Michael Ruhlman may just be a culinary hero of mine, but he may very well be a food prophet for the world; one that wanders in the desolation of modernized convenience and manufactured foods to bring a few simple stone tablets declaring that truth in cooking is found best in methods performed in your own kitchen, by your own two hands, because food and the way we approach it matters.

To such ends that I partake of the words of the seer and do my best to explore new-found worlds, I took it upon myself this past week to use his recipe to create my own corned beef. I figured I had little to lose, ultimately, and potentially a lot to gain from the experience. Plus, I’ve always been fond of soaking meat in brines of all sorts because they transform under the pressures of salt and time into new creations.

Two chuck roasts — chosen because they were significantly cheaper than a full brisket and I figured it’s best to ensure I was successful first — were soaked in the prescribed brine solution for six days. I procured some pink salt (sodium nitrite) from an online source for the most-essential preservative portion of the brine and to ensure a good, solid red color throughout.

Six days in the fridge, covered in brine, anchored to the bottom of a pan with a heavy plate. It was a long time to wait and hope that I was creating a marvel and not a fuzzy mold farm. Cooking with old methods like this is most definitely an effort in faith.

Last night I extracted the meat from its bath and rinsed it thoroughly, noting that the feel of it had changed from a pliable, meaty feel to a more solid, waxy touch. The two chunks were then dropped into my large cast iron pot (which you may have when you pry it from my cold, dead hands), covered in water, spices, and a mirepoix, and set to simmer on the stove for about 3 hours.

In the meantime, I busied myself making cabbage to go along, since it seemed like the proper accompaniment to such an iconic meal. Rendered bacon fat and water steamed up a head and a half of cabbage, sprinkled with thyme. I then tossed the bacon back in and sautéed it until the chopped leaves were translucent and golden. A bit of salt here, pepper there, and it was ready to go.

Extracting the corned beef from the pot and slicing it into manageable chunks was nothing less than equivalent to Christmas morning and the promise of untold wonders to be revealed. As the first slices fell away from my knife’s bold statement, this brilliant red, flaky meat burst into view, sending my spirits soaring. As all good chefs do, a personal sample was quick to follow.

When it’s so damned good, it makes me giggle in happiness. And I was a ball of laughter.

I made quick work of the rest, laid it on a suitable platter, piled another high with the cabbage, and with some included buttered fresh bread, the meal was complete. All ate and were satisfied.

To know that I was able to take something that’s been done for years and to make it work in my own kitchen was simply amazing and horribly fulfilling at the same time. If you have the means and the drive, I sincerely hope you will give this a shot — you will be forever grateful that you connected with your food in such an intimate way.

Although our attempts to make it an annual event have not yet come to fruition, the other weekend we got together for the 2nd annual (but not really) meeting of the gourmet chef minds of myself and my friend Lea and tossed together a meal of epic proportions and flavors.    While we usually don’t dump that much money for a single evening of a meal, sometimes you have to splurge for the Good Stuff™.

Herein lies the evidence of the night.   I’m afraid to say that I didn’t get nearly enough photos of the productions of the evening, but there’s a few for you to ‘feast’ your eyes upon.   Click each to make it larger and more lifelike.   Sorry, we have yet to perfect the scratch-’n'-sniff interface, so you’ll have to imagine for now.

We decided upon a combination of Italian and Greek, probably a mix of cultures not done often, but we really both like those cuisines and we have good skill in cooking them, meaning that we’d be able to pull off a nice meal without banging our heads with a saucepan most of the night.

I won’t go through the wines we had, that was covered in my post, Three Wines Meet Liver at Party.

Appetizer Course

Italian Rye Squares – This is a tried-and-true item that I’ve made many times before.  Grated parmesean cheese, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, kalamata olive oil juice, and Italian seasonings are all mixed together to form a paste.   This is then spread on rye bread squares, topped with your choice of mozzarella or provolone, and then put under a broiler until blissfully melted and warm.    They’re wonderful bite-sized pieces of happiness when done.

Spanikopita Finger Bites – A Lea dish if I ever saw one, which takes the basic spanikopita idea but instead of making it as a dish meal, instead wraps the filling in triangular strips of fillo dough which are brushed with butter and then baked.   The result is a wonderfully rich and flaky outside with a happy, creamy-filled surprise in the middle.

Soup Course

Soupe à l’Oignon Gratinée – Straight from my Saveur Cooks Authentic French cookbook, this traditional French onion soup is the king of my soupy creation as it is almost impossible to fuck up and always turns out to be this wonderfully sweet and cheesy, fulfilling dish.   If the only french onion soup you’ve tried is from the reconstituted packet, you’re missing out on one of the finer items in life.

Salad Course

Greek Salad – Nobody makes a wonderful Greek salad like Lea, what with the crunchy lettuce, beautiful tomatoes (she even found cherries, if you can imagine in this freaking wasteland), and the feta — oh god, the feta.   If I die because I ate too much feta in my life, I won’t regret it one single bit.

Italian Pasta Salad – My wife’s creation, actually; I can’t take the credit for this one as she did all the work.    Salami, mortadella, provolone, olives, capers, shallots, peas, and pasta, along with a fresh fennel/parsley/basil dressing and you have a light and very approachable salad but lots of flavor to behold.

Main Course

Homemade Gyros – Unlike the meatloafy versions that you normally see, this one actually turned out very much like the “real thing”, spices and all, based on this recipe we found online.   After running a pound of lamb and 2 pounds of ground beef through a hand meat grinder, we combined this with onion and spices and moulded it around the spikes on our Baby George (don’t laugh) rotisserie.    An hour later, we had a juicy, succulent loaf of joy that I cross-sliced into strips and we consumed mightily, complete with lettuce, Greek yoghurt,  and homemade tzatziki sauce.    Amazing.    Spent the rest of the night burping it up, too.

Dessert Course

Just when we thought that our stomachs simply couldn’t hold any more and if we tried stuffing more in, we’d end up in little bits sprayed around the room, we defied all logic and made — DESSERT!

Brown Sugar Bananas – Slightly-fried banana halves doused in a caramelly sauce and sprinkled with pecans — a beautifully happy dish that’s easy to whip up.   The only detractor from the beauty of it was the fact that, while chopping the nuts and having copious amounts of wine, I managed to slice the end of my thumb off and spent the rest of the night with a wad of padding in my hand and my arm above my head to try to staunch the bleeding.    Fortunately, the dessert was saved from needless bloodshed.

Cremé Brulée – A “classic” that I had always wanted to make, it came out wonderfully well.     Of course, anything made out of heavy whipping cream, eggs, and sugar, baked slowly in an oven, and then sprinkled with yet MORE sugar and torched to a candied crisp with a propane torch just can’t be wrong.   50,000 calories each and worth every bite.

Other Pictures

Holy hell that’s a lot of food, looking back on it!   But what a night spent with good food, great friends, memorable wine, and a maimed hand.   Here’s to next year’s gathering of the spoons!