Road Foodie

Posted By bbinns on January 19, 2009

1.19.09 San Luis Obispo, CA I brined the 10-pound, bone-in shoulder of organically-raised pork in red wine instead of water for several reasons, not simply because the counter here in cousin Robert’s huge kitchen has become difficult to discern through the forest of one-third-full bottles of red wine. My recent book The Relaxed Kitchen: How to Entertain with Casual Elegance and Never Lose Your Mind, Incinerate the Souffle, or Murder the Guests includes just such a brined roast—although that one is made with a leg—and I remember it from the testing process with exceeding fondness. Plus, this is C’s visiting niece Melissa I’m cookin’ for, and I have resolved to make something über-unctuously porky this weekend. (Her mom Nancy welcomed me so warmly and generously back in Toledo at Christmas; this is one very small way I can give back.) New Frontiers, the excellent Whole-Food-ish-but-better market in SLO does not have a leg of pork, but there will be more tasty marbling on a big, bone-in shoulder anyway, so that’s what goes into my very large pot with 6 cups of red wine, 4 cups of water, and ¾ cup of kosher salt (lots of people put sugar in brine, but I think it makes everything taste like ham, so I don’t). Then 20 or 30 fresh bay leaves from Geo’s garden in Atascadero, a mondo handful of Tellicherry peppercorns, and it’s out to the garage for a day and a half. (I’d have preferred to brine such a large roast for a little longer, but didn’t get my mess in place soon enough.)
I keep meaning to write a book—or perhaps it’s just an article—about the fabulous benefits of residual-heat-cooking (the method is discussed further in The Evolution of Mr. Beef, archived at above left). Having not yet gotten around to writing about it (perhaps because I am busy doing this), I continue to cook that way. It’s actually a technique that can be applied to many foods, and not just proteins. If you have ever really seared one side of a piece of delicate fish—or scallops—to deep golden brown, then turn it/them over and immediately remove the pan from the heat, then let stand in the pan for 5 minutes, you’ve taken advantage of the gentle caress of residual heat cooking. To brine first, then cook with this method, is to produce meat of such carnivorous character and joyous juiciness that diners will swoon. And then start making grandiose statements of the I’ve-never-tasted-(insert protein here)-this-good-in-my-entire–life variety. There is an additional benefit known only to the chef: all the hard mental work is out of the way up front, so you are free to imbibe generous quantities of pink Spanish wine, especially if it’s a sunny day as it was yesterday here on the Central Coast. In this particular porkish case, the roast was pulled from its wine-bath, scrupulously patted dry, and then rubbed with a mixture of good oil, pepper, thyme and just enough salt to encourage the formation of a crispy fat-cap (you don’t want to over-salt here, because the brine has carried the perfect amount of salt into the meat via osmosis. Or something).

The roast’s roasted first at 450F for about 35 minutes, then about 50 minutes at 325F and then—this is the kicker—the oven is turned off and the meat is left completely alone for two to 2 ½ hours, during which beauty nap it continues to cook very gently from the residual heat. (Note that the oven door must NOT be opened during this period, or the whole process will be shot. I always tape a slightly threatening note to the oven door.) About 30 minutes before you feel like you might want to eat, bang the oven up to 450F again for 15 minutes. Finally, rest the roast for 10 to 15 minutes more before carving the really, truly quite revolutionary meat. As you can see, it’s not an exact science, and there’s plenty of room for relaxation and interpretation here.
Our dinner was rounded out by my latest potato salad: early in the day, baby red potatoes are steamed, split, and high-heat-roasted until crispy. Just before serving, I tossed them with marinated artichokes, lots of fresh dill, capers, Lucca olive oil, and Meier lemon juice. C’s new favorite veg, the exotic broccoli Romagnola, provides the shot of pure and clean vegetable flavor needed here for balance. The juicy pork is topped with an Italian version of Salse Verde, made with anchovies, garlic, more best-quality olive oil, and a veritable garden-full of flat-leaf parsley (from Marie’s garden, just outside the door across the oak-shaded courtyard.

For me, the opportunity to cook good food for friends and family is a gift (often, it is also known as a pork-atunity). To be proud of what you have created, to feel that the pork—as well as the people—have been offered honor and profound respect, these are the reasons to shop judiciously, take the time to brine, and let the oven do most of the work. Again, I have cooked and quaffed in a kitchen not my own. I hope to continue the tradition.

Most photographs courtesy of Melissa Davison and Melinda Handy

Category: In the West, Stella | Write To Me
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