Providore Adds Revel Meat, Two X Sea

I just got permission to unburden myself of a secret I've been keeping for almost two months, one that is going to make my life—and hopefully the lives of many other fans of local meat—so much more delicious. Fans and those whose lives were bereft when Ben Meyer closed down Old Salt, his palace of sustainable meat, can now rejoice: He and his partner in Revel Meat, James Serlin, have just signed a lease and stocked cases of their local meat inside Providore Fine Foods.

Kaie Wellman, co-owner of Providore and longtime Portland specialty grocer, Pastaworks, with her husband, Kevin de Garmo, and Bruce Silverman, termed the partnership a "perfect marriage."

Bringing Revel Meat to Providore continues the group's commitment to partner with providers who have deep relationships with local farmers and can give customers the kind of high quality, thoughtfully sourced products they're looking for, Wellman said. "Partners who excite us are the people who are as passionate about food as we are."

Serlin echoed that excitement, saying it was Providore's roster of partners like Rubinette Produce, Little T Baker and Hilary Horvath Flowers that made it an ideal choice for Revel's first retail outlet. "It's a big deal for Revel to be associated with Providore," Serlin said. "The idea behind it, as a place where people can come to get the best produce, meat, fish, cheese and bread, is a perfect fit."

Beef and pork from local farms like Pat-n-Tam's Beef in Stanfield, Campfire Farms in Mulino, Rieben Family Farms in Banks, and 6 Ranch in Wallowa County will stock the big meat cases on the west end of the store with both frozen and fresh cuts. Don't see what you're looking for in the case? Revel will also be happy to accommodate orders for custom cuts—I've already put in my order for some beef neck—with pickup available at Providore. (Read more about Revel Meat and its mission to rejuvenate local meat processing.)

And who will be occupying the coveted space recently vacated by Flying Fish Company? None other than Two X Sea (Two By Sea) the Bay Area fishmonger born in 2009 out of owner Kenny Belov's frustration with the lack of honesty and accountability in the seafood marketplac and fair pay for the fishing industry.

"The only way to change wholesale was to become wholesale," said Belov, who has been selling seafood to top Portland-area restaurants for more than four years. All of Two X Sea's suppliers must answer specific questions before their fish are accepted into its program: Who caught the fish? Who was the captain? What's the name of the boat? How was the fish caught? Was the fish caught on purpose (as opposed to it being bycatch, which means fish caught while targeting other species)? Belov believes that those answers give an opportunity to share with consumers all of the information about every piece of fish in the case.

"Their sustainability standards are unmatched anywhere," Wellman said. "These guys walk their talk."

Belov said that architectural drawings for the new space are being completed, and he's hoping for Two X Sea to open in late spring. Plans include an oyster bar and a menu that showcases the offerings in the fresh case. He said it's an opportunity to expose guests to preparations of seafood that they might also make at home, and he's excited to see what chef Jacob Harth—chef at the much-lauded Erizo and who will compose Two By Sea's offerings—orchestrates in conjunction with Providore's other partners.

Wellman said that Pastaworks, with its nearly 40 years in Portland, and now Providore, are set to move to the next level in its evolution as a vortex for people who love to cook and who care about where their food comes from. "It's a community of like-minded businesses and business owners," Wellman said. "It's the antithesis of a grocery store experience. It's a place where customers come in and are surrounded by real food and high quality products from small producers they can't find elsewhere."

Then comes the throwdown: "Nowhere else in the U.S. has this level of a food experience and offers customers this kind of engagement with their food."

Providore Fine Foods is a sponsor of Good Stuff NW.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin': Meatloaf with Greens & Cheese

Do you ever get an idea in your head and it just sits there, occasionally tweaking your brain with that "now what was that" niggling feeling? That was the case when I was thawing out some pasture-raised hamburger from Carman Ranch the other night, wondering whether to make burgers—we had leftover homemade buns in the freezer—or a marinara with pasta, or tacos or…meatloaf?

Pat out the meat and top with cheese and greens.

That's when it hit me. That idea I'd toyed with at some point in the misty past to make a meatloaf with the usual sofrito of onions and garlic, binding it with eggs and oats, but then flattening it out, filling it with with greens and rolling it up like a jelly roll.

How would I roll it up? Would it stay together or crumble into a mashy mess? There was only one way to find out.

Pull away the sheet as you roll.

Fortunately, my neighbor Bill had gifted me some radishes from his garden with their gorgeous greens still attached, and we had some leftover grated Parmesan from a risotto I'd made the night before. The rest, as they say, was history.

Rolled Meatloaf with Greens and Cheese

3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped fine
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 lbs. hamburger
1 1/2 lbs. ground pork
2 eggs
1/2 c. rolled oats
1 Tbsp. dried herbs (I used a combination of basil, oregano and thyme)
2-3 c. greens, sliced into chiffonade (I used radish greens, but kale, spinach, chard or any other greens would do.)
1 c. finely grated Parmesan

Preheat oven to 375°.

Heat olive oil in medium-sized skillet over medium-high heat. When it shimmers, add chopped onion and sauté until tender. Add garlic and sauté briefly until aromatic. Take off heat and allow to cool.

Combine hamburger, pork*, eggs, oats and onion mixture in a large bowl. (I mix it using just my fingers so the meat stays crumbly and doesn't get clumped together.) Form the meat into a loose ball in the bowl.

Lay out a sheet of parchment paper or plastic wrap about 15" long on a cutting board. Put the meat in the center of the sheet and start pressing it out until it's about 3/8" thick. Sprinkle it with the cheese and the greens in an even layer. Take the long edge of the sheet and start rolling it, repairing any cracks with your fingers, peeling away the sheet as you roll. Close up each end by patting the meat over the exposed edges.

When it's rolled up completely, transfer seam-side down to a sheet pan that's lined with parchment. Bake in a 375° oven for 40-50 minutes until instant-read thermometer inserted in thickest part reads between 140-150° (cookbooks all say 160°, but I find that results in drier meatloaf, so you decide for yourself). Remove from oven, tent with foil and allow to rest for 15 min. Slice and serve.

* I like a combination of beef and pork, since it seems to me to make a moister loaf, but all-beef is perfectly fine, too.

How an Oregon Rancher is Building Soil Health and a Robust Regional Food System

This is my second contribution to Civil Eats' monthly series of profiles of farmers and ranchers who are changing our food system for the benefit of our communities, our health and the environment.

