Braised Short Ribs

If I were to look back at my childhood and flip through the numerous happy times and amazing events that have created the person that I am today, I would be able to accumulate a massive pile of food-related memories that bring a smile to my face. Each memory is a string that weaves a web of comfort and happy times, obscuring any negative shadows in the past and revealing a level of happiness that only a child could achieve. These memories can be triggered by a faint whiff of the familiar, perhaps a little bay leaf and black pepper that Mom always simmered in her chicken soup, or the fresh lemon zest she grated into her home-churned sorbet. These olfactory memories are a mainline to our emotional core and idea of comfort.

The trigger that will always bring back the sights and smells of my childhood is the long, slow cooking of braised meat. By definition, braising is cooking two ways: first browning the meat and then continuing to cook it at a low temperature with a little liquid. My memory has a definition and a vocabulary way beyond this simple explanation. It crosses cultures, bringing spice when necessary yet usually staying true to its humble, rustic roots. It is the glossy sheen on unctuous cuts of meat like oxtail and lamb shanks as they come out of the oven, barely clinging to the bone. It is the winter warmer, allowing the heat that is cooking the meat to resonate beyond the kitchen and to warm the entire house, delivering alluring scents along the way. It is the ensuing meals that are meant to be enjoyed at a slow pace, perhaps with dreams of hibernation dancing in your head. It is like a pair of slippers—not as glamorous as your Sunday finest but infinitely more comfortable than almost anything else in your wardrobe.

For me, the curious cuts that require braising are also part of the appreciation, giving me the satisfaction of buying cheap bits and rendering them not only edible, but addictively delicious. The rule of thumb is that the further a cut of meat is from the back of the animal, the more likely you will need to cook it slowly —legs, tail, belly, neck and cheeks all fall into this category. The tough connective tissue that makes these portions useless to the unenlightened offers its greatest gift in the act of braising: It softens through the slow cooking and thickens the resulting sauce to a glossy, finger-licking delight. At the market, this rich selection of braising meat is usually right there before our eyes but often gets passed over in favour of steak. Buying these cuts is like cheering for the underdog, and in this case the underdog always wins—the last-minute shot always finds its mark and the crowds always cheer for more. Your butcher may become your ally as he realizes that you share the admiration for these modest marvels. A wink and a nod and two pounds of ham hock, please….

These slow-cooked delights require little adornment for serving: Either deliver it to your open-armed guests in the dish in which it was cooked, or throw it all on a big ceramic platter in the middle of the table and call it a day. Scatter some fresh herbs and serve with humble winter vegetables for timeless comfort—roasted parsnips, buttery mash potatoes or creamed carrots always do the trick.

The sight of tender meat falling off of the bone in its own cooking juices is something that will never fall out of fashion, and will always be my memory of cold-weather comfort.

Guinness and 5-Spice Braised Short Ribs Recipe