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Braising: A magical transformation from tough to tender
• by By Julia M. Usher • Photo by Steve Adams Studio, food styling by Julia M. Usher
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Braising may seem like culinary alchemy – and for good reason. The cook tosses an inherently tough cut of meat into a pot, adds a wee bit of stock or other liquid and leaves the pot, covered and unattended, in a slow oven or over low heat. A couple of hours later, she removes the lid and voilà! Unlike medieval chemists who toiled fruitlessly to turn base metals into gold, the cook reveals an improbable transformation: The meat, once sinewy and indigestible, is now so tender it needs no knife – in fact, it hardly needs chewing except to relish its
succulent texture.
To be clear, assembling the ingredients requires no mystical skill. Though white meat and some vegetables are commonly braised, scrappier cuts of red meat – round, chuck or shoulder – benefit most from the process. The meat, either in one big chunk or in bite-size pieces, is set atop the fond de braise, a cushion of aromatic veggies such as onions and carrots. Stock, wine, beer or other juices are added in small quantities to partially cover the meat, and a bouquet garni –
a bundle of herbs and vegetables like fresh parsley, thyme and bay leaves – is then tucked into the broth to impart flavor.
What’s magical – or at least less understood – is the process by which braising transmutes meat from tough to tender. It’s very different from roasting, which is a dry-heat cooking technique. My early braising wisdom was gleaned in culinary school, almost entirely from Madeleine Kamman’s 1971 classic cookbook and reference guide, “The Making of a Cook.” There, she insists that the meat must first be seared (browned quickly over high heat) so that “its juices ... concentrate at the center.” Once the meat and stock are in the pot, she fits the pot with what she calls an “inverted foil lid,” essentially a piece of foil that sits flush on the meat’s surface with its ends extending up the sides of the pan. She then covers the pot tightly with its own lid and sets it to bake in a 325-degree oven.
According to Kamman, the inverted foil lid traps steam close to the meat and creates a microenvironment of high pressure, which “bears on the meat fibers and slowly pries them open.” The juices, once trapped in the center of the meat by the sear, heat up and gradually make their way from the interior to the outside of the meat, breaking apart fibrous connective tissue and thereby tenderizing the meat.
She crafts a compelling story, but it’s difficult to reconcile her explanation with the more scientific rationale put forth by food chemistry guru Harold McGee in his latest edition of “On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen.” Like Kamman, McGee starts his braise by searing the meat, but only because the caramelization of meat proteins lends flavor. The widely held notion that searing seals in meat juices is just plain wrong, writes McGee. “The continuing sizzle of meat in the pan [after it is seared] ... is the sound of moisture continually escaping.”
McGee goes further, asserting that the primary tenderizer is not trapped steam or localized high pressure but rather sustained low temperature, ideally below the boiling point. When the internal meat temperature registers between 160 and 180 degrees, the collagen in tough connective tissue starts to dissolve into soft, unctuous gelatin, and the meat fibers, once bonded tightly together by the connective tissue, become easier to separate and, thus, more tender. To keep the internal meat temperature in the ideal collagen-melting range, McGee recommends setting the oven to between 200 and 250 degrees and keeping the pot lid slightly ajar. At an oven temperature as high as that which Kamman suggests, the outer portions of the meat will “overcook badly,” he contends.
So what does one do when noted food luminaries clash in such evident disagreement? Put the experts to the test. I recently prepared my Guinness Braised Beef according to each method, and while my experiment didn’t shed any new light on the tenderizing process, it did reveal a clear winner. After two hours in the oven, the meat by Kamman’s method fell into luscious pieces at the gentle touch of a tine. But was McGee’s braise any better? Let’s just say that when my fork bounced off its surface at the four-hour mark, I had already succumbed to the magic of the inverted foil lid.