Fourth-generation rancher Cory Carman
holistically manages 5,000-acres

which serve as a model for sustainable meat operations
in the Pacific Northwest.

When Cory Carman returned in 2003 to her family’s ranch in remote Wallowa County in eastern Oregon with a Stanford degree in public policy in hand and a stint on Capitol Hill under her belt, her intention was to stay for the summer, helping her uncle and grandmother with ranch work while she looked for her next job working on public policy. By that fall, though, it was obvious that if she left, the ranch wouldn’t be there for her to come back to.

“They were the only ones left on the ranch,” she said, recalling the heartbreaking specter of how hard her uncle and her grandmother, who was then in her 80s, had to work to barely scrape by. “I think I felt the weight of what they were trying to hold together, and I thought how unfair it was for me to expect that they could just keep it together until I came back someday.”

So she decided to stay.

Carman Ranch began as a few hundred acres Carman’s great-great-grandfather Jacob Weinhard—nephew to the legendary Northwest beer brewer Henry Weinhard—bought for his son Fritz in the early 1900s. Under Carman’s watch, the operation now spans 5,000 acres of grasslands, timbered rangeland, and irrigated valley ground nestled against the dramatic peaks of the Wallowa Mountains. Hawks, eagles, and wildlife greatly outnumber people in this isolated northeastern corner of the state, originally home to the Wal-lam-wat-kain (Wallowa) band of the Nez Perce tribe.

Distinct from most cattle operations in the U.S., Carman’s cattle are 100 percent grass-fed well as grass-finished. (The term “grass-fed” is not regulated, so it can mean that animals have only been briefly pastured before they’re sent to a factory feedlot to be finished.) The ranch primarily produces cattle and pigs, which it mostly markets to wholesale accounts, though it sells a lesser amount of meat as “cow shares”—or quarters of beef ranging from 120 to 180 pounds purchased directly by consumers.

Equally if not more important to Carman, however, is the focus on what she calls the “holistic management” of her land. This involves constantly moving the cattle and paying careful attention to the rate of growth of the animals and grasses. By this system, the steers select the forages they need to grow and gain weight, and the grasses get clipped, trampled down, and fertilized with manure, resulting in fields that are vibrant—they retain water, resist drought, contain abundant organic matter, which contributes nutrients and carbon, and are highly productive without the addition of fertilizer.

Amanda Oborne, vice president of food and farms at Ecotrust, a regional nonprofit organization working on social, economic, and environmental issues, said Carman inspired Ecotrust’s food system work by helping her understand the challenges of creating local beef and pork markets, the complexity of scaling an agricultural business with integrity, and the importance of grasslands and large grazing animals in fighting climate change through carbon drawdown.

Oborne remembers Carman walking her around the fields of the Zumwalt Prairie, a preserve owned by the Nature Conservancy that is on the western boundary of the ranch, and picking at blades of bunch grass as she explained how the native species create pockets of nutrition for migrating birds through the winter, and how the long, perennial roots scaffold a whole cathedral of structure and life under the soil.

“It’s Cory’s ability to tell these stories, to explain the flaws of the dominant system without imbuing judgement or animosity, and to partner across every divide—be it age, gender, class, political philosophy, or hometown—that makes her such an effective and innovative thought leader,” Oborne said.

Introducing Holistic Management

Within a year of returning to the ranch, Carman met and married her husband, Dave Flynn (the couple have since divorced), and started a family, which includes three children, Roan and twins Ione and Emmett.

With a fifth generation of the family living on the ranch, the challenge became not just figuring out how to maintain her family’s business and regenerate the land, but how to leave a viable legacy to pass on to her children.

“You don’t have a ranch so that you can sell it and retire; you have a ranch so you can pass it on—that’s sort of in the DNA,” Carman said. “It’s what gets priority, and [you] grow up knowing that there’s something more important than all of you as individuals.”

While Carman respects her family’s history and that of her neighbors, she is pursuing the inverse of the methods used on most of the nation’s cattle ranches since the middle of the last century—methods also used by her father, who died in a ranching accident when Carman was 14, and by her uncle who took over.

“It was the fertilizer era,” Carman noted of her uncle’s initial resistance to the idea of leaving forage in the pastures. “It’s like in those first few decades when fertilizer worked really, really well. You could just take everything off of the land that you could possibly grow and sell it—and then pour more fertilizer back on. And it worked. Until it didn’t.”

With an eye toward her legacy, Carman went to her uncle with the idea of raising grass-fed beef. “I will never forget what he told me,” she said. “He said, ‘Why don’t you do something people like? What about jerky?’”

The thing that she knew—and that her uncle didn’t—was that there were people in more urban areas who were willing to pay a premium for healthy food. “He had no context,” Carman said. “It’s a paradigm shift.”

Read the rest of the article to find out how Carman has begun to build a robust regional food economy with beef as the elegant nexus of the issues.

Read more of my articles for Civil Eats, including a profile of dairy farmer Jon Bansen, and an examination of the damage that factory farm dairies have done to communities in Oregon and around the country. Photos of Cory Carman copyright Nolan Calisch; photos of cattle and sign by John Valls; used courtesy of Carman Ranch.

Praising the Braise: Grass-fed Short Ribs Long on Flavor

I was in my usual zoned-out state at the grocery store the other day picking up a few necessities—coffee, pasta, milk—and trying to decide what to make for dinner. Walking past the butcher case, I saw chuck roast for $6.99 per pound from Oregon Country Beef, a co-op of ranchers that, despite the name, sources its beef from well beyond Oregon's borders, including ranches in Washington, Idaho, Nevada and California.

Oregon Country Beef cattle finished in a feedlot.

According to the company, the co-op's cattle start their lives on pasture and are raised on rangeland for most of their first 14 to 18 months,* then are shipped to a feedlot for "finishing" on a diet of non-GMO wheat, barley and potatoes (photo, left), a four-month process that fattens cattle to increase their weight before slaughter.

Carman Ranch cattle live their lives on pasture.

Then I saw there was a special on—be still my heart—short ribs for just a buck more per pound. Even better, they were from Carman Ranch, a grass-based ranch in Oregon's Wallowa County where Cory Carman raises cattle on the land that's been in her family for more than 100 years. Her cattle spend their entire lives right up to the point of slaughter on its broad pastures at the base of the Wallowa Mountains (photo, right), and the regenerative practices she champions sequesters carbon in the soil and produces more nutrient-dense, leaner meat.

While I commend the fact that the chuck roast came from cattle raised on non-GMO feed, those short ribs were singing their green-green-grass-of-home song. I brought four pounds home, sautéed a base of vegetables—call it mirepoix (French), sofrito (Spanish), soffritto (Italian) or even włoszczyzna (Polish)—then added roasted tomatoes and red wine along with the short ribs. Ninety minutes later this ultimate comfort food dinner was meltingly tender, and looked (and tasted) stunning served alongside my friend Kathryn's saffron rice.

Red Wine and Tomato-Braised Short Ribs

3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped in 1/2" dice
3 stalks celery, cut diagonally into 1/4" slices
3 medium carrots, halved and cut in 1/2" slices
3 large cloves garlic, minced
4 c. roasted tomatoes
2 c. robust red wine
4 lbs. short ribs
3 bay leaves
1 Tbsp. fresh rosemary, stemmed and minced
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
Salt to taste

Heat olive oil over medium-high heat in large braising pot or Dutch oven. When it shimmers, add onions and sauté until translucent, then add celery, carrots and garlic and sauté until tender. Add tomatoes and red wine and bring to a simmer. Add short ribs and herbs, bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer for 90 minutes to two hours until meat is very tender and almost falling off the bones. Add salt to taste and serve over saffron rice or with boiled or mashed potatoes.

* Conventionally raised cattle—those that are born and live on pasture for their first few months and are then moved to feedlots where they're typically fed a diet of GMO corn and soy laced with antibiotics and sometimes growth hormones—are generally slaughtered at one year to 18 months old, depending on their weight.

Photo of Oregon Country Beef cattle at a feedlot from Newport Avenue Market in Bend. Photo of Carman Ranch cattle from its website.

Warm-Up for Fall: Pot Roast Bourguignon

One neighbor remarked while passing by that the ash trees surrounding our house were "over-achievers" since their golden leaves are the first to fall in our neighborhood. Which means we're finished with the raking and piling when the leaves are still relatively dry and easy to gather up rather than sodden and heavy later on.

Before roasting…

Raking even our relatively small corner lot is still a lot of hard work, especially if your normal workout involves lifting a coffee cup to your lips or casually strolling around the neighborhood with your dogs. The heavenly pot roast recipe below is super simple and can be assembled and put in the oven to braise for a few hours while you're outside doing yardwork. Plus it provides an excuse to schedule breaks every hour or so to check and make sure the liquid hasn't all cooked away (add water if it seems low).

…and after. Mmmmmm!

The smell when you come in the house for those "breaks" will give you motivation to get the outside work done quicker, too, the better to come inside and enjoy a cocktail while you make a salad and boil some potatoes to serve alongside. And sitting down to a hearty and flavor-filled dinner that basically cooks itself? I can't think of a better reward for all that hard work!

Pot Roast Bourguignon

This is extremely easy to make, but you'll need to get it in the oven four hours before dinner or make it the day before. Cutting back on the time in the oven makes for a less than stellar texture.

4 slices bacon, cut in 1/4" pieces
1 3-5 lb. chuck roast
Salt and pepper
1 large onion, chopped in 1/2" dice
4 cloves garlic, chopped roughly
2 ribs celery, chopped in 1/4" slices
4 carrots, sliced in 1/4" rounds
1 lb. mushrooms, sliced
1 Tbsp. basil
1 tsp. thyme
2 sprigs rosemary
1 quart (32 oz.) roasted tomatoes
3-4 c. red wine

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Put bacon in a large braising pot that can go in the oven and fry till fat is rendered and it starts to brown. Add onions and garlic and sauté 2-3 min., then add carrots and celery and sauté 2-3 min. Add sliced mushrooms and sauté till soft. Stir in tomatoes and herbs, then add wine. Sprinkle roast generously with salt and pepper add to pot. Bring to a boil, then cover and place pot in oven, baking for 2 hrs. Remove meat from pot and slice in 1/4" slices, then return the sliced meat to the pot, covering with sauce and vegetables. Cover and bake for another 1 1/2 hrs.

The Ultimate Guide to Grilling Grass-fed Burgers

When I wanted to get some advice about grilling the best grassfed burgers at home, I turned to my friend Lynne Curry, who literally wrote the book on cooking with grassfed beef. (Her book, Pure Beef: An Essential Guide to Artisan Meat with Recipes for Every Cut, has just been rereleased should you want a copy.) Fortunately she had just written a post about burgers on her Forage blog, and I asked if I could share it with all of you.

At last, it’s grilling season!

(I know you have already cleaned the old ashes/ grate of your grill, filled the propane tank and checked the lines if you use gas or purchased plenty of hardwood charcoal—right?)

In celebration, I’ve compiled everything I know about grilling grassfed burgers. For a quick primer, check out my previous posts on perfect grassfed burgers:

5 Quick Facts for Perfect Grassfed Burgers at Home, Part 1
5 Quick Facts for Perfect Grassfed Burgers at Home, Part 2

Here’s what’s included in this post:

What's Different About Grass-Fed Burgers

By now, you’ve certainly encountered grassfed ground beef wherever you shop. And maybe you’ve even made the switch because of the reasons I touched on in Part 1—namely the traceability and quality of grassfed beef.

Caramelized onions…heavenly!

You feel good about buying grassfed beef for your backyard barbecue, but how confident do you feel about grilling it? I’m here to help.

Most important to me is that the beef I buy comes from animals raised for their whole lives on pasture. And it supports family farms, not factory farms.

Maybe for you it’s the composition of good fats and the overall nutritional profile of grassfed over conventional beef. Whatever your reasons, grassfed beef is a completely different animal when it comes to grilling.

Here’s why.

The Lean Factor

Every cut of grass-fed beef is more susceptible to overcooking simply because it is extra-lean. Ground beef from pasture-raised animals is typically 85 percent to 90 percent lean, far less fatty than the 70 percent lean meat many burger connoisseurs recommend.

A burger that fits the bun is essential.

Less fat means that there’s less insulation to protect the proteins and baste the meat internally. So how do you grill a juicy grassfed burger?

Some home cooks blend egg, milk and bread crumbs into their ground grass-fed beef as insurance against dryness. Shredded or diced cheese, sautéed vegetables and minced pancetta are other mix-ins that can help protect the burgers from heat and keep them juicy.

Since I prefer my hamburgers to be 100 percent grass-fed beef, I do nothing but season them well with kosher salt just before cooking.

And I cook them over high heat, but more on that in a moment.

