Planes, Trains, Bourbon & Brisket

Posted on September 13, 2015 by Jasmine Nielsen

I am supposed to be in Wisconsin right now.

Three years ago, I spent Rosh Hashanah with Juliet, Phil and their son. It was a lovely visit that ended with promises to do it again next year. Alas, life and a brand new job got in the way, so the past two years’ celebrations have consisted of an apple dipped in honey at my kitchen counter.

Two months ago I purchased a plane ticket. On Friday I awoke early to pack. I hauled a suitcase, an overstuffed purse, and a backpack full of schoolwork (plus some work work) through morning rush hour. The B train was mysteriously out of commission, necessitating two transfers and a whole lot of stairs to get to my meeting near Columbus Circle. I cut out half an hour early and flagged down a taxi to LaGuardia.

Two hours, $100, and a fair amount of screaming later, I found myself at Delta’s Special Services desk shaking with a mixture of frustration, rage, and a very full bladder. There was no way I was making my flight to Madison, though they could get me into Milwaukee for a mere $1,000 change fee. I appealed to the agent’s sense of rationality, explaining that the Grand Central Parkway had been shut down and that my driver refused to listen to my directions. Nothing. I played the damsel in distress. Nada. I pulled a diva trip. This man was a brick wall. Then I did the only other thing I could think of. I hauled my bags to a corner, sat on the floor, and commenced crying. Nobody even noticed.

Half an hour and a couple of weepy phone calls later, I had a plan. I would head upstate for a night or two with Beth and her boys.

It’s a straight shot on the M60 bus to Metro North’s Harlem-125th Street Station. Under normal circumstances, the trip takes about 25 minutes. But, as even the casual reader must know by now, this was no ordinary day. I couldn’t even squeeze onto the first bus that arrived. I boarded at the back of the next bus, which filled up quickly. We inched our way to Manhattan. At each stop, more people clambered aboard. Tensions were high. More than one person screamed obscenities. A fist fight very nearly broke out. The trip lasted 90 minutes.

I managed to squeeze myself and my bags–which seemed to get heavier and heavier–off of the bus when we hit Second Avenue and found the nearest liquor store. I was going to need a little something to take the edge off during the next leg of my journey. I hauled my bags up what I thought would be the final flight of stairs and boarded the 6:22 to Poughkeepsie.

As we pulled out of the station, the conductor announced that the train was an express and that the first stop would be Beacon–the stop after my intended destination. At this point, I decided to skip the plastic cup and swig my wine straight from the bottle.

Seventy minutes later, I lugged my bags up one staircase and down another before tossing them into the back of a taxi that, naturally, had to drop two other people off before delivering me. I arrived at Beth’s doorstep just before 8:30pm. In the time it takes to fly to London, I had managed to make it 55 miles from my starting point.

By 8:45 I was halfway through a Negroni. By two in the morning we’d polished off our second bottle of Prosecco and were headed to bed.

Somehow Beth wrangled the boys and made it to soccer by 9:00am, which is about the time I opened my eyes. I stumbled down the stairs feeling a little worse for the wear. A cup of coffee and two large glasses of water gave me the strength to make breakfast: scrambled eggs, toast, and a glorious orange tomato from Fishkill Farms, where Beth gets her CSA share.

Then I threw on some clothes, grabbed a bag, and headed up the road to the Cold Spring Farmers’ Market. I was eager to see what the Hudson Valley had to offer–and hopeful that I might stumble on a brisket to take the sting out of the previous day’s travel debacle. I picked up purple potatoes, fennel salami, parsley, and canoodling carrots.

I was about to give up on my brisket plan when I spotted Full Moon Farm‘s stand. Three pounds of grass-fed beef and my backpack was about as heavy as I could conceive given the 30-minute walk back to town. But first, I took a quick stroll through the grounds at Boscobel to admire the view of the Hudson Highlands.

Beth and the boys arrived home a little after me. We spent the early afternoon hydrating and threatening to nap while the brisket defrosted in a bowl of water. Around 2:00 I set to work.

