Braised Oxtail
with a secret ingredient
Sometimes the pressure of doing something ‘a bit much’ is a good thing. A bit of stress, potentially not enough sleep, and not a whole lot of time, can make something good. Worth while. Maybe even beautiful.
I’ve been focusing on staying consistent. The wait for spring is here and I watch the buds on the trees get bigger and hear the birds getting louder. But for now, I remain consistent with my winter routine. It's not quite spring yet. The cold mornings and overcast days are humbling for sure. And while the excitement for summer is growing, I’m practicing patience. I know I'm not exactly where I want to be… yet. It feels a bit like that part in March when you think to yourself “How is it still cold?”. All this to say, I’ve been cooking a lot and resisting the urge to fight back for the hour of sleep that I lost.
A few weeks ago, there was a dinner party. It was Jaquelyn’s birthday and I baked my first ever vegan cake. My general approach to any cooking that requires dietary restrictions, is to just lean into the basics and avoid forcing any ingredients into being something that they are not. I do not try to mimic the texture of meats using pulverized beans, or try to convince anyone that tofu isn’t tofu. But many things are possible when baking, and I used limited creative license while following King Arthur’s recipe for their vegan lemon cake. I mixed in orange juice to the batter and panicked after a can of vegan whipped cream deflated into a mess just before the guests arrived. Having failed to find a shortcut, I made the frosting from scratch. I was avoiding this step because I find it difficult to accept the scandal that is vegan buttercream. Am I supposed to pretend that “vegan butter” isn’t just margarine or Crisco with a face lift? Might it be one of the most successful rebrands of our time? What happens if hydrogenated oil breaks? With faith and a can of coconut cream, I watched as the whipped fat would break for a moment, then steadily work its way back together.
I cannot, in good conscious, recommend overextending yourself as a host. But there is value, possibly even great cooking, when you’re too tired to get in your own way. After a 45 hour work week and a bit of sleep deprivation I was too exhausted to fuss with things that needed more time to simmer, too lazy to overcorrect and overthink. And magic happened.
The dinner party was mostly vegan with the exception of two dishes: Trout caviar and braised oxtail. My friend Erin, generously gifted the evening with a tin of trout caviar. The tin took us no less than 45 minutes to open. It’s shameful, receiving a gift and not knowing how to open it. I realized that in the past where I had served caviar to customers at a restaurant, the tin came to me already opened by my chef. Like a child that couldn’t be trusted to drink from a cup without a straw, I had never been trusted, or taught, to open fancy tins in fear of fucking up or wasting expensive product. The tin went around the room, the lot of us stumped on how to open the damn thing. In fact, looking at the producer’s website, there's a FAQ section specifically titled “How Do You Open This Damn Thing?” The instructions said to use a caviar key, which we did not have, or a spoon. We used a spoon, a knife, pliers, a bottle opener, another knife, a can opener, and a lot of brute force. We worked hard for the reward of juicy, briny pearls of goodness. What I lacked in my ability to open the tin, I made up for by knowing to serve it over creme fraiche, lightly seasoned with fresh cracked pepper and lemon, with potato chips.
The oxtail was thoughtfully chosen as my one planned, carnivorous addition. I fluctuated back and forth on what to serve for the protein as often as I was taking my sweaters on and off throughout the day. A vivid memory came to me of my mom’s oxtail stew. Dark, with baby carrots, rosemary, and red wine, usually served with rice. The memory felt prophetic because I hadn't thought of oxtail in a long time; I followed my instinct with faith that the guests would be open and enjoy well prepared offcuts, and that I had the perfect secret ingredient.
Braising oxtail is like doing a spell. You gather your talisman and cauldron, herbs, and elemental bodies. Then you bring it together, bubbling with intention— and walk away. Walking away being the important bit. Easier said than done. Orpheus looked back but you must trust the process. As long as the spell is given the time to work its magic, it's actually quite forgiving. My mom was in no means a perfect cook and even the more forgotten or “just very caramelized” oxtail stews were sucked down to the bone. All the connective tissue and gelatine are what makes this cut so special. And, well, there's something I like about eating meat around vertebrae, it feels similarly witchy.
It seems worth sharing, that I’m aware how this looks at dinner party for a vegan. I served cow tail. Beautiful, succulent, fall-off the bone cow tail. But Jaquelyn and I agree on veganism. We agree on the benefits of a mostly plant based diet, on the philosophy and activism in choosing to refrain from factory farmed raised meat. And that eating offcuts, organs, and less than pretty steaks is one way, if you choose to eat meat, to be more sustainable about it. Also she was the only vegan at the party so, moving on:
