new year’s eve dinner: beef short ribs [stock, wine, aromatics], gremolata [parsley, garlic, lemon zest] (inspired by alice, potato made by c).
Season six or so pounds of square-cut shortribs heavily with salt and pepper and refridgerate overnight.
Roast short ribs bone side down in a super hot oven for about twenty minutes, until they are nicely browned.
Saute a lot of roughly chopped onion until it starts to brown, then add some roughly chopped carrot and leek and cook a little more. (Don’t worry about showing off your knife skills here; we’ll be straining later.) Add some smashed garlic cloves, whatever herbs you have arround (I used thyme and parsley), and a few bay leaves. Cook a little more. Resist the urge to season as the ribs are already well seasoned and we’ll be reducing later.
Slide the vegetable goodness into your largest dutch oven (at least six quarts), and arrange the ribs bone side up on top of them. (This is a bit of a bother as short ribs hate being bone side up, but it’s necessary to keep the ribs in some semblace of order while cooking.) Add a third of a bottle or so of red wine, and then pour in enough hot beef stock to just submerge the ribs.
Bring this pot of all that is true and good to a simmer over high heat on the stove, and then put the lid on, slightly ajar, and place the pot in a 350˚F oven. Cook for about two hours, or until the meat is knee-weakeningly tender, and the connective tissue is a gelatinous gift from the gods.
After their tiring excursion, retire the ribs to a roasting pan, bone side down. Strain the braising juices, pressing the liquid out of the vegetables and then discarding them. Spoon a few tablespoons of the strained juices over the ribs and pop them into a super hot oven for about ten minutes or until glazed.
Meanwhile, reduce the juices until they are in danger of becoming too salty. (If, unlike me, you heed the warning not to season anything but the ribs, you should have a nicely textured sauce by the end.)
Mix together a handful of parsley with a garlic clove and a lemon’s worth of zest, all finely copped. Plate up with your favorite starch, drizzling some sauce over the meat before scattering the gremolata.