Braised Brisket, More or Less

Get a good piece of meat. Make sure it’s defrosted. Sprinkle with a generous dose of salt and pepper.
Pre-heat the oven to 325.
Bring a large dutch oven up to medium heat with some vegetable oil. Sear the brisket until you get some nice color on it. (Depending on the size of your pot and the size of your brisket, this may require some finagling.)
Remove the meat and add a couple of chopped onions. Cook until soft and starting to color. Add a few cloves of chopped garlic and cook for a couple more minutes.
Ransack the spice cabinet and add whatever strikes your fancy. I went with ginger, fennel, brown mustard seeds, thyme and some other stuff I can’t recall. Allow the spices to toast in the fat for a few minutes.
Add a small can of tomato paste and whatever leftover booze you can dig up. A Stella Artois worked just fine for this brisket, but you could do something darker. Red wine is always nice.
Got some chili paste in the fridge? Go for it. Just about any condiment you’re looking to use up will do here. Dried fruit is also awesome.
Bring the pot up to a boil, pop a lid on, and stick it in the oven. Ideally, the meat will be submerged in the liquid, but not to worry if the ends are sticking out.
Now would be a good time for a nap. Or maybe a shower.
After a couple of hours, give the sauce a taste and adjust the seasoning with salt, pepper and perhaps a pinch of sugar. Flip the meat and return to the oven. Repeat in another hour or so.
Some people like to pull the meat out while it is still firm, slice it against the grain, layer it into a pan, cover with the sauce, and continue to cook. This is handy if you’re serving a large crowd or are aiming for something a little more photogenic. Personally, I like to leave the meat whole and continue to simmer until it is pull-apart tender. (Go past this point and you basically have the best beef stew you’ve ever experienced.) A little fresh flat leaf parsley is a nice touch at the end.

Cocktail time!

The End of Summer

Add a few cubes of ice to a rocks glass. Slosh in a stiff pour of bourbon. Top with ginger ale. Using a microplane, grate a little fresh ginger in. Garnish with a wheel of lemon. Toast to the end of summer and spend the next couple of rounds reminiscing about sandy sheets and outdoor showers.

Thomas and his two kids joined us for dinner. Dylan and Benjamin concocted an elaborate fantasy involving costumes and camping gear while the older boys disappeared upstairs.

Around 6:00 we sat down to the brisket, accompanied by grilled potatoes and carrots and a kale and pear salad with a maple dijon vinaigrette.

In truth, most of the kids had plain tomatoes and hot dogs. But Benjamin, always the iconoclast, embraced this new meat swimming in its mysterious and murky sauce. He ate heartily and then quietly disappeared from the table. A couple of minutes later, he reclaimed his seat and passed me this missive.

It was an unconventional Rosh Hashanah, to be sure. But it was also a lovely one. Next year in Madison!

A Leap of Faith: Beef, Shiitake & Celeriac Stew

Posted on December 20, 2014 by Jasmine Nielsen

As 2014 barrels to a close, I find myself pondering leaps of faith…and making beef stew.

The past few months have brought some major, and for the most part self-initiated, life changes. I’m beginning to settle in, but have yet to really find my new rhythm. Or, rather, just when I think I have, the song changes. I’ve been impressed by my brain’s capacity to synthesize and adapt to new information (and have been killing the Times crossword puzzle as of late). But I’d be lying if I said these changes aren’t physically and mentally exhausting.

Early in adulthood I was faced with a major decision. A mentor and dear friend, noting my distress, observed that there were no right or wrong choices, merely different paths. I have shared this advice with countless people over the years and have taken great comfort in it myself. But, deep down, I’m still convinced that, with enough effort, I can analyze my way into the right choice.

There was a distinct moment in my late 20s when I realized that there was no answer key to life and that everyone is just making it up as they go along. Being an adult doesn’t mean knowing what to do in every situation. We learn from trial and error. We get better at selecting those we ask for advice. We learn to accept that things may not turn out as hoped. We also learn that things continue to evolve and, at some point, it’s bound to get better.

As hard as I am working to make the right choices, there are moments when I realize that what I’ve set in motion involves forces well beyond my control. Try as we might to reason our way through, our life choices are, ultimately, leaps of faith.

Stew, too, is an act of faith. You take a cheap cut of meat, sear it in some fat, and then braise it in liquid. About an hour into this process, the meat will be alarmingly tough and the surrounding gravy won’t taste like much. But keep the faith. Let it go another hour or two (each pot of stew having its own internal timeline) and you will find yourself with a tender and savory dish. It may not always be quite what you set out to make, but it will be good and nourishing. And it will get better with age; consider making your stew the day before, chilling overnight, and then reheating.