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Guinness Braised Beef
Makes about 12 8-oz. servings
6 to 8 Tbsp. olive oil, divided
6 onions, peeled, halved and thinly sliced
1¼ lb. small crimini or button mushrooms, stems trimmed and halved
3 lbs. beef round or chuck, trimmed of excess gristle and fat and cut into bite-size pieces
3 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
1½ cups beef stock, warmed
2 Tbsp. mild molasses
2 cups Guinness Stout or other dark beer, at room temperature
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
3 garlic cloves, crushed and peeled
1 bouquet garni (2 bay leaves, 2 to 3 sprigs fresh parsley and 2 to 3 sprigs fresh thyme, tied with twine)
2 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh marjoram
• Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 325 degrees.
• Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat in a very large skillet. Add the onions and sauté until soft and caramelized. Stir regularly to prevent burning and be patient; this step may take 30 minutes or more. Transfer the onions to a bowl and set aside.
• Add another 2 tablespoons olive oil to the skillet and return to medium heat. Add the mushrooms and sauté about 10 minutes or until they have exuded much of their moisture. Combine them with the onions.
• Add another 2 tablespoons oil to the skillet and place over medium-high to high heat. When the oil sizzles at the drop of water, add the beef. Sear well on all sides, turning often to promote even browning. Transfer the beef to a separate bowl and set aside.
• Turn the heat to medium. Add the flour to the remaining fat in the pan and cook, whisking constantly, until lightly browned. (If your meat is lean, you may need to add another 2 tablespoons of oil to the pan before adding the flour.) Gradually add the warm stock to the roux, whisking all the while to prevent lumps from forming. Add the molasses and beer and stir well.
• Increase the heat to medium-high, bring the mixture to a simmer and cook until somewhat thickened, about 5 to 10 minutes. Season the broth with salt and pepper.
• Layer the reserved mushrooms and onions alternately with the beef in a heavy ovenproof pot with a lid (6- to 7-quart capacity). Lightly season each layer with salt and pepper. Pour in the reserved broth and add the garlic cloves and bouquet garni.
• Fit an inverted foil “lid” over the top of the meat and then cover the pan tightly with its own lid. Bake about 2 hours, stirring once mid-process. It’s done when a skewer passes easily through the meat.
• Remove the bouquet garni. Add the chopped marjoram and adjust the seasoning. Serve immediately with boiled potatoes, egg noodles or all by its yummy self. (If the sauce looks loose, make a slurry by gradually whisking 1 cup sauce into 1 to 2 tablespoons flour. Stir the slurry into the pan juices and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce the heat and cook just until the sauce has thickened.)
Cider-Braised Belgian Endive
4 to 6 servings
3/4 cup apple cider
1½ tsp. granulated sugar
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
6 small Belgian endive, bases trimmed and halved lengthwise
3 oz. diced pancetta or bacon
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
¼ cup heavy cream, at room temperature
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
2 tsp. chopped fresh thyme leaves
• Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
• Combine the apple cider and sugar in an 11-by-7-by-2-inch baking dish. Stir to dissolve the sugar.
• Heat the butter over medium-high heat in a skillet large enough to accommodate the endive halves in one layer. (If you don’t have a skillet that large, cook the endive in two batches.) When the butter is hot, add the endive, cut side down, and cook until lightly browned. Turn over, cooking no longer than 3 to 4 minutes on each side. Remove from the heat.
• Arrange the endive cut side up in the baking dish and season with salt and pepper.
• Add the pancetta to the skillet and place over medium heat. When the pancetta has rendered a few tablespoons of fat, increase the heat to medium-high and cook until crispy and evenly browned.
• Distribute the pancetta and pan drippings evenly over the endive. Season with salt and pepper.
• Cover the baking dish tightly with aluminum foil. Bake 35 to 40 minutes or until the endive are tender through to the core. (A skewer inserted into the center should slide easily in and out.)
• Remove the foil and cook another 10 to 15 minutes or until the liquid is reduced by half. Meanwhile, whisk the cream, mustard and thyme together in a small bowl and season with salt and pepper.
• Pour the cream mixture evenly over the endive and bake another 5 to 10 minutes. Let cool slightly, adjust the seasoning and serve.
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