How To Form Hamburger Patties

Many recipes caution that over-handling ground beef will make hamburgers tough. This warning can cause cooks to barely form patties at all, resulting in scraggly, lumpy burgers that don’t fit the buns.

Grilled to perfection.

The truth is that the grinding process forces beef through a die cutter and minces every strand of connective tissue, making the meat tender enough to eat raw à la steak tartare.

The key is to handle the ground beef just enough to shape it without compressing it like a meatball, and without melting the fat with the heat of your hands. If you prefer, you can use a jar lid or one of the burger molds on the market.

I like to form the patties a few hours before cooking (but I do not salt them until I’m ready to cook because the salt will draw out the moisture.).

My ideal hamburger is 1/3 pound of meat (about 5 ounces) shaped into a uniform disk about 1 inch thick. I make it wide enough to fit within the bun, roughly 5 inches.

Now, the one sure way to make your burger dry is by pressing on them with a spatula while grilling and squeezing out all the juices. But again, I get ahead of myself.

Over-Handling Versus Under-Handling

Keeping that fat intact is key to a tender and juicy burger. So if you handle the ground beef for too long and it starts sticking to your hands, then your burger will be compromised.

I’ve realized that shaping hamburgers is a lot like making pie dough. People have been warned for so long about not overhandling the dough that they tend to underhandle it. So they end up with dry, raggy-edged pie crust.

Same is true with the burgers. Try this:

1. Shape nicely uniform discs of ground beef while keeping contact to a minimum. I use a scale to portion the ground beef. But if you have a one-pound package of ground beef, it’s easy to eyeball it into thirds for 1/3-pound burgers, or fourths for 1/4-pound burgers.
2. Then take each piece in your hands and press it while spinning it around like you’re making mini-pizza about 5 inches wide and 1 inch thick (okay, a very thick mini-pizza).
3. Put it on a plate and use your thumb to make an indentation in the center so that when the patty expands during grilling, it won’t blow up into a burger ball. I have witnessed too many burger balls at backyard barbecues, and it’s a sad sight.

Now, how long did that take? If it was less than one minute, you’re safe from over-handling but still have an actual hamburger patty, not a blob of ground beef.

And now that you have your burger patties ready to go on the grill, here's how to cook them to perfection (plus toppings that will put them…well…over the top)!

All photos courtesy Lynne Curry.

Stave Off Chilly Weather with Beef Stew

One of the original reasons for starting this blog was to save recipes I'd made (and liked) and to have an easy way to look them up. Well, after ten-plus years and nearly 450 recipes later, I've got quite the stash!

Still, sometimes I'll go to search for a particular favorite just to make sure I've got all the ingredients I need for dinner that night and…oops…I'll realize that I never posted it here. So then I go to my old recipe box (left) and hope against hope that at some point in the pre-digital past—you know, like when dinosaurs roamed the earth and people still argued over who was the guy in that movie—I had scribbled it on a 3" by 5" card and filed it under the correct category. Or if that doesn't reveal my prey, then it's searching online to find a recipe that'll approximate what I'm looking for, always a risky proposition.

Luckily, in the case of my favorite beef stew recipe, the card was in the box and was even filed under "Fish and Meats," just behind artichoke chicken casserole and in front of smoked salmon pasta. Originally a women's magazine recipe that my mother tore out of a Better Homes and Gardens circa 1976 (yes, that's noted on the file card, too), I'd copied it down in case I needed a big, meaty, company's-coming dish to haul out for a special occasion.

She'd made it many times for just such eventualities, whether a church supper or to impress a business associate that my father was bringing home, one of those hearty one-dish dinners that would always be a guaranteed rave-inducer. See why I wanted to find it? And now that it's here, I'm hoping you'll find it as satisfying and useful as my mother did, and I always do.

Mom's Beef Stew

4 lbs. chuck roast, cut in 1" pieces
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
3/4 c. flour
1 Tbsp. salt
1 tsp. pepper
1 tsp. dried thyme or tarragon
1 large onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 1/2 c. carrots, sliced into rounds
2 1/2 c. dry red wine
3 bay leaves
1 tsp. each thyme and basil
3 medium potatoes, sliced into 3/4" or so cubes (other root vegetables work great, too)
Salt to taste

In paper bag or gallon zip-lock plastic bag, place flour, salt, pepper and teaspoon of herbs. Shake to combine.

Heat oil in large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. While oil heats, add beef cubes, eight or so at a time, to the flour mixture in the bag and shake to coat them. When the oil shimmers, add the coated beef cubes to the pot, adding more floured cubes and browning them. Make sure you don't crowd the beef, though, or you'll end up steaming them in juice rather than browning them. As they brown, remove them from the pot to a platter, and add more floured beef cubes to the pot.

When all the beef has been browned and has been removed to the platter, add the onions and garlic to the pot, scraping up the browned bits of flour from the bottom as the vegetables sauté. When they're tender, add the meat back to the pot along with the carrots, wine, bay leaves and herbs. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer for one hour. At that point, if it seems too dry, add another half-cup or so of wine. Add cubed potatoes to the pot and continue simmering for an additional hour or more until the beef is completely tender.

Food News: Campbell's Labels GMOs, USDA Drops Grass-Fed Standards, EPA Indicts Neonicotinoids

In what might be considered a tipping point in the battle over labeling genetically modified organisms (GMOs) in food products, Reuters reported that the Campbell's Soup Company "will label all its U.S. products for the presence of ingredients derived from genetically modified organisms." The company went a step further, announcing that it will break ranks with its peers and withdraw from any efforts to prevent such labeling.

In a press release on the company's website, Campbell's states that "it is necessary for the federal government to provide a national standard for labeling requirements to better inform consumers about this issue. The company will advocate for federal legislation that would require all foods and beverages regulated by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) to be clearly and simply labeled for GMOs. Campbell is also supportive of a national standard for non-GMO claims made on food packaging."

While a timeline to begin labeling its products has not been announced, it has prepared labels that will be used to comply with Vermont's recent passage of a GMO labeling law that will take effect in July 2016. The company said that if a national standard for labeling is not enacted quickly, "it was prepared to label all its U.S. products for the presence of ingredients that were derived from GMOs and would seek guidance from the FDA and approval by the USDA."

* * *

If you find yourself standing in front of your market's butcher case trying to decide between a grass fed steak and one from a cow that was raised conventionally, your decision has just become much more fraught.