Beef, Shiitake & Celeriac Stew

3 tablespoons beef fat (or butter)
2 pounds beef stew meat (chuck, sirloin or whatever else the butcher recommends)
3 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons olive oil
2 large onions
4 large carrots
1 baseball-sized bulb celeriac
1 pound shiitake (pr plain old button) mushrooms
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 tablespoons tomato paste
8 anchovies in oil
2/3 bottle red wine
1 quart beef stock
3 sprigs thyme
1 sprigs rosemary
1 tablespoon sugar
salt and pepper

Melt fat or butter in a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Toss meat with flour and a healthy pinch of salt. Brown meat in batches so as not to crowd the pan, allowing a nice dark crust to form. Set aside.
If your fat is all gone, add the olive oil. Add the sliced onions and cook, stirring frequently, scraping up the dark bits at the bottom of the pan with the juices released by the onions. When the onions are soft and browned, add the carrots, celeriac, mushrooms and red pepper flakes. Cook until the vegetables begin to soften. Clear a spot in the pot and add the tomato paste and anchovies. Cook for a minute or two, stirring constantly to avoid burning. Deglaze the pan with a bit of the red wine, then add the rest of the wine plus the beef stock, herbs and sugar.
Bring the stew up to a boil, pop a lid on, and turn the heat down low. You’re aiming for a slow simmer. Now is a fine time to take your compost to the farmers’ market. You may purchase a hot apple cider for the walk home but do no under any circumstances buy more vegetables given that you are leaving town in four days and still have the bulk of last week’s CSA share stashed in your refrigerator.
After about an hour of cooking, remove the lid so that your sauce begins to thicken. Add a healthy dose of salt and pepper. Continue to simmer for one to two additional hours until your meat is fork-tender (but not complete mush) and the surrounding liquid is the consistency of a hearty gravy.

Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?

EAT THIS: Thanksgiving Soup

Posted on December 1, 2014 by Jasmine Nielsen

On the fifth day of Thanksgiving, bring the turkey stock that wouldn’t fit into the ice cube tray to a simmer. Pick the bread out of your leftover stuffing and add what remains to the pot (cremini mushrooms, Italian sausage, fennel and leeks in this case). Add a few sliced carrots. Add a pinch of red pepper flakes. Roughly chop and add the remaining turkey meat. Add a big bunch of swiss chard. Proceed to eat this for the next three days, noting that you really just kicked the leftover can a little further down the road. But hey, at least you worked a little fiber into the equation.

Split Pea Soup for Days

Posted on November 9, 2014 by Jasmine Nielsen

A couple of Fridays ago I met a friend for some grownup (read: stiff) cocktails followed by some of the best Indian food I have ever had. In between, we stopped off at Kalustyan’s, where I once again failed to exercise any restraint. This is where I picked up those Jamaican Jerk Bitters that went into last weekend’s cocktail. I also purchased an excessive quantity of legumes.

Fortunately, soup season is upon us. We’re having a brilliant autumn here in New York City. The days are crisp, cool and noticeably shorter, making the bright amber sunlight all the more precious. Yesterday found me traversing Prospect Park bundled into my new emerald green Paddington Bear coat, listening (and likely singing aloud) to Bob Dylan’s Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3. ‘Twas autumnal perfection.

Today I am hunkered down at home trying to catch up on work–the perfect time for a little soup making (and a little more Dylan).

Split Pea Soup

2 tablespoons olive oil
3 ounces slab bacon, diced
2 medium yellow onions, diced
5 carrots, diced
2 bay leaves
1 large sprig fresh thyme
1 large pinch red pepper flakes
1 small pinch ground cloves
salt and pepper

Bring a large, heavy-bottomed pot up to medium-low heat with the olive oil. Add your bacon and cook, stirring frequently, until mostly rendered but not crispy. Add the onions and continue to stir and cook until they are soft. Add the carrots and cook for a few more minutes. Dump in the split peas, bay leaves, thyme, red pepper and cloves along with 7 cups of water. Raise heat, bring to a boil, and then reduce to a simmer. Let cook, stirring more frequently as the mixture thickens, for two hours. Fish out the thyme and bay leaves and add salt and pepper to taste. (A little smoked salt will amp up the bacon flavor.)

