Rillettes

This one is pretty easy, but it requires a lot of rendered fat, which you could either buy or save up, if you were inclined to make some rillettes. All you have to do is take one pound of pork belly, cut into about 1/3″ slices, and one pound of pork shoulder in 1″ cubes, put it all in a pot, wrap up some thymeand a couple bay leaves in some cheese cloth, warm up the rendered fat until it is liquified, and pour it or the top. Bring it all to a gentle simmer, and then put it into a 250º oven for a long ass time, or 4 to 6 hours.







You’ll know when it’s done because the cuts will be straight falling apart. According to the River Cottage Meat Book, what you want to do at this point is cut up the meat long ways, with the grain, and season as you go. They call for salt, pepper, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon, and the instructions call for allspice, but I didn’t have that so I used pumpkin spice instead. The idea is to play with the spice levels, until you find the right combination for you.







I know, I know. . . it looks kind of, or, I mean, exactly like tuna fish. But it taste way different! I swear! It’s richer, and perhaps most importnatly for all ya’ll haters out there, there’s not a lick of mayonnaise in it, not one bit! this wasn’t quite the consistency I was going for, but I was in a bit of a hurry, and I think I might have taken directions from Ruhlman’s Charcuterie a bit too far–that is, I put all the meat in my stand-mixer, with about a half-cup of the fat and hit it real hard and long with the paddle attachment. This method kind of beat it down too much for my taste. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s bad, only that the texture should be better, because the flavor is actually amazing. The best way to eat rillettes, to me at least, is on toast, with an incredibly sharp mustard. The cornichons (if you like pickles, and haven’t tried cornichons, you have to try them–they’re so small, but pack such an incredible punch) and greens are optional, but they certainly round out the flavors.







Resources: Pork belly and pork shoulder by tails and trotters, arugala and cornichons purchased from Pastaworks; french baguette from little t bakery; mustard by Beaver Brand.

Link to Recipe only blog: Catastrophysicist Cooks

Julia Child’s Boeuf Bourguignon Except on Porkroids

A Provençal Daube







Turns out that, traditionally, a daube is prepared with the meat of a bull recently killed in a battle to the death. I didn’t know that until a little while ago, otherwise I might have sought out some bull beef shank. However, I wouldn’t say that I settled, necessarily, because I used this incredible stew beef from Piedmontese. If you click through the link, you will clearly see that these Myostatin breed cows mean business. Clearly, beef is not beef is beef. It’s an art, a science–it’s an attitude!

I love doing a good braise, and there is absolutely nothing more satisfying than your apartment (or house, ya’ bastards!) slowly giving way to the intensely rich aroma of a slow cooked stew. It’s a perfect way to spend a cold, dreary day because it warms your home in so many ways. That’s why I could not delay in making this recipe for A Provençal Daube from The River Cottage Meat Book, not that we host dreary days here in the Pacific Northwest, or anything.




(click on this picture for measurements, quantities, and preparations)



The above picture shows all of the ingredients that go into the Daube: beef, bacon, pork rind, onion, carrot, celery, garlic, peeled tomatoes, bay leaves, thyme, minced orange peel, white wine, beef stock or water, and salt & pepper–all relatively pedestrian ingredients, with perhaps the exception of the pork rind. You could definitely find all of these ingredients in any supermarket, but I encourage you to seek out and buy from a good quality butcher, selling sustainable, and clean products if you are able to. One of the reasons to buy better quality beef is because of a stage in the harvesting process known as hanging. I never even considered this when buying meat until I started reading this book. Hanging is important because it allows the beef to release a good deal of it’s water content; essentially it dries it out a bit. However, perhaps the more important aspect of hanging is the promotion of certain enzymes that act to relax and tenderize the meat. You’ve probably seen the stickers on the more expensive beef at the supermarket that advertises it as being ‘Dry-Aged’—that’s what this is. It used to be par for the course, but has been more-or-less eliminated by industrialized beef. The process is simple enough, you hang the carcass in a cool, climate-controlled environment for a month or two, but the only thing it really requires is also the problem it presents to those producers: it takes time, and these guys are interested in getting it onto the market, and making way for the next wave of cattle. Instead, they charge a premium for something that should be par for the course. All of this is probably less pressing when it comes to a braise, but it is never-the less critical in that it is the correct way to prepare the meat. To me, making the product the best that it can be is an honorable tribute to the animal.