The National Sustainable Agriculture Coalition reported that a battle between two federal agencies has led to the revocation of the standard for labeling grass fed meat. The USDA's Agricultural Marketing Service (AMS) "rescinded the labeling standard for grass fed meat, which was developed over the course of four years and finalized in 2006 with the support of national farm and consumer organizations."

This is a result of an internal turf battle that erupted between the AMS and the USDA's Food Safety Inspection Service (FSIS) over an internal legal decision that the AMS did not have the legal authority to establish the standard in the first place, instead declaring that the authority to make the decision rested solely with the FSIS.

This leaves farmers and meat producers to either revert to a previous, less rigorous grass fed meat standard or to develop one on their own, which could lead to a mish-mash of competing standards and claims, leaving the consumer to have to figure out which producer is telling the real story.

"Meat labeling just became even more confusing for farmers and consumers," Ferd Hoefner, policy director for the NSAC, is quoted as saying. "USDA is revoking a label standard that had widespread farm and consumer support. Actions such as this take us into a Wild West situation, where anything goes and both farmers and consumers lose."

* * *

The Xerces Society reports that an Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) report has found that one widely used neonicotinoid insecticide, imidacloprid, is a threat to pollinators. A preliminary risk assessment states that this neonicotinoid "potentially poses risk to hives when the pesticide comes in contact with certain crops that attract pollinators" even when used in legal applications.

Neonicotinoid insecticides affect the central nervous systems of insects, causing paralysis and death, and have been linked to colony collapse disorder in bees. The insecticides were at the center of the deaths of 50,000 bees in Oregon when blooming linden trees were sprayed with the insecticide, and have been implicated in subsequent large bee kills.

Addressing the effect of neonicotinoids on bees, Lori Ann Bund of the Center for Biological Diversity said in an article in the Oregonian that "bees who are exposed to even tiny levels experience hits to their neurological function. They can't find they way back to the hive, they have less foraging success, they can't communicate effectively, and they can't fight off wasps. Those are the impacts that are really significant on the population scale."

The Xerces Society, while noting some significant problems with parts of the EPA assessment, said that "the EPA’s preliminary assessment recognizes significant risks from the legal use of imidacloprid. If these risks are to be reversed, the EPA must suspend the use of imidacloprid until we know if and how it can be used without threatening bees and other pollinators."

Campbell's photos from Reuters and Campbell's Soup Co. Photo of cattle from USDA.

Smoking the Perfect Brisket

Ask my husband what he'd like to grill for any given event and, barring Thanksgiving and Christmas when he smokes a whole turkey, there is only one answer.

His birthday? Brisket. Friends gathering for barbecue? Brisket. Anniversary dinner? Brisket. Our son's birthday (assuming we can get him to agree…)? Brisket.

Six hours in the smoker, many more to go.

There's something about that giant piece of meat that calls his name, that sings a siren song of smoke and meat and juicy perfection like no other. He's grilled and smoked dozens of them over the years, and they've all been deliciously satisfying. Smoke rings, that little red line just inside the surface of the slices that signals smoke-infused perfection? He's had them.

At 170°, ready to wrap.

But recently he read a recipe by Julia Moskin in the New York Times that piqued his brisket-loving soul. It called for a very simple crusting with peppercorns and salt, smoking the brisket for several hours—and here's the part that got him salivating—then it said to wrap the meat in unwaxed butcher paper and return it to the grill for another several hours.

Further research revealed that this method, called the "Texas crutch" by purists, allows the meat to cook in its own juices and better break down the collagen so that it melts into the meat. The brisket is then wrapped in foil and deposited in a closed ice chest to rest.

Wrapped, tied and going back in the smoker.

We happened to have friends coming for a Labor Day barbecue, so I called our new favorite meat source (and advertiser on this blog), Ben Meyer of Old Salt Marketplace, requesting a full brisket from Bill Hoyt's Hawley Ranch grass-fed cattle. A full brisket includes the flat, the meatier end of the cut, and the point or deckle, which has more fat. It also includes a thick cap of fat, which adds moisture when smoking or grilling for long periods.

The result? Smoky perfection, a big hunk of heaven that was meltingly tender yet still intact enough to slice and serve. And one that was crowned "Best Ever" by a very discerning group of carnivores.

Here's Dave's adaptation with his own step-by-step instructions.

Dave's Perfect Brisket
Loosely adapted from Julia Moskin's recipe in the New York Times.

I used an 18-inch Weber Smokey Mountain Cooker, for which these instructions apply. The Times article tells how to do it on a kettle grill.

1 whole beef brisket, 10-12 pounds
1/2 c. black peppercorns
1/3 c. coarse kosher salt
Hardwood briquets
Several chunks of oak wood

The night before smoking:

• Grind the peppercorns very coarsely. Sift through a fine sieve to remove the fine pepper dust. Use only the coarse peppers. Mix the salt and pepper. Trim the brisket fat to 1/4 inch if necessary. Rub the salt and pepper mix on the brisket. Wrap in plastic and place in a baking sheet in refrigerator overnight.
• Put a half dozen small chunks of oak in a pan of water to soak overnight.
• Cover outside of smoker’s water pan with aluminum foil to make cleanup easier.
• Clean cooking grates.
• Fill the charcoal ring to an inch or so from the top with charcoal.

On smoking day, flip the charcoal chimney upside down. Put 20-15 briquets in the upended chimney. Place paper in the chimney below the charcoal and light it. When the coals are flaming and are covered with ash, spread the lit charcoal over the charcoal in the ring. Open the bottom vents all the way.

Assemble the rest of the smoker. Fill the water pan 2/3 full with hot tap water. Oil the top cooking grate. Remove the brisket from the refrigerator and place on the top cooking grate. I had to place it very carefully so that it would fit.

Place top dome on smoker. Open the top vent all the way. Close bottom vents to about 25 percent open. Put three chunks of the wet oak on the charcoal.

In a half hour check the temperature and adjust the bottom vents as necessary to keep the smoker temperature to 225-240. Add the remaining wet oak to the charcoal.

I checked the temperature about every hour or more frequently if necessary. The charcoal should smolder for hours without needing a refill.

I put the brisket on the smoker at 6 am.

At about 11 am the internal temperature was 175-180. I then wrapped the brisket in butcher paper, tying it with string, and put it back on the smoker.

After an hour I began poking it with my finger, testing to see if it was becoming more soft and jiggly as the fat, meat and collagen softened. At 3:30, 3 1/2 hours after wrapping the brisket and 9 1/2 hours after putting the brisket in the smoker, I pulled it from the smoker and wrapped it, paper and all, in aluminum foil. I then placed it into a cooler to await dinnertime. At 6 pm it was still hot.

