Authors: Michael Ruhlman

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BOOK: Ruhlman's Twenty

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Pastrami is typically made with the beef brisket, which is brined, given a coating of black pepper and coriander, and smoked for flavor, then steamed. The same method works beautifully with short ribs. In this preparation, the ribs are grilled to pick up that smoky flavor. If you have a stove-top smoker, that will work as well.

Like traditional bacon and corned beef, pastrami cure calls for pink salt, or sodium nitrite, a curing salt that keeps the meat a vivid red and gives it a distinctively piquant flavor (Himalayan pink salt is a different salt entirely).
See more about sodium nitrite in Sources.
It’s not strictly required in this preparation, but the cooked meat will have a little different flavor and will look like well-done beef, grayish rather than red.

The pastrami ribs are excellent with sautéed cabbage, sauerkraut, or roasted potatoes. You could also slice the meat and serve it with rye bread and coleslaw for a new version of the Rachel sandwich (a Reuben made with pastrami in place of corned beef).

This recipe uses bone-in short ribs but will work just as well with boneless short ribs if those are what’s available to you. And it will work with a brisket if you prefer that!

BRINE

7½ cups/1.8 liters water

6 tablespoons/90 grams kosher salt

1 teaspoon pink salt (sodium nitrite)

2 tablespoons brown sugar

5 garlic cloves, smashed with the flat side of a knife

2 teaspoons black peppercorns

2 teaspoons mustard seeds

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

1 tablespoon red chile flakes

2 teaspoons allspice berries or ½ teaspoon ground allspice

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

Two 2-inch/5-centimeter cinnamon sticks, broken into pieces, or 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

6 bay leaves, crumbled

1 teaspoon whole cloves or ½ teaspoon ground cloves

2 teaspoons ground ginger

8 meaty bone-in short ribs

¼ cup/30 grams black peppercorns

¼ cup/20 grams coriander seeds

TO MAKE THE BRINE:
Combine all the brine ingredients in a medium saucepan and bring to a simmer. Remove from the heat, allow the brine to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until chilled.

Place the short ribs in a resealable plastic bag. Pour the brine over the ribs and seal the bag. Place the bag in a bowl and refrigerate for 5 to 7 days, lifting the bag and moving the ribs around every other day so that all are in contact with the brine.

When you’re ready to cook the ribs, remove them from the brine, rinse, and pat dry with paper towels/absorbent paper. Prepare a medium-hot fire in a grill/barbecue
(see technique #18, Grill).
You’re after the smoke here, so if you wish, have some wood chips soaking to add to the coals.

In a frying pan over medium-high heat, toast the peppercorns until fragrant, 3 to 4 minutes. Grind the peppercorns in a coffee grinder or spice mill. Repeat the process with the coriander seeds. You want a very coarse grind, not a powder. Combine the pepper and coriander and dredge the short ribs in the spices.

Ready the coals, adding wood chips if using. Arrange the short ribs on the grill rack directly over the coals, cover the grill, and cook the ribs on all sides until they have picked up plenty of smoky flavor, 20 to 30 minutes total. Remove the ribs from the grill.

The ribs can be refrigerated for up to 5 days before being steamed. If cooking them immediately, preheat the oven to 225°C/110°C/gas ¼. Put the ribs in an ovenproof pan or pot with a lid; the pan should be large enough to accommodate the ribs in a single layer. Add enough water to come 1 inch/2.5 centimeters up the sides of the ribs. Bring the water to a vigorous simmer, cover the pan, and put it in the oven. Cook until the ribs are fork tender, about 4 hours, turning them once midway through the cooking. Serve immediately.

SUBTECHNIQUE:
STOCK

The purest form of using water to extract flavor from food is stock making. Pour water over meat and bones and vegetables, heat the mixture, and eventually all the flavor from the meat and vegetables and all the protein from the bones and cartilage will wind up in the water. It’s simple and easy, and is probably the single most important difference between restaurant cooking and home cooking. This is often the first technique taught at culinary schools.

If it’s such a game changer, why isn’t it one of the main techniques here?

