Seasonal Impropriety: Brisket in May

What I am about to do here is entirely inappropriate, but I have been sitting on this recipe for far too long, and it's just not right anymore. I have to face the facts: there is likely no dish out there that is more wrong for this time of year. And I realize that this may just prevent you from giving this one a try, but I must urge you to reconsider.

I know that bathing suit season is around the corner, and brisket and bathing suits go together like A-Rod and clutch hitting, but New York City has seen nothing but rain for the past three months (that's how long it's been, right? I'm not sure I recall what the sun actually looks like anymore). But something about this year's spring has prevented me from jumping head-first into the comforts of the season; trench coats, puddles, general sogginess, and the omnipresent umbrella have all made it quite hard to leave behind the warmth and familiarity of so many winter comforts.

It's been a gloomy, foggy, schpritzey kind of spring, with the odd 90-degree days thrown in for good measure. Two weeks ago I wore my winter coat on Monday, scarf and all, and by Sunday I was laying out in Central Park in a bikini. One week, two diametrically opposed seasons, and zero plane trips to tropical locales in the dead of winter. So please don't blame me for being seasonally confused. I'm well aware that summer is fast-approaching (to which my borderline disgusting consumption of frozen dairy goods over the last month can attest), but there's just something in the air (uh, probably constant 98% humidity, and not the warm, pleasant summer night kind) that's been preventing me from breaking out the sandals for good.

I admit that brisket is a traditionally cold-weather cut of meat, as many tougher, more inexpensive cuts are, since they require long, slow preparations to render them supple and tender. And yes, this recipe was made for Passover, but this meal is really, and truly, undeniably fantastic. And deliciousness knows no bounds!

So hear my case - brisket need not be relegated to wintertime. Yes, the fact that it requires a long cooking time and tends to be paired with deep, hearty, warming flavors may suggest that it's best enjoyed in chillier times, but this needn't be the case. Free brisket from the chains of seasonality - slice it, sandwich it between two pieces of crusty bread, throw it in a basket with a nice, fresh salad and some fruit and lo and behold - a picnic! What's more summery than a picnic? Not much, not much at all.

This recipe gives a great deal of flexibility in its preparation, since it can be finished a couple of days after it's been started, which is great news for those of us who find ourselves flitting to and fro on a whim whenever a summer breeze decides to pass through.


Beef Brisket with Merlot and Prunes
from Bon Appetit April 2008, recipe here

Ingredients
1 4-to 4 1/2-pound flat-cut (first-cut) beef brisket, trimmed of most fat
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 14 1/2-ounce can diced tomatoes in juice (preferably fire-roasted)
1 cup Merlot or other dry red wine
2 pounds onions, sliced
4 medium carrots, peeled, thinly sliced
16 garlic cloves, peeled
1 1/2 cups pitted large prunes (about 8 ounces)
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh thyme
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon prune juice
3 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Position rack in bottom third of oven and preheat to 325°F.

Pat brisket dry (this is necessary to get great browning - make sure the meat really is dry) and season all over with salt and pepper. Heat oil in heavy extra-large skillet over high heat.

Add brisket and cook until deep brown, about 7 minutes per side. Transfer brisket, fat side up, to large roasting pan. Add tomatoes with juice and wine to skillet. Remove from heat, scrape up any browned bits, and pour mixture over brisket.

Scatter onions, carrots, and garlic around brisket. Add prunes and thyme; drizzle with 1/2 cup prune juice and 3 tablespoons vinegar. Sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper. Place the roasting pan over 2 burners and bring the liquid to a boil. Cover the pan with aluminum foil and place in the preheated oven.

Braise brisket until tender, about 3 hours 15 minutes. Uncover and cool 1 hour at room temperature.

The brisket can be made up to third point 2 days ahead; just cover the pan with foil and throw it in the fridge. To resume, bring the liquid just to a simmer over two burner and continue on.

Remove the brisket from roasting pan, scraping it of juices. Place on work surface;cut across grain into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Spoon off fat from top of pan juices. Place 1 cup vegetables (no prunes) and 1 cup braising liquid from pan into processor and puree. Return puree to pan. Add remaining 1 tablespoon prune juice and 1 teaspoon vinegar to pan. Heat sauce; season with salt and pepper.