This is nice finished with a little sherry vinegar. If you’re entertaining, you might throw in some frozen peas at the end, which will provide a lovely counterpoint to your delicious mush, and serve with a garnish of pumpernickel croutons. If you just polished off a large bowl of miso-poached eggs with bok choy and tatsoi and already have dinner plans, just pack the cooled soup into small containers and accept that this is what you will be eating for lunch all week. It reheats brilliantly.

Red Wine-Braised Chicken Thighs with Dukkah

Posted on January 7, 2014 by Jasmine Nielsen

It is beyond cold here in New York City and across most of the nation. As I type this, it’s nine degrees in Brooklyn–and that’s without factoring in the wind chill. I made the morning commute in no less than 18 articles of clothing.

Had I to do it over, I would have added leg warmers and a second scarf.

It was the (please, oh please, let this be true) coldest day of the year and the heat was out in our office due to a leaking valve. Adding insult to injury, the building is in the final stages of a multi-year facelift; concrete bricks and plaster are currently all that separate us from the elements. The staff toughed it out in knit caps, scarves and sweaters until 3:00 when I sent everyone home. I stuck around for another hour in the hopes of guilting the building staff into figuring something out before heading home myself. The temperature was holding steady in the single digits, but the wind had picked up. For some reason my knees–buried under silk long underwear, jeans and a down coat–suffered the most.

I had a hankering for something warm and comforting. I also had a hankering to take my brand new Global knives for a spin.

The fridge held chicken thighs, potatoes, carrots, red cabbage, and some sorry-looking cilantro. On the counter I had onions and some red wine left by my cat sitter. I also had a baggie labeled Dukkah, which the internet tells me is an Egyptian blend of crushed spices and nuts. This particular mix, which I received as a gift from an old friend, is from My Spice Sage and contains coriander, cumin, fennel, thyme, marjoram, black pepper and sesame seeds.

Red Wine-Braised Chicken Thighs with Dukkah

2 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons Dukkah or a spice blend of your choosing (I’m willing to bet this would be nice with a curry of some sort.)
8 boneless, skinless chicken thighs (You could use bone-in. Just be sure to cook them a bit longer.)
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
1-2 tablespoons harissa
7 small carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
8 small potatoes, quartered
1 1/2 cups red wine
1 1/2 cups chicken stock
1/2 head red cabbage, shredded
1 small bunch cilantro, minced
salt and pepper

Heat oil in a large dutch over medium-low heat. Rinse the chicken thighs, pat them dry and dust with 1 tablespoon of Dukkah plus salt and pepper. Pan fry the chicken in two batches, approximately five minutes per side.
Set the seared chicken aside, add the onions, and cook until nicely browned. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons of Dukkah and the harissa, stirring constantly for 1 minute. Then add the red wine and use your spoon to scrape the fond (browned tasty bits) from the bottom of the pan. Add the chicken stock, carrots and potatoes. Bring to a boil, lower the heat and let simmer uncovered for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Taste the broth and add salt and pepper as you see fit. Stir in the cabbage, cilantro and chicken. (It’s OK if the liquid doesn’t completely cover the vegetables and chicken.) Cover and let simmer for 20 minutes or so, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are cooked through but still firm.

The resulting dish was comforting in the extreme, with a rich broth and warm spices.

The knives were even more satisfying.

These supremely sexy pieces of cutlery feel light but powerful in the hand and cut through an onion like it’s butter that’s been left on the counter. They may just be the best gift I have ever received.

French Lentil and Fried Egg Perfection

Posted on November 25, 2012 by Jasmine Nielsen

I spent Thanksgiving with my family in South Florida. My 92-year-old grandparents finally relocated this past spring to be near my mom. It was a treat to spend the holiday with them after more than 25 years. While there were only six of us for Thanksgiving dinner, I ended up making a total of 11 dishes in order to satisfy various constituencies–including the aforementioned nonagenarians and a 16-year old vegan. And that doesn’t include dessert!

Here’s my 92-year-old grandma keeping guard over her wing while the bird rests. I was particularly gratified that she liked the butternut squash and creamed kale gratin, which was a divergence from her usual fare.

I got home to Brooklyn late last night. While I wasn’t thrilled to return to winter, I welcomed the opportunity to cater to my own tastes in my own kitchen. Best of all, I was able to cobble together the ingredients for this comforting dish without having to put on pants.