Want a Thrill? Chuck Your Grill

It was one of those food articles designed to attract attention: a photo of a giant steak sitting on a pile of fiery coals, like someone just had their worst grilling nightmare come true. "Uh, honey, you know that $300 porterhouse your dad bought for me to grill for their 50th anniversary…?"

Kind of scary looking, isn't it?

The article in the New York Times by brothers Matt and Ted Lee described the way that restaurateur Tim Byres is cooking steaks in his Texas restaurants. It quotes Byres as saying, "I heard a rumor of Ike [President Dwight Eishenhower] grilling these really thick four-inch sirloins." Byres "tracked down a 1953 article in The Miami Daily News that confirmed his hunch: Eisenhower, it said, 'rubs the steak with oil and garlic and then, as the horrified guests look on, casually flings the steak into the midst of the red and glowing coals.'"

This is the way a steak should look!

As you can imagine, this was more than enough to get Dave's grilling juices flowing, and he declared then and there that he needed to attempt this flaming feat with our trusty Weber. Deciding that it might be better to start conservatively rather than potentially incinerating a hundred bucks worth of cow flesh, we bought a couple of nice grass-fed New Yorks from Old Salt and got the fire started.

For this initial experiment we decided to go by the book and use Byres' chile and coffee dry rub from the article, coating the meat generously on both sides. Per the article and his own preference, Dave used hardwood charcoal in the chimney and dumped it out when it was white and ashy, then waited until the flames died down.

A nigh perfect meal.

Putting the meat on the coals was tricky, since the coals were pretty lumpy and uneven, but down went the steaks. Immediately they were enveloped by some pretty hefty flames, so we put the lid on the grill to smother the fire and provide some smoke. After a couple of minutes they were turned over and the lid replaced, and in two more minutes we pulled them off. Crusty and black, they looked a little scary on the outside but a check of the interior temperature with our trusty instant-read thermometer said the interior was perfect for rare steaks. Whew!

A few minutes resting under tin foil was all I could stand, and when I sliced into them it was astounding to see that rosy red, warm meat under the dark outer shell. And delicious…it was one of the best steaks we've ever had here, though a quibble is that the coffee in the rub somewhat overwhelms the subtler flavor of the grassfed beef. But now I'm jonesing to try a slightly bigger, if not Brobdingnagian, hunk of meat using Ike's method. I think we might like it.

Budget Cuts: Braised Beef Neck Roast

They used to be called "butcher's cuts" or "butcher's favorites" because they were the unglamorous, but often very tasty, cuts of meat that wouldn't sell in the case and that the butcher would take home to feed his family. Steaks, chops and big roasts were the grill-friendly, oven roast-able and far prettier cuts. Stew meat, fatty beef chuck or pork shoulder roasts were considered the bottom of the barrel, needing long, slow braising and mostly used to make chili or stews of various kinds.

Searing the neck roast.

Back in the day you'd never see flank steak, hanger steak, bavette or skirt steak in the meat case at the supermarket. But if you did, they'd be dirt cheap…and I mean a couple of dollars a pound at most. Sometime in the late 90s the meat industry realized that these cuts might be worth some money and started marketing them to chefs. A case in point was the "Denver steak" that, instead of being ground into hamburger and sold for $2.99 a pound, could be cooked like a steak and served to a restaurant patron for many times more. (See "Slicing Meat So You Pay More.")

So it is with some hesitation that I share my latest find, lest it become the next victim of the Denver steak syndrome.

Ready to go in the oven.

Neck meat, whether from a pig, lamb or cow, could be called the latest butcher's cut to garner space on restaurant menus. Sometimes lumped in with offal or thrown out as scrap, this bony cut has plenty of meat on it and becomes shreddy and tender with long, slow cooking. I first saw it a couple of months ago in the meat case at Old Salt Marketplace, a beautifully aged piece of grass-fed beef from Hawley Ranch that was priced at—get this—five bucks a pound.

Yes, I gasped, too.

Five hours later, bones removed…perfect!

Recently I brought home a four-pound hunk of neck, put it in the oven with a simple braising sauce and pulled it out five hours later—it could have been pulled out at three, but I wanted it at that seriously falling-apart stage—and served it to some pretty impressed guests. And there was enough left over to mix in with some pasta later in the week.

But please, could you do me a favor and keep this one quiet?

Braised Beef Neck Roast

3 Tbsp. vegetable oil
Salt and pepper
4 lbs. beef neck, bone in
1 onion, roughly chopped
4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 Tbsp. pimenton dulce or piment d'Espelette
1 Tbsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. dried basil
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
2 c. red wine
3 c. roasted or canned tomatoes
A dozen or so oil-cured olives
2 bay leaves

Preheat oven to 325°.

Generously salt and pepper roast on all sides. Heat oil in Dutch oven over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Add roast and sear well on all surfaces. Remove from pan.

Add onions and garlic to fat in pan and sauté over medium heat until translucent, scraping up any browned bits from meat. Add pimenton and dried spices and stir into onions, then stir in wine, tomatoes, olives and bay leaves. Bring to a simmer and return the roast to the pan. Bring to a simmer, cover tightly and transfer to the oven. Roast for 3 to 5 hours, turning the roast every hour to make sure all sides are evenly cooked (if the roast is completely submerged in the braising liquid, don't worry about this step).

When the roast is done, you can skim off the fat floating on the surface with a spoon (optional). Tear off the meat remaining on the bone and remove the bones and the bay leaves from the liquid. Chop any large pieces of meat into smaller chunks and serve. Goes well with roasted root vegetables, sautéed greens and/or polenta. I also made a quick gremolata of the carrot greens processed with some garlic, lemon peel, salt and olive oil.

Ben Meyer: Making Sustainable Meat Accessible

Ever since the first time I met Ben Meyer, I've wanted to write a story about his passion for local food systems. Today you can read my story about him in The Oregonian.

The first thing to note about Ben Meyer is not his polite Midwestern manners, his oh-so-Portland uniform of stocking cap, flannel shirt and scruffy beard or that he's opened two restaurants in what were then—and still are, to some extent—underserved areas of the city. It's not even that he's been interviewed by the likes of Forbes and the Wall Street Journal wanting to hear about the local pasture-raised beef and pork he features on his menus and in the butcher case.