A few reasons. Most people don’t make stocks at home and no amount of encouraging will change that. It’s simpler to build the stock making right into the process of cooking. Flavor extraction is what’s happening whether the chicken bones are in a big stockpot or a small braising pan. Mainly, I wanted stock making to be a subtechnique, rather than an imposing main technique, because every time we’re using a water-based liquid, we’re making stock. Recognizing this fact is the real game changer.

Generally, making stock gets a bad rap. People tend to talk about it with the same enthusiasm as, say, cleaning the gutters. That’s wrong. Where did we get the notion that stock making requires giant pots and huge amounts of time? It can be like that, and it’s a great way to put a lot of stock away in the freezer to have on hand, but there’s no reason you can’t make small amounts of stock. The carcass of a roasted chicken makes about 4 cups/960 milliliters of an amazing stock. You don’t even have to use a whole carcass, just parts. Let the water do its magic on a single piece of chicken if you want. It’s beautiful.

Want to make a really good soup? In the morning, put a medium onion, a carrot, and a chicken leg in a pot, cover it with water, and put it on a back burner on low. That night, when you’re making soup, just strain the liquid into your soup pot. The soup will be infinitely better than if you’d used store-bought broth.

I can’t abide people who like to cook but claim they can’t be bothered with making stock because it’s too hard or too much of a bother. They’re probably making stock all the time without realizing it.

Here are all the stock basics you need to know. Water will pull out the deliciousness of whatever you cook in it. If you put a grilled/
barbecued steak in water, the water would eventually taste like that grilled steak. Pouring 6 cups/1.4 liters water over the carcass of a roasted chicken will give you a wonderful, versatile roasted chicken stock. Adding onion and carrot gives the stock sweetness. So does tomato paste/purée, which also deepens the color. Garlic adds more sweetness and flavor. Cracked peppercorns contribute a gentle spiciness; bay leaf adds savory depth. Parsley and thyme add floral notes. Do you have to add all this stuff? No. The chicken carcass alone would give the stock a good light flavor. Onion is an important ingredient in a stock, so at minimum, I’d use some chicken and an onion. Other than that, nothing is absolutely essential.

The time it takes for water to do its extracting depends on what you’re heating. Vegetables require only an hour in the water, so it’s a good idea to add them at the end of a long-cooked meat stock. Bones give up their connective tissue, which becomes gelatin, the protein that gives a stock body; this takes a lot more time. Light, porous poultry bones can be done in a few hours, whereas heavier beef and veal bones benefit from eight or more hours to ensure you’ve captured as much gelatin as possible.

The other critical factor is how much heat you bring to the stock. If a stock is hot enough to simmer, fat will emulsify into the water, and the stock will be cloudy and have a cloudy flavor. In addition, the agitation of the water will break apart the vegetables. They’ll fragment, and you’ll lose the stock that these fragments have absorbed when you strain them out. The best stock results when the water is below simmering but still hot, 170° to 180°F/77° to 82°C. My favorite way to cook stock is to put the uncovered pot into a low oven (180° to 200°F/82° to 95°C). It stays hot, but the cooling effect of evaporation prevents the stock from getting too hot. The stock also stays out of the way.

When the stock is done, strain it and use it right away or put it in the refrigerator. I like to strain stock through cloth to remove all the fine particles. Skim the fat off the top of the stock, or chill it and remove the congealed fat. (You can use cheesecloth/muslin for straining the stock, but I keep four or five All-Strain cloths, which are better and less expensive; see
Sources
.)

Here’s how easy stock can be if ease is what you’re looking for. Put a chicken carcass and an onion in a pot, cover it with about 1 inch/ 2.5 centimeters of water, and cook in a low oven for 3 to 12 hours. Actual work time? Three minutes. So I simply don’t believe people who say they don’t have time to make stock.