Overlap brisket slices in 13x9x2- inch glass baking dish. Pour sauce over brisket, separating slices to allow some sauce to flow between. DO AHEAD:Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover; chill.

Rewarm brisket, covered, in 350°F oven for 30 minutes. Sprinkle brisket with parsley; serve.

Note - you can use a slender metal pin or a thin, sharp knife to check whether the brisket is tender. Insert the pin into the thickest part of the brisket; if it meets no resistance, the brisket is done.

Deliciously Out-of-Season

Yea, so this recipe is pretty much seasonally inappropriate right now. But with all the stuff I've had to take care of in the past couple of months (i.e. the bar exam, moving, finding an apartment, booking a trip!), I just haven't had a chance to share it until now. I do hope you'll forgive me.

Rhubarb holds a special place in my heart. I had never tried it before I lived in Austria for six months in high school. My host mother made a wonderful rhubarb tart often, and it was always delicious. Faintly sweet, with the slightest pucker that makes the taste buds stand at attention - I could tell that rhubarb was good stuff.

Rhubarb is a truly fascinating thing - somewhat mystical in its taste, texture and flavor. It really is like nothing else - it's essentially inedible raw, it's leaves are poisonous, it really is like nothing else, and it technically is a vegetable after all. However, once cooked, it becomes something great, it practically melts into something delicate and complex, and it's combination with strawberry creates one of the most classic of food duos. The two complement each other so effortlessly, as the mellow tartness of the rhubarb plays off of the universally-adored sweetness of the strawberry.



This cobbler is especially great at the end of an early summer BBQ, shared with friends all basking in the glow of law school graduation and a shared shirking of bar-review responsibilities (even when the BBQ turns into an indoor grill-fest because, ahem, my lovely friend Sara failed to check that the grill was operational; actually, cobbler is especially good in such a situation). Warm from the oven and topped with vanilla ice cream, it's comfort food in it's purest form.


Cobbler is the type of dessert that even those who don't care much for dessert enjoy. It must be because you don't have to love dessert to love fruit, and cobbler is among the most delicious of ways to showcase summer's bounty.



Though I can only attest to the deliciousness of the precise recipe shared below, I can only imagine that any type of fruit would result in an equally delicious cobbler, since the cornbread-biscuit topping is delicious and hearty and complements the sweetness of the fruit oh-so well. Next time I make this, it's going to be with peaches, since peach cobbler and cornbread are mainstays of any good southern square, why not compact the two into a glorious, sweet, savory, crumbly dish of summer? Just replace the strawberries and rhubarb with some sliced peaches (I'd imagine about two-or-so pounds would do just fine, a few tablespoons of sugar and a tablespoon of cornstarch, bake the peaches a bit before topping with the biscuit mixture. Once topped, just bake as below for about 25 minutes.



Strawberry Rhubarb Cobbler With Cornmeal Biscuit Topping


OK, so this recipe should have been shared in late spring. For that I apologize, BUT - with the wide array of high-quality frozen fruits available, a good cobbler can be enjoyed any time of year.

When I baked this, I found the cornbread biscuit to overwhelm the fruit topping a bit in its volume. The proportions were just a bit out of whack, so in the recipe below I have adjusted the fruit filling a bit (such that it should fit a 9 x 13 inch baking dish, as opposed to a pie dish, which the original recipe called for), but I have left the topping unadjusted. If the proportions in the picture look good to you, I have put the adjusted amounts in parentheses.

Adapted from Bon Appétit, April 1996; recipe from epicurious.com

Filling
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
2 lbs strawberries, hulled, halved
2 cups 1/3 to 1/4-inch-thick slices fresh or frozen rhubarb
Topping
1 cup all purpose flour (1 1/3 cup)
1/3 cup sugar (4/9 cups, or about 1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons)
1/4 cup yellow cornmeal (1/3 cup)
1 tablespoon baking powder (1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon)
1 teaspoon baking soda (1 1/3 teaspoons)
Pinch of salt
3 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter, diced (4 tablespoons)
1/2 cup low-fat buttermilk (3/4 cup)

To Make Filling:

Preheat oven to 400°F. Mix sugar, flour and cloves in large bowl. Add strawberries and rhubarb and toss to coat with sugar mixture. Transfer filling to 9 x 13 inch baking dish.

