Baby, I'm a ... Star?

I'm spending this weekend cooking with my friend Liz.

Liz and I have been making meals together since our sophomore year at Colgate: chili for Parents Weekend, chicken divan for a gorgeous/hungry French professor, fresh pasta for a post-semester-abroad Knots Landing marathon, lasagna for graduation day (stay tuned for a future post called "Ricotta Hell"). But what I remember best are the dinners we made before our sorority formals. Liz and I were always slated to cook for our roommates and our dates. I'd like to think that we became the unofficial chefs because we were the best cooks, but really it was a time issue. I had no beauty routine per se, and most definitely put food ahead of my face. Liz was just effortlessly beautiful, and more important, she was quick. Our roommates were perfectly capable of cooking but took too long to get ready for the actual dance portion of the evening. As far as I could tell they needed hours and hours of time to clog the shower with their hair. 

At the time the meal that made us feel the most sophisticated was Veal Oscar and a twice baked potato (mid-'80s, upstate New York, 19-years-old). And, since we were in college, we drank a lot of wine. Almaden Mountain Chablis. From a box. Or more technically, box-es (which I'm happy to say are back in style!). One time we ate that very meal picnic-style on the floor of our apartment in our formal-wear. My date was my then future and now former husband Bill, Liz brought her boyfriend Jim, and our best friend Leah came with her obsessive crush, David, with whom Liz now shares a beautiful home and two even more beautiful kids. 

Liz and I still cook together every chance we get, which, unfortunately is usually only once or twice a year. Usually we cook profusely from Sunday Suppers at Luques – brisket braised in Guineess on a warm bed of black lentils, broccoli rabe with lots of garlic and red chilis, yogurt cheese, etc... the whole cookbook is filled with recipes like that, perfect for a winter weekend with friends. 

After dinner, which happily takes all day (or days) to make, David always puts on some tunes from our Colgate days. I shriek and dance (and recently pulled a tendon) and sing Borderline and Purple Rain and generally horrify my daughter. But, when Prince starts to sing Baby I'm a Star, I nearly have to leave the room, afraid that I'll start to cry. It had been my theme song, mostly because of the line, "everybody say nothing comes too easy, but when you got it baby nothing comes too hard." I would give anything to feel that way again – to be 22 and have my whole life and all my choices ahead of me. I know exactly what I would do, of course. Sure that if I only had one more chance, just one do-over, I could keep all the easy things and fix everything that went wrong. I thought of the six of us eating the Veal Oscar on the floor and then about where we all ended up (well, I didn't think too much about Jim – he's long out of the picture): Bill and I got married and then traumatically divorced, Leah was lost in Las Vegas for years, but, happily, now she's found, Liz and David seemingly have it all, but nobody really has it all. Even they've had their scares, but I don't want to give them energy here. It's like you blink, and suddenly you're 40 (or 48), and too many things have already happened to you.

Once the song's over and something like Holiday comes on, I bounce back. Some days I still feel like a star. Other days not so much. But I'm still cooking with Liz, so I must have done something right.

Braised Beef Brisket with Horseradish Cream, and Salsa Verde
adapted from Sunday Suppers at Lucques by Suzanne Goin
(Note: This is a must-have cookbook. Most of the recipes are best when started a day or two before, and this one is no exception. Suzanne Goin also serves the brisket with black beluga lentils. Buy yourself this book, if you haven't already, to get that recipe as well.)

6 lbs whole beef brisket with 1/2" top layer of fat
3 T thyme leaves
2 fresh bay leaves, thinly sliced or 2 dry, crumbled
10 cloves garlic, smashed
3 chiles de arbol, crumbled with your hands
1 T plus 2 t cracked black pepper
3 T extra virgin olive oil
2 medium onions
3 medium carrots, peeled
1 stalk celery
1/3 c balsamic vinegar
3 c dark beer, such as Guinness or Samuel Smith
4 c beef stock, or more if needed
Salsa verde (recipe below)
1 recipe horseradish cream (recipe below)
Kosher salt

Place the brisket in a large shallow dish and rub the thyme, bay leaves, garlic, chiles, and black pepper onto both sides of it, coating the meat well. Cover, and refrigerate overnight.

Take the brisket out of the refrigerator 1 hour before cooking to bring it to room temperature. After 30 minutes, season the meat with a tablespoon of salt.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Heat a large heavy-bottomed pan over high heat for 2 minutes. Add 3 tablespoons olive oil and wait 1 minute. Place the brisket in the pan (reserving the garlic and chile). Sear the meat on both sides, about 8 minutes per side, until it's deep golden brown. You will need to sear a portion of the meat at a time because the whole brisket probably won't fit in your pan. Once both sides are well-browned, transfer the brisket to a roasting pan or Dutch oven that's big enough to accommodate the entire piece of meat.

Cut the onions in half through the root and peel them. Cut them into 1-inch-thick wedges, leaving the root-end intact. Cut the carrots and celery into thirds. Return the original brisket pan to the stove over medium-high heat. Add the vegetables to the pan, and cook 8 to 10 minutes, until they're carmelized. Stir often with a wooden spoon, scraping up all the crusty bits. Add the reserved garlic and chiles and cook a few more minutes. 

Turn off the heat (so that the liquids won't evaporate immediately), and add the balsamic vinegar, then the beer. Turn the heat back up to medium-high and reduce the beer by a quarter. Add the beef stock and bring the stock to a boil over high heat. Use a slotted spoon to scoop out most of the vegetables and place them under and around the brisket. Pour the hot stock over the meat. It should come just to the top of the brisket. Add more stock if necessary. Cover the pan tightly with aluminum foil and a tight-fitting lid if you have one. Braise in the oven 5 to 6 hours.

To check for doneness, carefully remove the lid and foil, watching out for the hot steam. Test the meat by inserting a fork into it; if the fork slides in easily, then the brisket is done.

Let the brisket cool in its juices for 30 minutes. Carefully transfer it to a baking sheet, and chill completely.

Strain the braising juices into a saucepan, pressing down on the vegetables with a ladle to extract all the liquid. Skim the fat from the braising juices and chill. (Or, slice the warm brisket if you want to serve right away.)

When you are ready to serve, preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cut the cold brisket against the grain into 1/4" slices. Lay the slices in two large roasting pans (or equivalent). Heat the braising juices and pour some over the meat, just to cover. Cook about 20 minutes until the meat is hot and caramelized and crispy on top.

Place on a large warm platter, and spoon some of the braising juices on the meat and drizzle some of the salsa verde on top. Serve the remaining salsa verde and horseradish cream, and any extra braising liquid on the side. Lucques serves it with beluga lentils and sauteed rapini with garlic and chile.

Salsa Verde

1 t marjoram or oregano leaves
1/4 c coarsely chopped mint
1 c coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley
3/4 c extra virgin olive oil
1 small garlic clove
1 salt-packed anchovy, rinsed, bones removed
1 T salt-packed capers, rinsed and drained
1/2 lemon, for juicing
Freshly ground black pepper

Using a mortar and pestle, pound the herbs to a paste. (You may have to do this in batches depending on the size of your mortar.) Work in some of the olive oil and transfer the mixture to a boil. Pound the garlic and anchovy, and then add them to the herbs.

Gently pound the capers until they are partially crushed, and add them to the herbs. Stir in the remaining oil, a pinch of black pepper, and a squeeze of lemon juice. Taste for balance and seasoning.

Horseradish Cream

3/4 c crème fraîche
1 T prepared horseradish
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Combine the crème fraîche and horseradish in a small bowl. Season with 1/4 t salt and pepper. Taste and balance for seasoning.