STOCK BASICS

Meat gives stock flavor.
Bones and cartilage provide body.
Vegetables add sweetness.
Various other ingredients (garlic, tomato, herbs, peppercorns) contribute good flavors, adding to the stock’s complexity.
Red meats and bones are best blanched or roasted before using them to make stock.
Skim any froth or foam that rises to the surface when you first bring the water up to heat.
Cook meat and bones in hot but not visibly simmering water, about 180°F/82°C, for hours. (The surface of the water should be still, but the pot should be too hot to hold your hand to.)
Add vegetables and herbs at the end (they need to be in the water for only an hour or so).
Strain the stock through a kitchen cloth for the cleanest finished stock.
Chill the stock, then remove the congealed fat from the surface.

EASY CHICKEN STOCK
/MAKES ABOUT
4 CUPS/960 MILLILITERS
STOCK

Rather than make the stock with the carcass of a roasted chicken, you can follow this same method using a whole cooked chicken or roasted whole pieces. But the most efficient and economical way to make a small quantity of stock is to use leftovers from another meal. If you roast a chicken, your main ingredient is already prepared. Just add an onion, get water hot for a couple hours, and you’ve got delicious stock.

1 roasted chicken carcass (and any leftover pieces or bones that have not been dispatched)

1 large onion

2 carrots

2 bay leaves

1 teaspoon black peppercorns

1 tablespoon tomato paste/purée

Optional additions:
a few garlic cloves, sprigs of fresh parsley and thyme

Break the chicken carcass into pieces. Put the chicken and any leftovers in a 3-quart/2.8-liter ovenproof saucepan and add water to cover. You will need about 6 cups/1.4 liters.

If cooking the stock on the stove top, put the pan, uncovered, on a back burner on low for a few hours. The surface of the water should be still, but the pot should be too hot to hold your hand to.

If cooking the stock in the oven, put the pan, uncovered, in an oven preheated to 180° to 200°F/82° to 95°C and cook for at least 4 hours or as long as 12 hours. (I simply put the pan in the oven and cook the stock overnight.)

Add the remaining ingredients, bring the stock back to temperature over high heat, then reduce the heat to low or return the pan to the oven. Cook for 1 hour longer.

Strain the stock through a fine-mesh strainer or, better still, through cheesecloth/muslin or a kitchen cloth. Store in the refrigerator for up to 1 week or in the freezer for up to 3 months.

4 ONION: The Chef’s Secret Weapon

IF ONIONS WERE AS RARE AS TRUFFLES,
chefs would pay dearly for them. The onion is among the most powerful flavoring devices in the kitchen and works in numerous ways. But because onions are abundant and cheap, they, like salt and water, tend to be overlooked for what they are: a miracle ingredient that transforms food in many ways, in nearly every style of cuisine around the globe. I buy onions every time I’m in the grocery store, not because I need them, but because I fear not having an onion when I do need it. Not having an onion in the kitchen is like working with a missing limb.

To harness the power of the onion, the first thing to recognize is that onions are not a one-note ingredient like, say, lemon juice. Lemon juice is lemon juice. Add more, or add less, and it’s always lemon juice. Onion has a volume knob controlled by how much heat you bring to it, and for how long, before you add the other ingredients it will support. Used raw, onions have one effect on a soup or sauce or stock; lightly cooked but not browned, another effect; cooked for a long time but still without color, still another effect; taken further and browned, still another. Poach onions, and they’re different again. Roast them, and they’re a unique preparation. Macerate onions in vinegar, and you have yet another effect.

Onions add both sweetness and savoriness—that meaty umami effect that we recognize as a satisfying depth of flavor—in varying degrees depending on how you heat them.

Yes, as an ingredient, the onion is a star. I love a stew with large chunks of onion, or whole small onions cooked until tender. Onion rings are one of my very favorite things to eat, period. A grilled/barbecued onion is fantastic on a burger or steak. But onions are even more valuable when used as a tool, the unseen mechanism that makes so many dishes satisfying. The name derives from the Latin unio: “one, oneness, unity.” The impact of onions on food is unlikely the reason for the name, but they do seem to have a unifying effect on a dish, serving as a kind of net that connects and unifies the many flavors in a finished preparation.

In terms of onion as tool/technique, there are three main subjects to recognize: the workhorse onion itself, sweating, and caramelizing.

