A Brisket A Brasket

I've spent a good deal of time thinking about brisket. Well, that is to say, thinking about preparing brisket. Up until very recently, I had eaten brisket, but I had never actually cooked it. I know, I know! What have I been waiting for? It's just a brisket. Nothing to be scared of. Just a little (er, big) piece of cow. That's all it is.

I feel like I hear a lot about brisket and, for some reason, it seemed like cooking brisket was a huge endeavor. I found out that it's quite the opposite, though. In fact, I was astounded at how easy it was to prepare. If you have a dutch oven and 3 hours, or a Crockpot and 8 hours, you're all set. I found that it's really not unlike baking bread -- most of the process is just waiting around, not actual labor. So if you'll be at home, cleaning the pool or weaving a basket or whatever it is you do in your house, then this is the perfect thing to have going in the meantime.

The basic concept for this dish (or at least what I had pictured in my mind) is my mom's hot beef sandwiches. I can't even remember the last time I had one of them. For the sake of background information, here you go: I was lead astray into a vegetarian life for about 14 years (whuh? huh? yeah.) of my life, a few of which were actually vegan years, which, henceforth, I shall refer to as The Dark Years. All of this crazy monkey business is a story in itself (or a hundred stories, really) and I will remain focused on the sheer joy and riotous pleasure that meat has brought me since I got back on the wagon a few years ago.

In some ways, I understand why vegetarianism made sense to me for so long. I got through it pretty effortlessly because I really, really love a lot of non-meat things. I'm not talking about pseudo-bacon here, or soy chorizo. I'm talking about, you know, vegetables, fruits, legumes, bread. I still find myself cooking a lot of non-meat sorts of things, and I have to remind myself sometimes that meat exists. I think I got so used to cooking without it that I now consider it sort of a luxury item. Granted, meat is not cheap, especially when you take the organic, local, free-range, happy-and-stressfree-homes-make-tasty-meats route. Sometimes it feels worth it to me, and, honestly, sometimes it just doesn't. Either way, if it's a decent piece of meat, and some real love goes into its preparation, it can be quite a transcendental experience, this whole meat eating thing.

The thing I really like is going to the butcher shop to buy my meat. In fact, for me, most of the pleasure of meat is sucked away by going to a grocery store and poking at shrinkwrapped, scrunched-up meat pieces, all cowering in their styrofoam trays, each one trying to look unassuming so that it doesn't get picked. But when I go to the butcher shop, oh! it's another story entirely. I love to see all the fresh meats, lined up in their neat rows, all ready to serve and vying for my attention. The chicken thighs call, Me, me! The sausages announce, It's me you want! The beef tenderloin coos, I know I'm expensive, but I'm worth it! Everything just looks happier in those cases (as happy as dead meat can look, that is -- and, yes, "dead meat" is redundant, but it just sounds so good) and I love the process of taking a number from the number-machine, then peering through the cases as I wait my turn, then discussing my dinner plans with the butcher when my number is called. I like to have a meat connection, I suppose. I love to pick the bits I want, see it on the scale, then say Yes, that's enough, or Go ahead and give me the rest of that. I like to see it get wrapped up in the butcher paper (oh, I am madly, madly in love with butcher paper!) and the package sealed with a sticker (my favorite ones are at Gene's, and they say, You Can't Beat Our Meat! in this adorable, old-fashioned font). I love to scoop up my packages from the metal counter and carry them like tiny babies through the shop, stopping to look at spices or the mustard collection on my way to check out.

Oh, so I was saying. The concept is these hot beef sandwiches that I have honestly not had since I was in grade school (is that really true?!). I do remember loving them though, laced with black pepper and topped with yellow mustard, all on a sturdy sandwich roll. So that is what I had in mind. That kind of deliciousness, preferably with something hot dripping down my chin while I ate it. My approach combined mama's skills with a sort of barbeque method, because I am simply mad about barbeque brisket sandwiches. My mom uses a beef roast, or shoulder, or butt, and one day I will actually learn the difference between those three things, if there happens to be one. (Somehow I think it's sort of impossible to memorize animal body parts and meat cuts when you haven't actually broken down the whole animal before. Which I haven't. But I will get my hands on a cow of my own one day, and, believe me, you'll be the first to hear about it!) I opted for brisket, as you know, and it was sort of entertaining, just tossing things into the pot and wondering what it would all look like after it was sent to its brutally hot room for three hours.

I think you will become sort of infatuated with brisket after you have this experience. I think you may end up with a new favorite thing. If you're a vegetarian, I suggest this brisket as your gateway drug.

Long-Time Brisket
Serves 5 or 6 as sandwiches

3 lbs beef brisket, cut into slabs 1 1/2 to 2" thick (keep the fat on)
olive oil
8 cloves garlic, smashed
2 1/2 C water
1/4 C apple cider vinegar
4 bay leaves
1 hot pepper (any variety -- whatever you can handle!), seeded and chopped
2 t cayenne pepper (optional)
3 T chili powder
3 t ground cumin
3 t ground coriander
5 cloves
2 T fennel seeds
3 T balsamic vinegar
2 t paprika
32 oz. can pureed tomatoes
1/4 C molasses

Season brisket pieces generously with kosher salt and pepper. Try not to be afraid to coat them pretty much completely!
Heat two cast iron skillets to medium and add a tablespoon of olive oil to each pan. Add meat pieces and sear for 5 minutes on each side, or until they start to get some nice color.

In the dutch oven, combine all the dry ingredients. Heat for a minute, stirring constantly, just to get things going. Add the vinegars and cook at a high temp (boiling, even!) until most of it disappears. (It'll start to smell less and less like vinegar.)

Add all the rest of the ingredients, and whisk or stir to combine well. (I know! This is crazy! It's like making creations in the kitchen as a kid, putting in some of everything.) Add the brisket pieces and put on a lid. Now, pop it into the oven for 3 hours. (If you are doing the Crockpot thing, just put it all in and cook on low for 8-10 hours.) You can check on it every hour or so if you'd like, but it will probably do just fine without you. At the end of the time, take it out and inspect your work. It will have reduced a bit, and the meat will be very soft and nice and should pull apart with a fork very easily.
Take the meat pieces out, one at a time, to a cutting board. With a fork stabilizing it, use another fork to pull the fat off. Discard all the fat. Now, shred the meat with the two forks. It should be quite easy and painless, and it should look so delicious that you want to eat it all up, right off the cutting board. Once your brisket is all shredded, you will need to strain your barbecue sauce. Use a mesh strainer (or one with very small holes). Pour the sauce in and press with a spoon to extract all the sauce, leaving all the strange bits in the sieve. You can either mix the strained sauce back into the brisket pieces, or you can serve it on the side.


Serve brisket on sandwich rolls. (If you can get a hold of pretzel rolls, please do -- if you're in Chicago, Turano's makes really mind-numbingly incredible ones.) Your sandwich should have company! Serve with roasted potatoes or macaroni and cheese, plus coleslaw. I made a blue cheese coleslaw that was pretty great with the barbecue flavors, using red and white cabbage, shredded carrots, scallions, cilantro, blue cheese, sour cream, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and mustard (I am terribly partial to Brownwood Farms Kream Mustard. If you haven't had this mustard, then you desperately need to git yerself some, straight away).

So that is the story of my first brisket. I hope that brisket enters your life soon (if it hasn't already), and I hope that you become so attached that you open a boardinghouse or orphanage for briskets, and you spend the rest of your days swooping them up in your arms and stroking their little chins, whispering in their ears that you'll never let them go.