Here's a "why."
Dear Internet,
I'm sure you've wondered -- possibly even lost sleep over -- how I became the internationally recognized foodie I am today. Well, I'll tell you.
For reasons WELL beyond the scope of this post* I had always sort of daydreamed of being a suave sort of bachelor guy. If you remember Otter from Animal House, that's what I wanted to be to the extent I wanted to be that even before there was an Otter or an Animal House. Part of the whole Mr. Smooth Bastid thing was being able to wow the distaff side with yummies. Yummies, in the context of a Romantic Dining Experience, would inexorably lead to my Casanova-ish exploits. Or so I thought, but then again I was merely 13 and as big an idiot as I've ever been.
Anyway, at some point it struck me that waiting until:
1- I had managed to find someone worthy of inviting over for a romantic dinnah, and
2- I had a place suitable for same, and
3- I had managed to be acceptable to that someone
in order to figure out what to cook and how to cook it was likely to not work out well on about 17 different levels.
So I figured I might as well practice. I had glommed on to my kid sister's Better Homes & Gardens Junior Cookbook but that book was basically 101 things to do with Sherbet, Frankfurters and Pancake mix. I reasoned that if I was to be an International Romantic Icon I'd need stronger stuff than that and, about 1977, that meant I had to look to that pinnacle of masculine sophistication: Playboy Magazine.
Since I was only 13, the actual magazine itself was out of bounds. BUT they had published a cookbook entitled Playboy's Gourmet, written by Thomas Mario, their food & bev. guy. If anyone knew how to work that cooking angle to romantic advantage it MUST be those devilish operators at Playboy, who have scientifically worked it all out. Well, that's how my mind worked in 1976, sue me.
My family thought I was deranged in wanting to fix dinner. (They had begun to suspect my sanity might be substandard a couple of years earlier, at a Monty Python film.) My dad finally said yes and gave me $__ to procure ingredients. Naturally, the outlay was insufficient to cover what I wanted to do, and in hindsight I suspect he was just giving me money to shut up, stop pestering him and otherwise leave him in peace. Not realizing this I biked over to the supermarket with the book in pocket to see what may be done.
There is nothing more painful to an adolescent male than realizing reality is not something he has the privilege of altering. My dreams of Chateubriand evaporated. The only thing I could afford for which I had the recipe was "Braised Short Ribs of Beef." Short ribs were pretty much the cheapest hunk of cow there was. So I bought all the ingredients and biked back home.
I dredged up the recipe and I post it here. Basically it was a Boeuf Bourgignon, with short ribs in lieu of the usual cubes of beef. It came off without a hitch and the only thing that sticks out in my mind is that my father gave me an unalloyed compliment. Which is something which NEVER happens. (God bless him, compliments and apologies are not his thing.) I had never heard unqualified praise come out of his mouth in my direction. I was floored.
The ribs WERE great, juicy, flavorful, fall-apart-tender. Ideal fall/winter food. My dad loved them so much he unbelted the aforementioned compliment. The way I saw it, if cooking yummies could crack a nut as tough as my old man...why, the world was my oyster.
Here goes (keep in mind that we're looking at something written THIRTY FIVE years ago, my 2006 comments are in italics):
6 pounds beef short ribs, cut "english" style
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil (obviously this means EVOO)
3 medium yellow onions, chopped
4 large garlic cloves, minced
1 1/2 cups dry red wine
1 (28 to 32-ounce) can diced tomatoes (these days I'd use Pomi in the asepctic cartons)
1 1/2 cups beef broth (today we'd say "stock")
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
6 (3 by 1-inch) strips fresh lemon zest
1 teaspoon dried rosemary, crumbled (now that it's regularly available, let's go with 2 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary leaves, instead)
10 ounces pearl onions (about 2 cups) (frozen is fine, actually!)
1 (1-pound) bag peeled baby carrots
Finely chopped fresh parsley leaves, for garnish
Pat short ribs dry and season with salt and pepper. In a heavy Dutch oven, heat oil over medium-high heat, until shimmering (but not smoking, EVOO gets bitter) and brown the ribs in batches, transferring to a bowl.
Add chopped onions to Dutch oven and cook over medium heat, stirring, until translucent...make sure they don't brown or burn. Add garlic and cook, stirring, 1 minute. Add wine, tomatoes, broth, Worcestershire sauce, zest, rosemary, and salt and bring to a boil. Add ribs including any juices that have accumulated in bowl and barely simmer, covered, 30 minutes.
Add onions and carrots, stirring (make sure they are submerged in liquid) and cook at a bare simmer (covered) about 4 hours. Fish out the meat, onions, and carrots and then reduce the braising liquid, if necessary. Before serving, put back the beef and veggies until heated through.
This is even better the next day!
-J.
* That means it had to do with girls.
I'm sure you've wondered -- possibly even lost sleep over -- how I became the internationally recognized foodie I am today. Well, I'll tell you.
For reasons WELL beyond the scope of this post* I had always sort of daydreamed of being a suave sort of bachelor guy. If you remember Otter from Animal House, that's what I wanted to be to the extent I wanted to be that even before there was an Otter or an Animal House. Part of the whole Mr. Smooth Bastid thing was being able to wow the distaff side with yummies. Yummies, in the context of a Romantic Dining Experience, would inexorably lead to my Casanova-ish exploits. Or so I thought, but then again I was merely 13 and as big an idiot as I've ever been.