The Onion Itself

The basic white and yellow storage onion is your workhorse onion, the onion you should always have on hand. When you shop, you should look at the quality of the onion rather than seek out a specific type. Spanish onions, yellow onions, white onions, and even red onions all work the same. Look for firm bulbs with a tight dry skin. I prefer them big, so I usually choose Spanish. Big onions are more efficient—I spend less time peeling. If I need half an onion, the other half can be wrapped and stored in the refrigerator.

Onions are harsh because they pick up sulfur from the soil and store it. In nature this serves as a protective device, and this is what’s responsible for the sting in your eyes when you’re cutting a lot of onions. The sulfur compounds break down into hydrogen sulfide, sulfur dioxide, and sulfuric acid. Happily, the sulfur products are volatile and dissipate quickly in heat or acid before they reach our mouths. (When serving onions raw, it’s a good idea to rinse or even soak them.)

The so-called sweet onions are grown in soil that doesn’t have a lot of sulfur and so are less harsh. You can cook with these onions, but once they’re heated, they behave exactly like regular onions, so it doesn’t make sense to cook with them if they’re more expensive than white or Spanish onions.

Sweating

This is such an important technique in the kitchen that it almost deserves its own chapter, but because onions are what cooks typically sweat, by themselves or with other ingredients, sweating is a subtechnique of the onion.

Sweating means to gently heat the onion (or any vegetable) in a small amount of oil or butter without browning it. It’s called sweating because that’s what the onion appears to be doing; the heat forces water to the surface of the onion in little beads. As the onion loses water, its flavors begin to concentrate, and the heat transforms the sugars into increasingly complex and delicious compounds. If you want to taste the difference, simmer some raw onion in a small amount of water for ten minutes, and do the same with some onion that has been sweated first. The water with the sweated onions will be distinctly sweeter. Sometimes you want that raw effect. I prefer raw onions in most stocks, rather than cooked onions, because the finished stock can become too sweet, especially if you reduce it and concentrate the sugars. For the vast majority of preparations, we want to heat the onions first, and sweating is the most common of these steps.

There are a few critical things to understand about sweating. By far the most important is that the longer you sweat onions, the sweeter and more complex their flavor becomes. This is the volume knob effect. Sweat them for a few minutes, just until they’re translucent and softened, and they have one flavor. Sweated for two hours, without color, they are deeper, richer, and sweeter. The “without color” part is important. Once they’ve lost enough water and get hot enough to begin to brown, the flavor becomes radically different from that of sweated onions. This entirely different preparation is called caramelizing.

Mediterranean cuisines have their own cooking term for sweating. In Italy, it’s called soffrito (soh-FREE-toh), literally “sub- or under-frying.” It’s often done in conjunction with other ingredients—pancetta, garlic, carrots, tomato—and is often taken to the point that the onion becomes golden or caramelized, depending on the dish. Creating the soffrito is considered the mandatory first step for most soups, sauces, and risottos. This is because gentle gradual heating, primarily of onions, has such a powerful impact on a finished dish.

Any home cook can elevate his or her cooking by a giant leap simply by cooking the onions a little more softly for a little more time. See especially the
Winter Vegetable Garbure
, which cooks the onions this way below a sheet of bacon rind. This flavors the stew and keeps the onion moist so that it doesn’t brown. I picked up this excellent technique from Dave Cruz, chef de cuisine of Ad Hoc in Yountville, California.

Again, sweating onion for hours is not necessarily what you want to do all the time. But it’s important to recognize the impact sweating has and to evaluate what effect you’re looking for. Perhaps it’s onion gently sweated for a stock or a meat loaf so that it retains some bite, or long-sweated onion as the base for a vegetable stew. Think about it. Make a plan based on what you want. And use the onion to help you get there.

Caramelizing

When we increase the heat and cook most of the water out of the onions, they will brown. We call this caramelizing. The heat causes the proteins to release amino acids, which react with the sugars to create a flavor at once sweet, savory, and nutty. This is one of the most extraordinary reactions in the kitchen, so much so that a well-known dish features caramelizing: French onion soup.