The key to Meyer is that this evangelist for whole animal butchery, whose walk-in is chock-full of large cuts of dry-aged beef, some as old as 80 days, spent 10 years as a vegan. Growing up in northern Indiana, he said all he knew was industrial agriculture.

"I grew up surrounded by hogs and soy and corn in the Midwest—northeastern Indiana—and basically saw nothing but factory farms, never thought there was anything different," he said.

Already politically active, he became a vegan because he didn't want to support a food system he saw as intrinsically unhealthy for himself, the environment or society. A move to an organic farm on the lush agricultural land of Washington's Vashon Island was eye-opening, and his preconceived notion of what a healthy food system looked like was blown out of the water.

Read the rest of the article, titled "At Old Salt Marketplace, chef Ben Meyer makes whole animal butchery his primary mission," to find out what turned Meyer from a full-time vegan to an evangelist for sustainable, accessible local food systems.

The Farm in Winter, Warmth for the Soul

Year-round farming in the Willamette Valley is not for the faint of heart. But let's face it, there's not much chance of getting frostbite—most likely the worst that could happen is getting soaked and cold if you haven't got your Helly overalls, a waterproof jacket and a good pair of boots.

Anthony on the gator: do not get in this man's way.

More and more valley farmers are discovering the benefits of year-round farming with the concomitant benefit of year-round income. Many use row covers and hoop houses to extend their growing seasons, evidenced by the abundance—well, seven and counting—of winter farmers' markets in the metro area. National interest in all-season farming is growing, as well, with even the august pages of the New York Times trumpeting accomplishments like those of Eliot Coleman and Barbara Damrosch of Four Seasons Farm in southern Maine (on roughly the same latitude as Oregon).

Beef tongue with hominy ready to warm up some cold bellies.

Of course there are sturdier sorts, and here I'm thinking of the likes of Anthony and Carol Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm, who prefer to grow crops that thrive without cover in the field in our soggy winters. They look for seeds from varieties that are already acclimated to NW winters, and have adapted others through careful seed selection.

Linda munching on some arugula fresh from the field. Yum!

I've had the privilege of spending some time on their farm on an occasional Friday before market, bagging beans and polenta inside and harvesting cabbage and chicory outside. While my version of "helping" tends to be more in the vein of "willing," Anthony and Carol are kind to let me stumble through some minor chores.

One of the best parts, though, is when we break for lunch, often supplied by the far more skilled farmhand and cook, Linda Colwell, who has been helping out at Ayers Creek for several years. Her recipe below for a superb beef tongue with hominy (top photo, with early broccoli) was a dish she shared recently.

Chile and Tomato Braised Tongue with Hominy

From Linda Colwell

Hearty laughter, a recording of Ruth Draper and a soul warming, rib-sticking lunch at Ayers Creek Farm was a well-rounded recovery from a morning of harvesting chicory.

For the curing:
1 beef tongue
4 qts. water
3 c. kosher salt
2 c. brown sugar
2 bay leaves
10 crushed juniper berries
10 crushed peppercorns
1 cinnamon stick
1 Tbsp. mustard seeds

For the sauce:
1 qt. tomato sauce
4 ancho chiles
4 pasilla chiles
4 guajillo chiles
3 c. boiling water
Cilantro, finely chopped, for garnish
1 lb. corn kernels, such as Roy’s Calais Flint corn from Ayers Creek Farm
2 Tbsp. pickling lime

To brine and cook the tongue: Bring the water, salt, sugar, and spices to a boil and allow to cool overnight in the refrigerator. Thoroughly rinse tongue and place it and the brine in glass or plastic container large enough for the tongue to fit completely submerged. Refrigerate for 5 days.

Remove the tongue from the brine, rinse under cold water and place it in a pot. Cover the tongue with fresh water and simmer until it is tender, about 2 hours. Remove the tongue from the poaching liquid and, when cool, peel the rough skin off the tongue. Place the tongue in a cast iron enameled covered pot, add the chile and tomato sauce, and braise in a low, 250° oven for 2 hours.

To prepare the chile and tomato sauce: Cut open the chile peppers with a pair of scissors, remove the seeds and stems and break the chiles into smaller pieces. Next, lightly toast the chile peppers in an iron skillet,  then transfer to a bowl, cover with boiling water and soak for 20 minutes. When the peppers are soft, puree them into a smooth paste and thoroughly mix with the tomato sauce.

To make the hominy: Place 1 pound of corn kernels, such as Roy’s Calais Flint from Ayers Creek Farm, in a large enamel pot with two tablespoons of pickling lime. Cover with water an inch above the corn. Bring the pot to a simmer for one hour, then turn the pan off and let sit at room temperature overnight. The next day, drain the corn and refresh under cold water, rubbing vigorously until fresh water is clear again. Cover with new water and simmer for one to two hours until the kernels are tender. Set aside.

Assembly: Mix a third of the chile and tomato sauce into the hominy and warm through. Slice the tongue and add it to the pot of hominy, napping the meat and corn with the remaining sauce. Serve with a garnish of chopped cilantro.

Budget Cuts: The Long and the Short

I have lots of pet theories (no pun intended). One is that my cat can read my mind, because whenever it's time to go to the vet she makes herself scarce. Even before I get out the carrier, she wriggles her little self into a crack or crevice, remaining completely undetectable until it's well past our appointment time.

Another theory has to do with cheap cuts of meat. Usually they're the most flavorful, but sometimes not the most attractive. Think chuck roast or shanks versus steaks or loin roasts. Flank steaks and hanger steaks used to fit in that category, but then they got "discovered" as new items for the home grill and prices haven't come down since.

The cuts that require hours of braising to achieve fall-apart tenderness, as opposed to those that can be quickly grilled and served, seem to be the ones that stay in the budget category. Again, chuck roast, shoulder roast and shanks come to mind. As do beef short ribs, those squarish chunks of layered fat and meat, which are at their best when cooked low and slow. So when I saw them on sale recently in the meat case at my local market, I had to grab a few pounds.

The recipe below would be terrific simmered all day in a slow cooker, but works perfectly well started early in the evening and braised for a couple of hours. Even better, buying, as I did, a little more than you need makes a fabulous fit-for-company dinner with enough left over to shred and mix with pasta later in the week.

I love these served alongside polenta, and the gremolata is definitely optional. A shower of fresh horseradish grated over the top just before serving is really all you need.

