Twentieth-century poet Mark Strand neatly addressed the time-flavor continuum for braised meats in his poem “Pot Roast.” Upon inspection of the saucy slices of braised beef on his plate, with mouthwatering anticipation, he declared, “And for once I do not regret / the passage of time.”
Reading the poem, I know exactly how he must have felt, impatiently waiting for hours for the tender meat to emerge from the oven. Indeed, the key to any good stew or braise is the passage of time. Though investing time in cooking—
or in anything—can turn some of us off from the endeavor, with braises the investment requires little of us but delivers big results.
As my grandmother demonstrated with her flavorful khoreshs , it’s time in braising and stewing, along with water and the implicit gentle heat, which allows for the connective tissue in the tough cuts of meat to transform into gelatin, leaving meat tender, luscious, and moist. The difference between the two methods is minor: braises involve larger pieces of meat—often on the bone—
and minimal cooking liquid, while stews are made with smaller pieces of meat cooked with chunky vegetables, typically served together in the plentiful cooking liquid. Greens, dense vegetables, stone fruits, and tofu also lend themselves well to braising.
At Chez Panisse, I watched chefs buy whole animals and devise creative ways to use up all of the tough, sinewy cuts. Some we cured, others we ground into sausage, and the rest we braised and stewed. For months I watched with awe as the cooks set out several cast iron pans to heat up over a medium-high flame, then added a splash of neutral tasting olive oil into the pan and lay in big pieces of beef, lamb, or pork to brown. How did they keep tabs on all of the different pans, all of the different pieces of meat? How could they turn their backs on six pans of cooking meat in order to peel and slice the onions, garlic, carrots, and celery for the aromatic flavor base? How did they know what temperature to set the burner or oven to, and how long to cook the meat? And when could I try?
With the long lens of hindsight at my disposal, I’ve learned that the best thing about braises is that they’re nearly impossible to ruin. If I could go back and tell my nineteen-year-old self to relax, I would. And then I’d walk her through the few important landmarks of setting up and cooking a braise or stew.
Every cuisine around the world has devised ways to turn cartilaginous, bony, and sinewy meats into delicious braises and stews. This is true of Italian osso buco , Japanese nikujaga , Indian lamb curry, French boeuf bourguignon , Mexican pork adobo , and Mr. Strand’s pot roast. Use the chart of aromatic flavor bases from around the world to determine what vegetables and herbs you’d like to use, and refer to The World of Flavor to choose your flavorings.
Think of these long-cooked dishes as opportunities to layer in flavor. Every step of the way, consider how to infuse the most flavor into the dish and extract the deepest flavor out of every individual ingredient. Apply the principles of braising and stewing to any tough cut of meat. To preserve flavor, leave the meat in large pieces and on the bone when possible. And remember to season the meat in advance to let salt do its important work of flavoring from within.
When it’s time to cook, preheat a skillet over a medium-high flame, pour in a thin layer of neutral-tasting oil, and carefully place in the pieces of meat. Make sure none of the pieces touch, to encourage steam to escape and to allow for even browning. Then do what I once found so difficult, and step away. The keys to beautiful, even browning are steady heat and patience. If you move the meat around too often, or just keep picking it up to check on it, it will take an absurdly long time to brown. Resist that urge, and instead work on the aromatic flavor base.
In a separate pan, or perhaps the same Dutch oven you plan to cook the braise, build flavor by cooking down and slightly browning your vegetables, which can be as minimal as an onion and a couple of garlic cloves if you’re not feeling up for a hunt for ginger or cilantro. As the vegetables cook, check on the meat, turning the pieces and rotating the pan to get even browning. If so much
fat renders from the meat that instead of searing the meat begins to fry, remove the meat from the pan and carefully pour some of the hot fat into a metal bowl and set aside. Return the meat to the pan and continue to brown on all sides. It can take upwards of fifteen minutes to properly brown a piece of beef or pork on all its sides. Do not rush this step—you want the meat to reap all of the savory benefits of the Maillard reaction.
When you’ve finished browning the meat, dump out any remaining fat and deglaze the pan with your liquid of choice, be it stock or water. Remember, this is an ideal moment to work in a cooking acid, so consider adding some wine or beer. Use a wooden spoon and some elbow grease to get all of the tasty brown bits unstuck so you can add them into the braising pan. Build the braise with the vegetables and herbs on the bottom, then place in the meat—here it’s all right if pieces touch as long as they all fit in a single layer, since browning isn’t a concern any longer—and then add the deglazing liquid. Top off with more water or stock to come up about a third or halfway up the meat—any more and you’ll be poaching rather than braising. Seal the pan with a lid, or parchment paper and foil, and bring everything to a boil, then reduce to a gentle simmer. On the stove, this is simple enough, but in the oven, that means cranking the temperature up to high (425°F and above), and then turning it down to medium-low (275°F to 350°F). The lower the temperature, the longer the braise will take, but the less likely the meat will dry out. If the liquid can’t help but boil, flip the lid ajar or tear open the edge of the foil to encourage the temperature inside the pan to drop.
Again, patience is key, but the boon is that this is passive cooking time. As long as you check on the pan from time to time to make sure the liquid remains at a slight simmer and nothing more, you can go about your day as you like. The only hustle involved in braising is setting everything up and getting it into the oven. (Or any source of steady or gentle heat.) Once it’s in, you can breathe easy.
How to know when it’s done? I wondered the same thing at nineteen, in the kitchen at Chez Panisse. But I soon learned that the meat should fall off the bone at the gentlest touch. In boneless braises, meat should be fork-tender. Pull the pan from the heat and let it cool before straining the cooking liquid. Pass the solids through a food mill for a thicker sauce, and taste it and decide if you’d like to reduce it to intensify flavor before adding any salt.
These techniques are ideal for preparing food in advance. Time performs a potent alchemy on cooked braises and stews, improving flavor with a day or two of rest. Because it liberates the cook from last-minute demands, this kind of cooking is ideal for dinner parties. Braises and stews make for excellent
leftovers and freeze well, too. With its basic technique, braising can be the most effortless path toward deeply flavorful food.