Let's Talk: An Imprecise Science

Let's say we had to divide the world of cooking-at-the-stove into techniques. I'm sure there's overlap among the categories; but in a ridiculously general way, here's about what we'd find:

• Roasting/Barbecuing
• Grilling
• Broiling
• Steaming
• Deep-frying
• Sautéing/Stir-frying
• Braising
• Stewing/Boiling

I've linked roasting and barbecuing because in the latter technique, you're basically turning your grill into a big oven. Yep, you might add smoke. But you're cooking food indirectly, to the side of the high-sear heat, usually at a lower temperature than the inferno levels that happen when you're grilling.

Same with sautéing and stir-frying because the techniques are similar: high heat, caramelized sugars, snapped-apart protein chains. Sure, there are big differences. A sauté usually ends in a fond at the bottom of the skillet, from which a sauce is built. A stir-fry? Not so much. But we can still lump them together in terms of the physics and chemistry of what happens to the food.

Same with stewing and boiling. Sure, a stewed chicken is cooked in less water; but it's still a matter of getting that water to bubble evenly around the chicken, whether you're stewing it or boiling it.

So which is your favorite? Do you have one? Any that leap to mind? Maybe you could tell us why?

Mine should be obvious to readers of this blog.

It's braising. I think I'd rather have a braise than just about anything. It's a gorgeous way to cook: covered, less liquid than a stew, a lower heat as well, and a far longer time. It's sort of like turning your Dutch oven or French casserole into a low-grade steam cooker as the vaporized, heated liquids stocked with all those intense flavors bathe the meat or vegetables, condensing on them, lifting off again, all to create that luscious, slow, savory combo that is the very heart of comfort food in my books.

But braising is an imperfect science, to be sure. For years now, I've wanted to write a cookbook without time signatures. Cook until a fork pierced into the meat near the bone. . . . Cook until the meat at the joints is no longer. . . . Cook until an instant-read meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the cut without touching bone registers. . . .

Ah, to dream. Still, braising is ridiculously imprecise. It doesn't hold to time signatures. Bruce and I were once testing brisket recipes for a national publication. He braised three at the same time. Same cut, same weight, same side of the brisket, the whole lot. One took 2 1/2 hours to get tender, one took 3 hours, and one took a whopping 5 hours to get to where it wasn't leather.

Why? Because the briskets came from different cows. One was more stressed in life than another. One was more stressed in death. One ate grass. One ate grass and feed. One had a calf. One did not.

Actually, I don't know. But the factors that go into one simple cow are too many to be counted. Each is variable; each is slippery. So my three hours at the stove could well be your five.

Braising isn't for anybody in a hurry. It's a slow, organic process. You can't tell people to be seated at the dinner table at 5:30 AIS. (That's my father's oft-repeated phrase when we went on vacation: "we're leaving at six in the morning; you better be in the car A. I. S." In other words, "a** in seat.")

With braising, you have to be willing to chance it, to let it go, maybe even to cook it ahead and keep it warm for when guests arrive. A braise is temperamental. It is not for the faint of heart. And it is not for restaurants. Most don't even attempt a real braise for service. It would be too nuts, too ephemeral. One minute the meat is tough, the next it's tender, and then it's mush.

And so a braise is probably best for weekends, when time is not quite so structured, when the clock is not quite so pressing. It's best when you've got the luxury of "another glass of wine."

There are lots to try out on the blog. Maybe this weekend you could give my favorite cooking technique a whirl. Just look at your choices right on this site:

• Three different pot roasts--with carrots and artichokes here, with root vegetables here, and a beer braise with mushrooms here.
• Two short rib braises--a more traditional approach here and a Mexican sweet-and-sour version here.
• Two different rabbit braises--one with rosemary and olives here and one with coriander and white wine here.
• A pork butt braised in milk, very Italian-style here.
• Three different dishes using the famed Chinese braise, red-cooking--with ham here, with tofu here, and with pork belly (!!) here.
• And then the specialty braises--Ham Cacciatore here, "White" Coq au Vin here, Oxtails Bourguignon here (brce yourself), and even a Chinese Braised/Roasted Leg of Lamb, found here and here.
• Plus a crazy braise/grill hybrid for beef shanks, modeled off a Vietnamese flavor profile here.

Bruce is a crazy-good braiser. I hope you take a little inspiration from his recipes and try this very imperfect science. Pour yourself another glass of wine and settle in. Plan on being AIS for a good while. It'll be worth the wait.

Comments

[JenniferA]

You guys totally speak my language. I fell in love with braises the first time I made beef short ribs. Could anything be more tender & succulent? And the cooking juices so perfect over mashed potatoes or polenta or pretty much any other starch in the book? LOVE.

[Mark Scarbrough]

Jennifer: Bruce is currently into barley polenta. Have you tried it? Ridiculous. I like it because it's more savory than the corn version. He also made a corn/millet polenta the other night to go under ragu. Wow. But barley still wins for me.

M.