One of the things that blew my mind about this recipe was the inclusion of pork rind a.k.a pig skin, however, it seems to be a key ingredient in this type of dish; it’s right there in Juia Child’s Boeuf Bourguignon, after all. You can see it frying up there in the picture to the left. Looks real good there, don’t it? Frying up in the pan, all greezy and what-not. I’m at the stove trying to brown these little squares of pig skin up, you know, and when I would try and flip ’em, they would *pop* back up out the pan, and land on where they started. The damn things were incorrigible! There is more commentary to come on the pork rind, but, in the meantime, let’s say a word for Bacon. If you’re like me, than you like bacon with just about everything. The bacon I used is made by Neuske’s, a company that specializes in Applewood-Smoking. This is a consistently delicious bacon that I buy regularly, and highly recommend it. In the case of the daube, it imparted a delicate smokiness to the over-all flavor profile, which was actually an unexpected, though welcome, surprise.



Once you have all of your ingredients together and a large casserole or dutch oven handy, this is indeed where the cooking begins. . . with a handful of pig-skin squares. Pre-heat the oven to 250º, and I recommend having a good-sized splatter screen to hide behind. Take those bad-boys and start to frying them in two tablespoons of olive oil in a pan large enough to spread ’em out, so that there’s not any over-lapping or crowding. If yours are like mine, they’ll be jumping and bouncing all around the pan in a debaucherous pork dance. Remove them from the pan to the dutch oven before they crisp up too much. Next up, leaving the fat from the pork rind, take the bacon pieces and carefully add them to the pan, and fry them up till they’re a nice golden brown. The bacon should be a bit more tame than the rind. Once it’s finished, remove the bacon to the dutch oven as well.







Next up is the beef. We are leaving the fat in the pan for this stage, also. If you think it’s necessary, pat the beef dry with a paper towel before adding it to the pan in order to remove any excess moisture. Three pounds is a lot of beef, so it is of the utmost importance to brown it in batches. If you throw it all in at once, it will drastically reduce the temperature of the oil and the pan, and will not fry up well at all. The goal here is to put a beautiful dark brown crust all around the meat, or most of it anyway. So, lay the pieces of meat in the pan with a good amount breathing room between each of them. Once the pan is full, up the heat, until they’re really sizzling, flipping the pieces once they’re nice and brown, and lower the heat a bit as well. Do this in batches until all the meat is browned, removing it to the dutch oven as you go.







Once all of the meat is cooked, all of the work of the dish is basically finished, all that is left is to de-glaze the frying pan, and add all the rest of the ingredients to the pot. Turn the heat up on the pan, with all that fat and grease in there and everything (this is the porkroids part), and add about a quarter of the wine. Scrap up all the little bits and pieces, and once you think you’ve got them all add the rest of the wine, and bring to a boil, reducing it just a touch. In the meantime, add all of the other vegetables and herbs to dutch oven. Once the wine is ready, pour it into the pot. Then, heat up the beef stock, or water, in the same manner, and then pour that into the pot also. The liquid should come to about 3/4″ above the ingredients. If not, than add a little more stock or water. All that remains is to put a lid on it, and put in the pre-heated oven, and let all go to work for 3 to 4 hours.



