Kickin' It with Brisket

All right, so barbecue is intimidating, right?  Every Food Network show I have ever seen on the subject has led me to believe that “real” barbecue takes exactly 92.64 hours of closely monitored cooking in a handmade smoker sanctified by the King of Barbecue himself, a man that I imagine weighs 900 pounds and has a Fu Manchu mustache so glorious it would make you weep.  Well, I don’t know if what we made this week would be considered “real” barbecue, but it was smothered in barbecue sauce, it was delicious, and we did it in under three hours.

I too fear the culinary Goliath that is BBQ.  For one, my hipster mustache doesn't grant me the BBQ expertise that the more substantial Fu Manchu bestows upon its owners.  For two, red meat throws up all kinds of health and sustainability red flags in my brain.  On this occasion I held my tongue, knowing that such concerns would invite disdainful glares from my sister and perhaps even a righteous wedgie.  Besides, I can rationalize enjoying BBQ at restaurants, so figured I could apply the same logic to a special Sunday supper, even though Karen's apartment lacks the rusted license plates and taxidermied gators that would have completed the ambiance.  

Continuing with the theme from last week of "Meals I Would Never Usually Make," I have no idea why we chose to cook a giant slab of red meat.  I don't usually cook meat because 1) It's expensive and 2) It's ooshy.  It's all full of blood and fat and tendons and bones and, just, no.  Until it's cooked of course and then it is all kinds of awesome, which is exactly why I left the meat handling to my brother.  But before we get to that, I must give props again to my BH&G Cookbook.  Once we decided on barbecue, we flipped through its hollowed pages and found an Oven-Barbecued Beef Brisket with homemade barbecue sauce that sounded just scrumptious.  This decision led us to the grocery store, specifically the meat section, where we stood silently perusing the shelves for a good four minutes before Tony turned to me and asked, "What's a brisket?"  Goooooood question.  

As it turns out, this is a brisket:

Luckily, my cookbook also contains a meat map, showing you the precise location of cuts of beef on the cow.  Although, you really don't want to know which part brisket comes from . . . Ha, just kidding.  It's the armpit.

The store had two differently priced cuts of armpit beef.  We took pause, wondering why the brisket we chose was a full dollar per pound cheaper than all the others.  I pointed out, as a possible reason, the thick layer of fat completely covering one side, like icing on a meat cake.  No problem, I assured Karen (and myself), not realizing that I would be tasked with scraping the icing off this particular meat cake.  Karen played the gender card on me, putting me in charge of the defatting.  I enjoy working with raw animal flesh no more than she does, and I'm pretty freaked out by spiders, so the gender card can suck it.  Alas, sharpest possible pairing knife in hand, I set about my depraved task.  Luckily, Karen was chopping onion next to me so that any inquiry about my tears could easily be dismissed.  Harder to explain was why I spent the night weeping in the bath tub.  

While Tony was sawing off gobs of fat . . .

I was mixing up a delicious and tendon-free sauce in which to roast the brisket.  I don't know copyright laws (nor do I care, so don't tell me) but I'm assuming that I shouldn't copy and post a full recipe from a published cookbook.  I will say, however, that this sauce contains water, onion, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar, chili powder (I used chipotle powder, uh duh), beef bouillon, red pepper, and garlic.  This was literally the best picture of me mixing sauce.  There were worse ones . . . 

Moving on.  At this point all you gotta do is pour the sauce over the brisket, cover it with foil, and bake at 325°F for three hours, turning once.  We baked ours for a little over two hours since it was a wee bit smaller than the 3-pounder the recipe called for and we also (and I did not realize this until re-reading the recipe just now) failed to turn once!  Even though our brisket turned out succulent and flavorful, I can't imagine the heights of succulence and flavorfulness it may have reached if only my brother and I payed closer attention to recipes.  Such is the trade-off when drinking several glasses of red wine while cooking, which is totally worth a few mistakes, so whatever.

Dern it!  We didn't flip once?!  Curse those glasses of red devil's spit!  Speaking of devil's spit, we made a BBQ sauce worthy of just such a kitschy name, though it wasn't spicy, so perhaps "Marmot Spit" would be more appropriate . . . though I don't see how.  I just know it should have the word "spit" in it.  Anyway, I regard BBQ sauce with as much, if not more, trepidation as the meat.  I'm very particular.  Thus, I was skeptical that the BH&G Cookbook could impress me, but it provided us with a nice sauce made of onion, garlic, apple juice, tomato paste, vinegar, brown sugar, molasses, paprika, horseradish, Worcestershire, sauce, salt and pepper.  I also added some spicy mustard because I felt it was missing a little something.  [NOTE: I do not condone the use of yellow mustard, but I admit to the merit of the fancier mustards as long as they don't do that little poop thing on my finger when I pop the top.]  

With sauce simmering, Karen and I engaged in a very drunken-sounding argument over proper pronunciation of "Worcestershire" (Work-ester-sheeer!) and then turned our focus to side dishes.  

One of my favorite dishes to make, ever, and this may sound weird, is cauliflower and . . . well, that's it.  If you take a head of cauliflower, chop it up, drizzle it in olive oil, spread it out on a pan, and roast it at about 400°F (depending on your oven) for about 20 minutes, and sprinkle with some salt and pepper then you got yourself a tasty treat.  You can do the same thing with brussels sprouts and it rocks!  Don't ever let any brussels sprouts-haters tell you any different.

Simple and vegetable-based was the theme for the side dishes.  I was afraid my stomach would find the red meat an unfamiliar trespasser and thus, had to send it in with some old regulars.  Like cabbage.  Mmmm mmmm.  Nobody don't like cabbage.  I dressed red cabbage, shredded carrot and thinly sliced red onion (for lack of green) in cider vinegar, rice wine vinegar, sugar, garlic, mustard (fancy kind), red pepper flakes, salt and pepper.  It turned out surprisingly good.  

I also invited sweet potato fries to join the adventure.  They were the frozen kind that you pop in the oven, so they don't require much explanation.  Though Karen did give them a dousing of truffle salt.  That reminds me, stop everything you are doing, mortgage your house, sell your family, and spend ALL YOUR F%*ING MONEY on truffle salt.  NOW!  

The veggies proved effective guides for the red meat and everything went together nicely.  It wasn't restaurant BBQ, but it was a great success, especially for a first attempt.  I'm glad Karen and I tried it.  I urge you to try new things in the kitchen; take risks, maybe fail, maybe not, but have fun!  Even if your mustache doesn't extend majestically around your mouth and down to your chin. You can Fu Man DO it!