Alas, for I am forlornly grill-less. They're not allowed where I live. Maybe I'll break the rules and get a hibachi then camouflage it when not in use. Use wood charcoal instead of briquettes. Drive my neighbors to the brink with its insanely alluring smoke. Make quick work out of it. Light the hibachi cook the meat, suffocate the coals reserving them for the next use. Bang. Hit-and-run- grilling. The next thing ya know petunias are innocently growing out of where the hibachi was.
My friend's brand new kitchen that he himself extended onto a huge old house on Capitol Hill was burned down right after he built it, by embers that flew off the balcony of an apartment in the high rise next to his property. The woman who rented the apartment was so distraught by causing the fire she took off to Florida unable to face consequences of the damage she caused. So I'm aware of the reasoning behind the city restriction. But honestly, there's nothing but stone and concrete surrounding my area. Except for the crap on people's balconies and that would be a public service to burn. And besides, my neighbors are always having parties where the smokers are banned to the balcony then they flick their cigarette butts off the balcony as if they would all automatically disappear, which they do disappear when a worker the next day goes around and sweeps them all up. It's an insane cycle of slovenliness. You can tell whence they come because the butts are in little piles under particular balconies. It's a matter of determining which floor. Not piles really, but nearly so. There'll be like fifteen Benson and Hedges all within a small area as if they couldn't even flick very far. Can you believe people still smoke? They do. I always thought that was a phase people went through until they finally wised up. My impulse is to gather them up myself and deliver the butts back to the offending balconies by slingshot. You know, have a bit of fun with the situation. Drive the point passive aggressively.
The meat was started on stovetop and finished under the broiler, just like the pros do. There's a reason for that. It makes it possible to more reliably get a nice sear on the outside and gentle pink to red center. I recommend it for steaks cooked indoors. It worked perfectly for this even though it's not a proper steak. My largest pan with a metal handle is too small for it all so I cooked this in two batches. Now I can graze on dead cow meat until it's gone.
The mashed potatoes were extra from a party I hosted a few weeks ago, frozen with the air sucked out in Meal Saver bags and reheated in the microwave.
But it's the sauce that made them delicious. I am totally getting my sauce act together. That's my favorite part of this, even above the angus although the sauce came from cooking the beef. Sweated chopped onion in the pan drippings along with a bay leaf and one garlic clove smashed and chopped. No salt or pepper because the oil was already flavored by the dry-rub that was put on the meat. One cup red wine reduced by half. I aimed for a thin sauce, but this was still too thin so I prepared slack of a scant 3/4 tablespoon flour and 1/2 cup beef stock.
Slack. That there's professional argot. I read it in a book! It means a dissolved slurry of flour, cornstarch, or arrowroot.
Then one cup beef stock reduced to desired consistency. Strained through the finest strainer I have.
I was going to finish with a little cream but I forgot.
Ya know what? I think I'm going to go ahead and have some more of those mashed potatoes with reduction sauce.
1 comment:
In the past, I've plugged up my George Foreman grill out on the back porch and threw on the burgers and was content. Lately, when the neighbors fire up their grills, I yearn and realize that pretending to grill out on my back porch with George just isn't enough.
Interesting that slack is slurry dissolved.
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