Let me tell you, this dish was amazing! Gabrielle and I managed to allow it to ‘rest’ overnight, indulging in just the smallest taste, before devouring at least half the pot the following evening. The rest is optional, but it’s universally believed that allowing a braised stew such as this one to rest overnight allows the meat to settle down from the cooking, and to re-absorb the juices to the point of saturation. I always let it rest, but it certainly isn’t necessary. However, if you do, allow it to re-heat very slowly, and bring just to a gentle simmer. We enjoyed this with some pappardelle pasta, and a crust french bread, perfect for sopping up all of the tasty juices! Some type of potato would be a good choice, too. The beef was beyond tender, it simply crumbled under the knife in a rich avalanche of lusciousness. The large pieces of braised bacon were a revelation. They remained whole, intact, and unbelievable tender. And then the sauce. . . it was just perfect. Down the road, I would definitely make this dish again, but with one caveat. Next time, I would prepare it with the pork rind in big pieces, rather than the small squares, so that I could remove it and discard after it was finished. They just became too soggy, and I just didn’t care for it, personally. Gabrielle, on the other hand, thought it was fine. Finally, I came too far to front. I prepared some fresh vegetables for the picture below. It was the third re-heating, and the other ones were spent, color-wise. I needed that fresh, vibrant look, and few more veggies wasn’t a bad deal either!







Resources: Beef from Piedmontese and pork rind purchased at Laurelhurst Market; Neuske’s Applewood-smoked bacon and San Marzano tomatoes from Pastaworks; carrots, onion, celery, orange and garlic from Limbo; Napa River Sauvignon Blanc and pappardelle from Trader Joes



Link to Recipe only blog: Catastrophysicist Cooks

Happiness is Easy

Beef Stock







In the pictures above are everything you need to make a solid beef stock: As many beef bones as you have or care to buy (but at least a few pounds), and an assortment of carrots, celery, just about any type of onion, but especially your basic sweet onion, some peppercorns, some herbs, and that just about does it. Easy on the herbs–you don’t want to over-power the beef flavor. However, go nuts with the carrots and etc., the more the merry and intense the stock, a rule of thumb is 2 carrots and 1 onion for every lb. of bone, but it’s not the end of the world if you can’t live up to those measurements. If possible, try to make some of your bones Marrow Bones, and the rest can be whatever you can get. if you eat a lot of ribs, save those up, they’re perfect for stock. If you use marrow bones, don’t do this to them: Roast all of the other bones in a 400+ degree oven for 20 minutes. Chop up all of the vegetables and put them in the pot, scraps and all, provided the vege is fresh fresh fresh, otherwise discard. Don’t use anything too far beyond it’s life-term. Pack them into a large pot, as big as you can get (and this point may in fact limit your stock production–keep it in mind!) and then, once the bones have roasted, pile them into the pot, as well. Fill the pot with cold water, bring it up above the bones, but only just barely. Set it on a burner, and bring up to a simmer very slowly. As it begins to simmer, this brow muck will rise to the top. You don’t want that. Skim it off and fling it into the sink. That’ll stop rising eventually, and at that point, all you have to do is maintain a giddy simmer on the brink of a boil for HOURS. I’d let it go for 3 to 4, but a good stock is an artform, and you know what makes you happy.

Once it’s done simmering, strain it through like a big pasta strainer or something, and then strain it again through a fine-mesh strainer (lined with cheese-cloth if you want to be bourgeois-servant about it– I am), and that’s it. If you let it chill in the fridge, this layer of fat will rise to the top, which you can skin off. If that doesn’t bother you, set aside what you think you’ll use and freeze the rest. Beef Stock is Easy.

The River Cottage Meat Book by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall

