Real Food Has Curves

A hanger steak is my all-time favorite cut of beef: more heft than a filet mignon, a little more chew than a strip steak, but not as fatty as a chuck roast or a brisket. In fact, I think of it as a cross between a strip steak and a chuck roast--and way more flavorful than either. I'd never fuss it up: just grill the hanger and offer some veggies on the side.

OK, a warning. There are pictures of butchering ahead.

And OK, a quick definition. The hanger steak is so named because it sort of hangs off the cow's diaphragm, attached to the last set of ribs and near the kidneys. In truth, the hanger steak is part of the diaphragm, but they usually get separated when butchered, the longer, thinner part of the diaphragm becoming a skirt steak, familiar from traditional preparations of fajitas.

What's left is the hanger itself: a 1- to 1 1/2-pound tubular steak. (We've got two whole hanger steaks here.) Each has two somewhat uneven sides, connected by a tough membrane running down the middle. (You can see that membrane as a white diagonal line in the steaks on our cutting board).

By the way, a hanger steak is quite popular in France (where it's known as the onglet), in Italy (the lombatello), and in Spain (the solomillo de pulmon). It has never quite achieved such popularity in the states because 1) it's fairly rare (only one per cow, after all) and 2) in olden days, it was called the "butcher's steak" because butchers, ever wise to these things, saved them back for themselves.

And the hanger may not be too popular here because, well, you have to do a little butchering yourself. In most cases, it's sold whole, the two tubular muscles still attached by that tough membrane. But it's pretty easily dispensed with. Here's how:

Begin by making a slice along that membrane, on one side or the other, thereby slicing one tubular half from the other. Of course, you can't just cut through the meat like a cake. Start with a shallow cut at one end of the steak, right up against it the membrane; then make more shallow, small cuts, all the time pulling the two halves away from each other.

In other words, don't be in a rush. But here's something that will help: the farther you get into the steak, the easier it is to keep tension on the meat, thereby exposing the membrane itself and allowing you to cut along it, almost as you were scraping the meat off the membrane. Needless to say, a sharp knife is a necessity. And notice the knives Bruce is using. He's got a wicked little pairing knife for this task. The chef's knife sits to the side, to be used in the next step.

OK, the two halves are separated. Now what? You've still got to get the membrane off the other half. Do so about the way you skin a fish. Place the cut on your board, membrane down. Make a small cut right at the end, getting between the meat and the membrane, holding the membrane down against the board by the weight and pressure of your knife. Begin making little sawing cuts, again keeping the membrane taut against the board. And once enough of that membrane is exposed, pull it taut, thereby continuing to cut the meat off it as it is stretched free.

Pretty gross all in all, no? But once you've done this, you'll have two--or we had four, since we were working with two hanger steaks--sections, ready for the grill. One warning: sometimes, the smaller side of one of the tubular sections comes apart in the middle where it's pretty thin. No worries--just more pieces for the grill.

And now for the cooking--which is the easy part. We threw the four pieces in a big bowl, splashed them generously with Worcestershire sauce, and refrigerated for one hour.

Meanwhile, we fired up the grill to almost 500F so we'd have a hot grate to sear the steaks.

On they went--and cooked about 8 minutes. But as you know, timing is a ridiculous marker for when meat is done. The only way to tell is with an instant-read meat thermometer, inserted into the the center of the steaks. Rare? About 125F. Medium-rare? About 130. And no more. These steaks will get tough as leather if cooked much more than that. (Also? You can see in the picture that one of the smaller sides had indeed come apart into two pieces at its thinnest point. Ah, well. No big deal.)

About cooking steaks: I'm always amazed at what people say is their method. Two minutes on one side, then seven on the other. Until it feels like the lobe of my ear. Until it feels like the skin between my thumb and forefinger. Until I can cross one eye with the other closed. Listen, an instant-read meat thermometer is the only way to do it. Period. The exact same cut of meat from different animals will cook at different rates because of a host of factors: how stressed the animal was in its life, how stressed it was at its death, what it ate, what its genetics were. Are any two humans alike? Would you expect a rib roast cut from me to cook at the same rate as one cut from Arnold Schwarzenegger? Or Gina Davis? I should certainly hope not.

All that was left for a simple dinner was a pan of veggies: small Brussels sprouts and some potato wedges roasted on the other side of the grill. Yum. Best of all, the halves of the hanger come out to between 4 and 7 ounces each, a perfect size for everyone at the table. And a delicious cut that now needs to be sliced thin and enjoyed with a great bottle of red wine.