Braised Short Ribs with Pappardelle

Short ribs take forever. This recipe, for instance, is pretty much a weekend affair. So when you make them, why not make a lot, right?

But here's the problem: short ribs are not snackable. Most of the leftovers Chez ToastPoint get consumed while standing at the fridge. The Human Vacuum lacks a decent sense of temporal food allocation, so he will cheerfully eat bok choy or chickpea salad for breakfast. But hard, cold short ribs are not very appealing any time of day, and I assume they are even less appealing first thing in the morning. So they sit, delicious yet congealed, in a Tupperware.

This is a quick and tasty solution to the Case of the Cold Short Ribs (the Cold Case of the Short Ribs?). Rich and filling, it doesn't feel like pesky leftover disposal at all—more like $18 restaurant pasta.

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Braised Short Ribs with Pappardelle

In a large skillet, warm over medium heat:
1 Tablespoon olive oil

Add and cook until caramelized (about 20 minutes):
2 large onions, preferably sweet, roughly chopped

Meanwhile, microwave or otherwise warm up:
2-3 leftover braised short ribs (like this ToastPoint fave) plus drippings, braising liquid, or whatever made it into the Tupperware

Shred the meat into a large bowl retaining any fatty juices that have accumulated:
2-3 Tablespoons butter
1 Tablespoon olive oil
small handful toasted pine nuts (optional)
Just toast the pine nuts in a dry skillet over medium heat until lightly browned. Watch carefully though, they burn fast!

While the onions continue cook, bring a large pot of water to boil, salt it, then add:
1 lb pappardelle, or other wide pasta

When the pasta is done, drain it, dump into the bowl, and add the onions. Give everything a good long stir to get the noodles well coated.

For that $18 restaurant feel, sprinkle with:
Fresh basil, roughly chopped (optional)

Into the Meat Grinder: Bittman's Best Burgers

Since I'm on quite a New York Times recipe kick, I might as well post my long-ignored and semi-ignoble effort from this summer at grinding my own meat for burgers. I'm generally not a fanatical DIY cook. I don't can things. I don't bake bread. I only make stock grudgingly and as a sous chef. But ol' Bittman convinced me that burger nirvana was right around the corner if only I ground my own.

And he didn't just convince me, he convinced Toast-Mother-in-Law, a New Yorker and avid reader of the Times. So this summer she brought some chunks of sirloin out to Long Island and we went to work.

After singing the praises of hand-ground meat--and reassuring us that all we needed was a food processor, not some hand-cranked machine manned by a beefy guy in a bloody apron--Bittman warns readers: "Don’t overprocess. You want the equivalent of chopped meat, not a meat purée. The finer you grind the meat, the more likely you are to pack it together too tightly, which will make the burger tough."

These seemingly low-key words struck a little too much fear in my heart and I underprocessed. Bittman has also exhorted us to buy fatty meat, and my burgers had too many pieces of insufficiently ground fat in them to really be enjoyable. Still, they were very flavorful and I might try again next summer.

If you're looking to recall summer on the first day of flurries (in Boston, anyway) try these under the broiler on on the stove top. And don't be afraid to grind aggressively.

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Bittman's Burgers
As printed in The New York Times

1 1/2 to 2 pounds not-too-lean sirloin, in chunks
1/2 white onion, peeled and in chunks, optional
Salt and pepper to taste.

1. Start a charcoal or wood fire or preheat a gas grill. Or, on stove top, heat a large, heavy skillet over medium-high heat for 3 or 4 minutes.

2. Put meat and onion in a food processor, in batches if necessary, and pulse until coarsely ground: finer than chopped, but not much. Put it in a bowl and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Taste, then add more seasoning if necessary. (If desired, cook a teaspoon of meat in a pan before tasting.) Handling meat as little as possible to avoid compressing it, shape it lightly into 4 or more burgers.

3. Fire is hot enough when you can barely stand to hold your hand 3 or 4 inches over rack for a few seconds. Grill burgers about 3 minutes a side for very rare, and another minute a side for each increasing stage of doneness, but no more than 10 minutes total unless you like hockey pucks. (Timing on stove top is the same.)

4. Serve on buns, toast or hard rolls, garnished as you like.

Gnawing on Bones, Alone

Tonight at 8:45 p.m., I found myself savagely digging the marrow out of my third and final roasted beef bone with a grapefruit spoon. All because the Human Vacuum is out of town. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I thought the absence of the H.V. would be a good opportunity to load up the sort of food he tends to shun. Thus my impulse buy of three fat beef bones at the grocery store last night. I had the vague idea that people in British novels did something with marrow, and that it was considered a treat by small children. Fueled by that single blurry thought, I tossed them in my mini-cart at Whole Foods. Tonight, after fiddling around waiting for the Falcon 1 launch (aborted, again. sigh.), I cranked up the oven and tossed them in.

In the sprirt of the novels that inspired this dinner, I must tell you, Dear Reader, that the resulting dinner was scrumptious. Crunchy lemony salad, rich unctuous marrow, warm buttery toast. It was just what I dreamed it would be, and it was precisely the sort of thing best eaten alone, away from prying eyes--even of those who love us most. While eating, I descended into savagery, rasping my spoon around the inside of the bones to retrieve the last tasty morsels.

Hey, at least I was still using utensils, right?

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Roasted Marrow on Toast
(Despite the rarity and seeming fancy-pantsness of this meal, it was quite easy to make. Rachel Ray could do a 30 Minute Meal of marrow bones and still have time left over to make a box cake. And it's a one-pan meal, so clean up is quick, too.)

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Place on a foil-lined pan:
3 beef or veal bones, cut into 3 inch pieces

Arrange the bones cut sides down so that they stand like a tiny, meaty Stonehenge in the pan. Stick them in the oven for about 20 minutes. They'll be done when they bleed a little fat and the marrow is soft all the way through, which you can check by poking them with a skewer or thin knife.

While the bones are a-roastin', make a tiny salad. All the recipes I found online call for a parsely salad, which I'm sure would be lovely. But when you've impulse-bought beef bones, it's unlikely that you've also coincidentally impulse-bought two handfuls of parsely. So, I just used:
1 handful salad greens, torn small

Dress with the following, whisked together:
1/2 lemon, juiced
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced or microplaned (I used a squeeze of the preprocessed stuff--no one was looking, so I figured I could get away with lazy man's garlic)
Salt and pepper

Then toast:
2 pieces plain white bread

Yank the bones out of the oven, arrange everything on a plate and serve with a small spoon for savage digging. To eat: scrape out the marrow, smoosh it onto triangle of toast, and (this step is very important) sprinkle with salt. Alternate with bites of salad.