French Lentils

Render 2 ounces of bacon in a medium-sized, heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. (I highly recommend keeping some slab bacon in the freezer for such purposes.)
Add some chopped onion. (I went with half of a large red onion that had been lingering in the fridge since before I left town.) Cook until onion is wilted and just starting to brown. (If your bacon is lean like mine and the bottom of the pan starts to get dark, add a half tablespoon of olive oil.)
Add three small chopped carrots and saute until just beginning to soften. Then add four cups of water, a few cubes of frozen chicken stock (or some bouillon), and that last bit of red wine left over from your dinner party last weekend. Bring to a simmer and then add half a pound of French green lentils, a pinch of red pepper flakes and half a tablespoon of Herbes de Provence.
Simmer until the lentils are soft and the broth has thickened a bit–roughly 45 minutes. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper. Add three small carrots chopped into very small cubes and cook for a few more minutes. Stir in a tablespoon or so of red wine vinegar to provide a little balance.

This makes a great bed for just about any protein. I cooked the first half of these lentils for a dinner party a few months ago and served them with pan-roasted Scottish salmon to great effect. Tonight I went with a fried egg. The rich, oozy yolk was a perfect marriage with the earthy lentils.

Provencal Roast Chicken

Posted on October 15, 2012 by Jasmine Nielsen

I adopted Jezebel around 1999. She was so small that I quite reasonably assumed she was a kitten. But the vet put her at about three years old. Jezebel remains a delightful companion, despite her recent propensity for late night yowling. (The internet suggests that dementia is likely.) As you can see, whatever’s happening in her brain, she’s managed to hold onto her good looks.

As tiny as she was when she found me, Jezebel is now down under five pounds, so I tend to feed her whatever she wants. She and I only made our way through a small bit of this truly scrumptious Provencal-style roast chicken tonight, but I am confident that it will be just as good throughout the week.

While I once confined myself to white meat off the bone (a holdover from my vegetarian upbringing and subsequent squeamishness), I love roasting a whole chicken. The smell permeates the house. It’s economical. It leaves you with bones to make stock. And a whole chicken can be communal–even when it’s just you and your cat.

Roast Chicken with Porcini, Leeks and Root Vegetables

One whole chicken (5-7 pounds), rinsed and patted dry
1.5 ounces dried porcini mushrooms
1 lemon
kosher salt
black pepper
1 1/2 tablespoons Herbes de Provence (lavender, savory, fennel, thyme and rosemary or some combination thereof)
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
2 large leeks, white and light green portions sliced and rinsed thoroughly
4 cups of chopped root vegetables (turnips, carrots, parsnips, beets, potatoes, etc.)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Bring a cup of water to a boil and pour over the dried porcini.
Slice the ends off of the lemon, score the sides and stuff it inside the bird. Combine a tablespoon of kosher salt, a good amount of freshly-ground pepper and a tablespoon of the Herbes de Provence in a small dish. Rub this all over the bird, being sure to get under the skin to massage it into the breast meat. If you’ve got some kitchen twine and you can find a way to access it while your hands are covered in raw chicken, truss the legs. If not, whatever.
Set the bird in a roasting pan breast-side down, drizzle some olive oil over the top and pop it in the oven. After 30 minutes or so, flip the bird over and baste with the pan juices. If the bird hasn’t released much fat, you can use a little more olive oil. You might also sprinkle the top with additional salt, pepper and herbs if you like.
After another 30 minutes, slide the bird to the side and add your leeks and root vegetables. (I went with turnips, carrots, beets and potatoes because that’s what I had on hand.) Stir these with the pan juices and then add 1/2 tablespoon of the Herbes de Provence, salt, pepper and the porcini along with their liquid. Mound the vegetables in the center, flip your chicken so that it is once again breast-side down and place it on top of the vegetables.
Continue cooking, basting the bird with the juices approximately every fifteen minutes and stirring the vegetables if needed. It should take roughly 20 minutes total cooking time per pound, but start checking your chicken whenever you get anxious or when the aroma starts to make you dizzy. I recommend ignoring whatever guidelines your thermometer may suggest and, instead, aim for getting the deepest part of the thigh up around 165 degrees. Be sure to let it rest for about five minutes out of the oven. If you’re worried about the bird getting cold, tent it very loosely–lest you steam that beautiful, crisp skin–with foil.

Were I serving this to a crowd, I would have placed the chicken on a platter, mounded the vegetables around it, and carved at the table. Instead, I hacked off of a leg and got to work.

the drunken fig

All measurements are approximate.

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