It's What's For Dinner

Still captive to the tiny kitchen in the mountains, time for another meal approaches.  I ponder what to make for dinner when a hit 90's ad campaign comes to mind.  Copland's Hoe-down plays louder and louder from the recesses of my mind, seducing me to fulfill the role.  The nearest rodeo is still a few miles away, but I know it's time for our most iconic protein; a protein, that I don't often cook.  Beef.

The first step is to buy a proper cooking vessel worthy of this American tradition.  Dragged into an unmentionable store, filled with boxes featuring Rachael Ray and Emeril's smiling faces, I begin gasping for air.  The witch is sucking the life out of me, and her devilish grin confirms my suspicious.  Now crawling on the dirty tile floor, all of the ground level goods that a 6'3" customer doesn't normally see, become the only things in sight.

This is where the inconspicuous, black enameled 9 qt cauldron is found.  It's perfect for the job, but first I need to get out of the store alive--and it's really heavy too.  The cashier struggles with just the lid, a sign that my suffering won't end as soon as planned.  With my remaining strength I swipe my plastic, lift my prize, and run for the door.  I pray that the four cylinder mighty Honda can haul this load.  As long as this black beauty fits in the tiny oven, I now have everything I need to cook in the tiny kitchen.

At the grocery, I struggle to locate short ribs.  In their place are long ribs, which aren't a popular cut back home.  In comparison, the long ribs are much meatier, and will be easier to eat since there are fewer, but larger, bones.  The dish makes itself from here.  A handful of chile de arbol, shiitakes, big can of diced tomatoes, another of white beans, red onion, head of garlic, thyme, and dousing of stock is all I need for tonight's one pot delight. 

Back in the kitchen I brown the ribs in what begins as a tablespoon of olive oil, but ends in a pool of their own rendered fat.  The chile de arbol and [sliced] red onion follows.  Once translucent, I add the rest of the aromatics and shiitakes, waiting for neighbors to begin greedily peering through the window.  Next, I try to open the can of tomatoes, but there is no can opener.  Wine tool doesn't make a dent.  Not going to even bother trying with my orange ceramic nemesis.  Next, the pull-top can of white beans goes in, while my sous runs to the store for a can opener.  I then top off the pool with stock, knowing I will soon have everything I need to cook in the tiny kitchen.  

Before the oven fully preheats to 325 Dg, the can opener arrives and the diced tomatoes join the pool party.  After removing a rack to create enough space, I put the lid on, and carefully place the cauldron in the tiny oven.  This is when I learn the true meaning of a one pot meal.  There's no more space in the oven, and its occupant ain't moving anytime soon.  I just hope 9 quarts of food is enough for two people.  

As the sun sets and my stomach growls, I decide to check how everyone is getting along with each other.  As the lid is lifted, my nose becomes reacquainted with the chiles, garlic, and aromatics that I met just hours, but feels like years, earlier.  I grab a bone, and the meat falls off in one graceful plop.  I don't need to test the waters to know this is going to be a great meal.

Comments

[Vicki]

9 quarts? That's monstrous! That being said, long low-temp braises are my favorite. Minimal work, ultimate payoff.

[Tatiana]

Delish! Love braised beef... And great combo of ingredients to boot. Kudos!

[Stash]

I did something similar awhile back, but I really like how this turned out. Once the weather degrades more, there will be a lot of this. I also like it because the beans and other bits make it a more complete meal.