Anyway, at some point it struck me that waiting until:
1- I had managed to find someone worthy of inviting over for a romantic dinnah, and
2- I had a place suitable for same, and
3- I had managed to be acceptable to that someone
in order to figure out what to cook and how to cook it was likely to not work out well on about 17 different levels.
So I figured I might as well practice. I had glommed on to my kid sister's Better Homes & Gardens Junior Cookbook but that book was basically 101 things to do with Sherbet, Frankfurters and Pancake mix. I reasoned that if I was to be an International Romantic Icon I'd need stronger stuff than that and, about 1977, that meant I had to look to that pinnacle of masculine sophistication: Playboy Magazine.
Since I was only 13, the actual magazine itself was out of bounds. BUT they had published a cookbook entitled Playboy's Gourmet, written by Thomas Mario, their food & bev. guy. If anyone knew how to work that cooking angle to romantic advantage it MUST be those devilish operators at Playboy, who have scientifically worked it all out. Well, that's how my mind worked in 1976, sue me.
My family thought I was deranged in wanting to fix dinner. (They had begun to suspect my sanity might be substandard a couple of years earlier, at a Monty Python film.) My dad finally said yes and gave me $__ to procure ingredients. Naturally, the outlay was insufficient to cover what I wanted to do, and in hindsight I suspect he was just giving me money to shut up, stop pestering him and otherwise leave him in peace. Not realizing this I biked over to the supermarket with the book in pocket to see what may be done.
There is nothing more painful to an adolescent male than realizing reality is not something he has the privilege of altering. My dreams of Chateubriand evaporated. The only thing I could afford for which I had the recipe was "Braised Short Ribs of Beef." Short ribs were pretty much the cheapest hunk of cow there was. So I bought all the ingredients and biked back home.
I dredged up the recipe and I post it here. Basically it was a Boeuf Bourgignon, with short ribs in lieu of the usual cubes of beef. It came off without a hitch and the only thing that sticks out in my mind is that my father gave me an unalloyed compliment. Which is something which NEVER happens. (God bless him, compliments and apologies are not his thing.) I had never heard unqualified praise come out of his mouth in my direction. I was floored.
The ribs WERE great, juicy, flavorful, fall-apart-tender. Ideal fall/winter food. My dad loved them so much he unbelted the aforementioned compliment. The way I saw it, if cooking yummies could crack a nut as tough as my old man...why, the world was my oyster.
Here goes (keep in mind that we're looking at something written THIRTY FIVE years ago, my 2006 comments are in italics):
6 pounds beef short ribs, cut "english" style
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil (obviously this means EVOO)
3 medium yellow onions, chopped
4 large garlic cloves, minced
1 1/2 cups dry red wine
1 (28 to 32-ounce) can diced tomatoes (these days I'd use Pomi in the asepctic cartons)
1 1/2 cups beef broth (today we'd say "stock")
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
6 (3 by 1-inch) strips fresh lemon zest
1 teaspoon dried rosemary, crumbled (now that it's regularly available, let's go with 2 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary leaves, instead)
10 ounces pearl onions (about 2 cups) (frozen is fine, actually!)
1 (1-pound) bag peeled baby carrots
Finely chopped fresh parsley leaves, for garnish
Pat short ribs dry and season with salt and pepper. In a heavy Dutch oven, heat oil over medium-high heat, until shimmering (but not smoking, EVOO gets bitter) and brown the ribs in batches, transferring to a bowl.
Add chopped onions to Dutch oven and cook over medium heat, stirring, until translucent...make sure they don't brown or burn. Add garlic and cook, stirring, 1 minute. Add wine, tomatoes, broth, Worcestershire sauce, zest, rosemary, and salt and bring to a boil. Add ribs including any juices that have accumulated in bowl and barely simmer, covered, 30 minutes.
Add onions and carrots, stirring (make sure they are submerged in liquid) and cook at a bare simmer (covered) about 4 hours. Fish out the meat, onions, and carrots and then reduce the braising liquid, if necessary. Before serving, put back the beef and veggies until heated through.
This is even better the next day!
-J.
* That means it had to do with girls.
Comments
I am no longer a red meat-eater, but do recall these dishes from my childhood.
You thoroughly brilliant cook, you!
...heechokegaspwheeze.....
Pearl onions. Really??
I cannot say, beyond commenting that my mind was warped early by PBS, James Bond movies and wa-a-a-a-ay too many books.
DGB,
As re. Monty Python, I dragged my family to see "Holy Grail" when it was 1st released and I spent the next 90 minutes laughing as if nitrous oxide was shooting out of the ventilation system...to their consternation. Pearl onions are great and freeze beautifully. (Alternatively you could peel the equivalent fresh ones.)
-J.
I would have thought a Playboy recipe book consisted of 1001 ways to make carrot sticks. Do those women eat anything else?
Actually, I haven't. I figured that you very sensibly realized that after you'd bored the poor girl comatose talking about Italian cars, detachable collars, and abstruse shaving techniques, you'd have to tip some nourishment into her to build her strength back up. Or you'd never get that hot monkey sex you wanted.
While I may have been very advanced for my years, I was still a boy...so I believe slack ought be cut for me. Besides, my calculating nature wouldn't come to play for almost 5 years after this.
-J.
And are you now a great praiser of your nearest and dearest?
This post showed me what EVOO is! (Bit slow on the uptake...)
Let's just say I was a young man with a purpose. (Not the noblest purpose, but there you are.)
As a dad I am freer with praise. Not to the point it's cheapened ("You sharpened the pencil! What an excellent lad!") but I make it a point to praise whenever something is praiseworthy AND not look too hard for reasons to explain away the success which merits praise.
-J.