To Make Topping:

Mix flour, sugar, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda and salt in medium bowl. Add butter and rub in with fingertips until mixture resembles coarse meal. Gradually add buttermilk, tossing with fork until moist clumps form (do not overmix). Spoon topping evenly over filling.

Bake until topping is golden brown and filling is tender, about 25 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature. Top with ice cream, if you know what's good for you.

Getting the Creative Juices Flowing

My bar review class started today. I know - I can’t believe it either. Despite the fact that I am two weeks from finishing my school obligations, and almost a full month from graduation, I am somehow still expected to attend draining barbri classes and do barbri reading and summarize notes and oh so many other things. Though the next two weeks will be mighty painful, the rest of the summer is what I find truly terrifying right now. This is essentially going to be my life for the next eight weeks: class, summarize, read, study, repeat.

The bright spot within this is that my class is in the loop, with farmers markets within a couple of blocks twice a week. This means, at least, that I can take a few minutes after class each day to relax, roam leisurely between stands and take that time for myself. The stress will no doubt build as the weeks before the exam turn into days and the opportunity to see what looks good, to talk to people, to figure out what to do with these goodies I pick up, even if it is just once a week, will hopefully be able to get my creative juices flowing at least enough to keep me sane.

This week at the farmer’s market, it was morel mushrooms and purple asparagus. The wonders of morels espoused by nearly every internet source in existence. I have tried them a couple of times though I had never cooked with them before. My plan at first was to simply sauté them and toss them with cream, a la Orangette, But I felt that wouldn’t spread the joy enough, since I don’t really have the money to buy a ton of morels, at least not enough to satisfy should I have served them piled atop toast.

Instead a decided to team them up with the purple asparagus and let them mingle among strands of pasta in a light cream sauce. I threw in some chicken for good measure, sprinkled some chopped chives and grated parmesan and it was delicious. Hopefully all my after-class ventures will be this rewarding.

Fettuccine with Chicken, Morels and Asparagus
Serves 4

This dish was light in spite of its cream base and truly tasted of spring. The pasta could have used a more generous helping of morels, but my wallet could also use a more generous helping of money.

10 ounces fettuccine
12 ounces chicken tenderloins
Olive Oil
4 tablespoons butter, divided
1 large shallot, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 lb asparagus, purple or otherwise
5 medium sized morels, gently cleaned and sliced crosswise
1 ½ cups dry white wine
1 cup heavy cream
Fresh chives, for garnish
Parmesan cheese, for garnish

Boil a large pot of water. Place the asparagus in the boiling water and cook until bright green and crisp-tender. Don’t overcook them and allow them to become soft. Remove from the water and place in an ice bath or run under cold water to stop the cooking. I cook the asparagus still in the rubber band to make this process easier. After the asparagus are done, drop the fettuccine into the boiling water.

As the pasta is cooking, heat a large skillet over medium-high heat and melt one tablespoon of butter in one tablespoon of olive oil. Sprinkle the chicken liberally with salt and pepper and brown in skillet, about 5 minutes per side, ensuring that chicken is cooked through (juices will run clear). Remove chicken from heat and set aside on a platter.

Lower the heat to medium. Heat three tablespoons of butter, add shallots and allow to cook for a couple of minutes before adding the garlic. When garlic becomes fragrant, add the morels; cook until soft. Pour the wine into the skillet and cook down a bit, about 2-3 minutes. Add the cream, bring to a boil and cook until mixture is reduced by half. As the sauce reduces, cut the chicken and asparagus into bite-sized pieces.

Once sauce is just about reduced, melt in another tablespoon of butter if you think the sauce needs thickening, then add the chicken and asparagus to the sauce and toss until warm. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Drain the cooked pasta and toss in sauce to coat. Divide among plates and garnish with chives and parmesan cheese.