakes serve as great teachers.
   Actually, the pot's material held as much responsibility for this mess. Lisa used a Dutch oven; I used a stainless-steel pot. The latter heats up more quickly, and with our electric stove, lowering the heat also proves meddlesome. Of course, I didn't know either of these points at the time. All I was certain of? the oil's burning! Although, rather than seeing this as a bad choice in oil or measure of heat, my thoughts back then were more along the lines of thinking I'd spent too much time: as if the oil would burn regardless, and I had to get the work done before that point.
   In the aftermath, this pot saw several soakings, scrubbings, and ultimately a handing-over to my mother because many remnants of the blackened residue refused to be wiped away. Like a bad memory, it kept haunting me and proving that all my work to erase it wasn't amounting to anything. But where I failed, my mother succeeded, and that pot lived on to see other meals.

   This step where I was surely questioning whether this was actually going to plan—this step is not to be taken lightly. If I wanted this to be perfect, I should have started over. But then, what a waste of food—not to mention, effort—that would be.
   The way it's supposed to go, Lisa explains as the fond. It sounds like The Fonz, and it's actually about as cool, but it's literally the French term for the "foundation" or "base" of the stew. Much like the roux of gumbo, this is where the magic is supposed to happen. It's the dense flavor of meat and onion and tomato and wine and flour coming together as a thickening agent for the future stew. This is known as the Maillard reaction, and it's slightly intriguing.
   The wine. I almost assuredly used cooking wine, because we don't drink anything short of Moscato. Wine, or even diluted vinegar, applies its acid to the "browned bits" along the pot's bottom. It doesn't work so well, however, against the flat, blackened bits. So, assuming you've properly nurtured the oil in your pot, attained an even balance of flavors, and actually managed to have some liquid leftover before it comes time to deglaze with wine, flour is the key to pulling everything together.
   When you've got a sauce, then it's time to bring the meat back in, along with broth and herbs. Boil to penetrate the cubes of beef with a decent temperature, then simmer uncovered to help thicken what you have. An hour later, carrots, celery and potatoes make it into the pot to cook for another hour, this time covered. This will especially aid in cooking the potatoes, *wink wink*.

October 9, 2014 - Beef Stew

   That looks much better, since, you know, the bottom of the pot is hidden.
   Lisa calls for frozen peas to be added just before serving, but I have this thing against frozen veggies in general, and Jes has this thing against peas in general. So, needless to say, we stopped there.
   I was really tempted to invite neighbors over to share this bounty. What a wonderful conversation-starter that would be, considering I'd barely acknowledged that anyone else existed since we moved into our complex. If memory serves me correctly, we handed the leftovers off to my parents. Not that it wasn't worth keeping for seconds. On the contrary, it was so worth keeping that we just had to give it away. The meat was remarkably tender, the potatoes as well, and the broth was so full of flavor. I could only have wished it was thicker. Next time, Gadget.