A few years ago, I worked in the produce department of Abundance Co-op in Rochester, NY, and, during that same period I also worked for a brief stint at Dinosaur BBQ, which I believe holds a modest renown in the smoked meats world. In preparing this post, I began thinking about my history as a meat-eater, and this admittedly small moment in time stood out due to the conflicted nature of the work involved, and the environments themselves. At the time, I really couldn’t have cared less where my food was coming from, and I held both jobs simply because they furnished paychecks and I needed to pay the bills. The co-op is where I first encountered anyone who was even remotely passionate about food and quality nutrition, and to be honest I found the more zealous of them gratingly obnoxious, not because of their passion, but because of the application of their beliefs towards myself and others who didn’t understand their values, or the logic of paying at least twice as much for just about everything. One of my co-workers told me explicitly that she absolutely would not under any circumstances have a sexual relationship with anyone who she even suspected of eating meat. The reason why was simple enough: because it’s gross, duh. Sadly, this sort of sentiment drowned out all of the other sound, reasonable arguments for why it was important to actively think about food and it’s origins, and what you put into your body, in general. In hindsight, I wish I would have listened more closely to the wiser folks at the co-op, but instead I used to get a real kick out of working at Dinosaur and the co-op back to back, flipping my bbq tee inside-out before beginning my shift at the co-op, and walking around there smelling like a dang smoked brisket!



It would be about another two years until I started to put any real thought into what I was consuming as an eater, and the transition came through reading two wildly popular books that I am sure made a great deal of people think twice. The first was Barbara Kingolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle which presents a seasonal approach to eating as well as a basic, extremely readable overview of modern industrial farming practices and its effects on individual communities, and the ecosystem as a whole. The second was Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma, which is so pedestrian a gateway book, that it needs no introduction. For me, one of the most distressing things about reading these books was learning that the meat I was eating was not what I thought it was–to be sure, I didn’t think it was anything but “meat”, a ribeye, some bacon, whatever, but now things were different. I began looking at these gigantic meat sections, all vacuum-sealed and almost sterile, and I would start to think about these cows being force-fed a diet of antibiotics and corn, which they can not adequately digest, resulting in enormous ulcers, standing knee-deep in there own feces, often enough collapsing to there deaths from disease before making it to slaughter, and it just started to become such a horrible canvas. I’m not an animal rights activist or anything, I just find those practices irresponsible, and disgusting. Thus, I was faced with a dire conundrum: how to continue to eat meat and still feel good about it?



Shorty thereafter I found an essay in the Best American Essays 2007 edition, edited by David Foster Wallace, titled A Carnivore’s Credo by Roger Scruton. This essay (which I am sorry to say is not available online for free, but can only be viewed if you are a subscriber to Harper’s) did a great deal to help me reconcile this moral problem of meat-eating. Essentially, he argues that if one is in favor of ethical, and respectable farming and treatment of animals, than one must eat them. He writes: “I would suggest that it is not only permissible for those who care about animals to eat meat; they have a duty to do so. If meat eating should ever be confined to those who do not care about animal suffering, then compassionate farming would cease. Where there are conscientious carnivores, there is a motive to raise animals kindly.” So the key, then, was to find a meat producer who raised their animals in a sustainable, humane way, and to support them by purchasing their products. A simple enough idea, but in certain places there are surprisingly few alternatives to the grocery store. However, that became my ideal, if not always my course of action. But now, having moved to Portland, OR last spring, things have changed, and I try in almost every circumstance to find out where the meat I am buying is coming from, and to buy as local as possible.

I love to eat meat. It is an activity in which I might admittedly overindulge from time to time, but finding a thick, delicious pork chop, cooking it to perfection, and savoring all that it is, well, that’s just my thing. I don’t even know nearly as much about it as I’d like to, and that is one reason why I’ve chosen to cook my way through The River Cottage Meat Book. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall is an outspoken advocate of traditionally raised meat that has been produced in a local community, and using this book as a guide, my intention is to discover all the fantastic meat resources that this area of the Pacific Northwest has to offer, and hopefully inspire others to do the same in there communities. This book contains a great deal of information outside of recipes, and my coverage of the book will be the same. While I definitely will be cooking all of the recipes, I also plan to visit farms, meet framers, showcase butchers I use, and learn and present butchering techniques, in addition to many other things, I am sure. I have a lot of hope for this project, and I believe it will lead to a number eye-opening and educational experiences. Here’s to Meat!

* Note * : I have started another blog which will only feature this project, and it can be found >>here<<. I will, however, be including all posts on this blog as well. The distinction is just for those that may not be interested in all of the other minutiae that goes into this blog.