November 2003

How Much For Just One (Short) Rib?

I always get a little mixed up in autumn. Most of the time, I love the fall because of the colors on the trees, the falling leaves, the smells of woodsmoke and rain, the cool afternoons, the brisk air... all of it. But, occasionally, the weather, with all its grey and fog and mist, causes in me a constant, lingering gloom. As a result, autumn is always a tad melancholy for me, a season full of nostalgia and doubt and long, grey Sunday afternoons. In the past few years, as I've become more aware (and less tolerant) of this problem, I've started searching for things to distract me and drag me out of my listlessness. The restorative that I've found works best, of course, is cooking.

Now, don't get me wrong, I cook all year round, in any weather, in any manner I can. But the seasons are different, with different harvests, and the produce and the weather both call for different approaches. Spring calls for pan-roasts and poussin, lots of lamb, asparagus, green garlic, and as many fresh, green shoots as one can fit on the plate. Summer, for me, belongs in equal parts to tomatoes, corn, and shrimp, and raw foods or foods simply and quickly grilled are never better than during July or August. But, all that aside, here, now, in the heart of November, is where cooking happens.

Cooking is a transformative act. You take a thing and, through a combination of technique and skill and creativity and heat and luck, you turn it into something gloriously, deliciously different. Cooking is more than just making something hot. Heating up a jar of Prego(tm) is not cooking, heating Wonder Bread(tm) in a toaster oven till the butter melts is not cooking, and even, sadly, to me searing a steak on both sides over flames hot enough to melt the Devil's horns still isn't cooking. Not as such.

Real cooking, in my opinion, requires a little more time and effort than that. It's best done on a long, grey Sunday afternoon in the fall, when the grills are put away, the tomatoes are in cans, and the house is cool enough to make turning on the oven an option. Real cooking, as I see it, involves long, slow application of heat; it is roasting, stewing, or braising. And, at last, again, this is just the season for it.

Of all the slower cooking methods I listed above, stewing does the least for me. I've never seen the allure of stews for some reason. On the other hand, the best way in the world to win my heart is to feed me something braised or roasted. The deep, caramelized flavors, the warm tenderness of meat that's been cooked slowly and with care.... It's a beautiful thing. Recently, I've been dreaming of braised short ribs. You should be too. Let me give you an idea of what to dream.

First, an explanation: to braise something is to cook it with a small amount of liquid for a long, long time. When braising meat (such as, you know, short ribs), it's often braised upon a mirepoix of chopped vegetables. Classically, you want the ratio of meat to chopped veggies to be three to one (i.e., if you cook 3 lbs. of meat, you 'll need 1 lb. of chopped veggies), however I usually gauge this by eye and cook as many veggies as I feel like. A classic mirepoix is itself three parts onions, two parts celery, and one part carrot, but, again, I gauge this by eye and usually use whatever I feel is appropriate.

Right, now that you have the gist, it's time to go shopping. Buy yourself some bone-in, beef short ribs, enough to feed as many people as you want (assume nearly a pound per person for bone-in short ribs -- leftovers are good). While you're at it, pick up an orange, a cherry pepper (or chile of your liking) or two, a head of garlic, a couple yellow onions, some carrots, some celery, a stick of cinnamon, and maybe some decent, salt-free stock. While you're at it, buy a small bulb of fennel. For this recipe, I enliven the classic mirepoix mentioned above by replacing a small handful of the chopped celery with an equal amount of chopped fennel.

Now, salt and pepper the short ribs, and rub them with a bit of the cinnamon, freshly ground. Chop the onions, celery ( and fennel, if you're using it), and carrots into fine dice in roughly the proprtions mentioned above. Mince the garlic, then the chiles, removing the latter's seeds and discarding them. Remove half the zest (the orange skin, excluding the white pith) from the orange and chop it fine.

Preheat the oven to a low, low temperature; the lowest my own will do is about 250 degrees, which is about right for this recipe. Atop the stove, in a heavy, ovenproof casserole, heat a little olive or peanut oil. When the oil shimmers, begin to brown the short ribs in batches over medium heat, turning to ensure that each side gets a little color to it. Do not crowd the pan; if the ribs are too crowded they'll steam rather than brown and it is the caramelization developed in this step which deepens the flavor of the whole braise.

Remove the ribs from the pan, and reserve them. Turn down the heat a tad, and add the garlic, chiles, and the orange zest to the pan, and cook the mixture until it's fragrant; don't let it burn. Add the veggies and stir them so they're coated by the oil and so that they soften a tad.

Return the ribs to the pan and ensure they're nestled in the vegetables. Add a small amount (just enough to wet the bottom of the pan) of stock or water to the pan, and tightly cover the pan with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Replace the lit on top the paper/foil, and place the pan in the oven.

Depending on your oven, the number of ribs, and any number of other factors, the short ribs will be done in anywhere from 3 to 6 hours (around 4 hours is a good average). I usually check and turn them once every hour or so, tasting them for seasoning (they may need more salt, orange, or chile). I declare them done when they can be easily pierced by a fork.

Once the ribs are done, you can either eat them immediately, or cool them and reheat them later. Like stews, braises improve with time, and I find braised short-ribs are best after a night or two. To serve them, you can either serve the ribs as they are with the vegetables alongside or beneath them, or you can puree and strain the vegetables to make a sauce for the meat. To do this, just remove the short ribs to a plate, pour the braising liquid and vegetables into a blender, liquify the whole, and strain the results through a large, fine strainer into a saucepot. If this "sauce" is too thick for your liking at first, you can reduce it over low heat until it thickens to your liking, then the ribs can be served over mashed potatoes or celery root with this easy "gravy."

I find this is a meal best served to small gatherings on very chilly nights.