Brasato Al Barolo (Braised Short Ribs)
Adapted from Mario Batali's The Babbo Cookbook

For the brasato:
1/4 c. extra virgin olive oil
4 lbs. beef short ribs (or 6 medium-sized bone-in ribs)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 carrots, peeled and roughly chopped
1 onion, roughly chopped
2 celery stalks, roughly chopped
5 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 c. full-bodied red wine
1 16-oz. can of peeled tomatoes, crushed by hand with their juices (2 c.)
1 c. beef stock (or chicken stock)
1 1/2 Tbsp. fresh thyme leaves or 2 tsp. dried
1 1/2 Tbsp. fresh rosemary leaves, chopped fine, or 2 tsp. dried
2 Tbsp. fresh oregano leaves, chopped, or 2 tsp. dried

For the gremolata:
Leaves from 1 bunch of flat leaf parsley
Zest of two lemons, cut into julienne strip
1/4 lb. fresh horseradish, grated

Preheat oven to 375°.

In a large, heavy-bottomed skillet or Dutch oven, heat the olive oil over high heat until smoking. Season the ribs with salt and pepper and cook them over high heat until deep brown all on sides, about 15 minutes total.
 Remove the short ribs to a plate and set aside. Add the carrots, onion, celery and garlic to the pan and cook over high heat until browned and softened, about 4 minutes. Season with salt and pepper and stir in the red wine, tomatoes and juices, stock and herbs, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to dislodge the brown bits. Bring the mixture to a boil and return the short ribs to the pan. Cover and place in the oven. Cook for 2 hours, or until the meat is very tender and literally falling off the bones.

To make the gremolata: 
In a small bowl, combine the parsley, lemon zest and horseradish and toss loosely by hand. Place one short rib in each bowl, top with a little of the pan juices and a handful of the gremolata and serve immediately.

Chilly? Not Tonight!

I don't know how it worked with the big guys like Einstein, Mozart or Picasso, but sometimes all it takes to get me inspired is the smallest whiff of an idea. Like yesterday afternoon when I had to run to the store to get coffee beans so we wouldn't be all cotton-headed in the morning.

My neighborhood New Seasons market was handing out samples of ready-to-heat chili made by a small company in Southern Oregon. I picked one up and tasted it, and I'm sure the other shoppers saw the thought bubble that formed above my head. "Oooh…yeah. Chili!" But instead of running to the shelf where the product was kept, I went to the meat counter and got a couple of pounds of chuck roast, then to the canned goods aisle for three big cans of kidney beans.

Yes, I know, I should have gone to the bulk aisle and cooked up my own beans, but time was short and I needed to get home and make dinner, and by now my chili jones was going strong. After picking up the coffee beans (See, I didn't forget!), I got home, chopped onions and garlic and the last little ancho peppers from the garden, threw them in the pot with a few dried herbs, added the beans, roasted tomatoes and meat and let it cook for a couple of hours. Fabulous!

This would be a great recipe for a slow-cooker, and would be even better if you got some beans soaking the night before, but for a relatively quick, hearty winter meal it's divine. All it takes a is a little inspiration!

Quick Beef Chili

2 Tbsp. oil
3 slices bacon (optional)
1 yellow onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped fine
2 ancho peppers or bell peppers, chopped (optional)
2 tsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. ground cumin
1 Tbsp. chili powder
1 bay leaf
3 25-oz. cans kidney beans, or 6 c. cooked beans
4 c. roasted or canned tomatoes
2 lbs. chuck roast, cut in 1" cubes
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat oil in Dutch oven. Sauté bacon, if using, until fat begins to render. Add onions, garlic and peppers and sauté till tender. Add oregano, cumin, chili powder and bay leaf and stir briefly to combine. Add beans, sauce and meat (no browning necessary) and bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer for at least 90 min., longer if you want fall-apart tender beef. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with your favorite chili condiments like cheddar cheese, rice, chopped onions or whatever.

Asian Inflection

In an alternate universe, my comfort food of choice would be kimchi, made the way my mother learned it from her mother and aged the way it had been for generations in big clay urns on the roof of our house. Or maybe the tastes I crave would be fish sauce-tinged, burning with the heat of the little hot peppers my father grew in his garden outside our front door, the seeds brought from his mother's garden in her village in the mountains.

This particular fantasy assumes that there would be culinary skills passed down to me from my (imaginary) mother or grandmother, recipes peculiar to her village or region. But, alas, my white bread mid-century upbringing brought with it a knowledge of potato-chip crusted tuna casserole and pot roast rather than Bun Tom Thit Nurong. Sigh.

Browning the meat in the spices.

So I, like Blanche DuBois, am left to the kindness of strangers when I need my Asian fix, in this case the estimable skills of Mark Bittman, himself the child of Jewish parents who has moved beyond the borders of that cuisine to adopt those of other cultures. His coconut braised beef, for example, first published in 2005 and then again just a week or so ago, is a brilliant adaptation for braised chuck roast with a Thai twist. Its inclusion of chiles, lime zest, coconut milk, garlic and ginger is as near as I've come to the real thing, made from ingredients I usually have available.

Maybe it's time to sign up for that cooking class in Vietnam. What do you think?

Coconut Braised Beef
Adapted from Mark Bittman, The New York Times' The Minimalist

2 hot dried red chilies
3 garlic cloves, peeled
1 1/2" piece ginger, peeled and roughly chopped
1 Tbps. chili powder (I used 1 dried aci sivri pepper)
1/4-1/2 tsp. fish sauce
Juice and zest of 2 limes, or 2 Tbsp. rice or other mild vinegar
2 Tbsp. canola, grapeseed or other neutral oil
2 lbs. beef, preferably chuck, cut into 1-inch cubes
2 c. coconut milk (or 1 can, about 1 1/2 cups, plus 1/2 cup water)
Salt to taste

Put chiles, garlic, ginger, chili powder, fish sauce, lime juice and zest in bowl of a food processor, and process until everything is minced, or mince by hand and combine.

Heat oil over medium-high heat in a skillet that can later be covered. Add spice paste and cook, stirring occasionally, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add beef, and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned and covered with sauce.

Pour in coconut milk, and bring mixture to a boil. Lower heat, cover, and simmer, stirring only occasionally (but making sure mixture is simmering very slowly, with just a few bubbles at a time breaking the surface) until meat is extremely tender, at least an hour and possibly closer to 2.

Uncover and cook until sauce is very thick and caramel-colored, stirring frequently so it does not brown. Season to taste with salt, and serve with white rice.