A Real Butcher Is Hard To Find

This is my review of New Deal Kosher Meats in North Miami Beach.  A real butcher is a rarity these days and Heshy delivers.  Shalom to my new friend Heshy.

I've had a hankering to do a roast beef with yorkshire pudding. With the onset of the arctic weather, it has become a much more pressing issue. The problem is, if I do a roast beef, I just can't settle for any ordinary cut of meat. Nope. It's got to be the best, a standing rib roast. Okay no problem. I remember seeing them at Publix last week. Nope. No go. It's a holiday cut. Meaning they don't carry them except at particular times of the year and that time of year was last week.

So I head up the road to my favorite meat counter. Nope. They don't have them either. They can get them but it requires a couple days notice. Dang. But I did score some veal bones for stock. One can never have enough veal stock on hand.

I'm feeling a little blue at the thought of having to settle for a lesser cut. Not one to be denied, I head to a big box store in the area. They have some decent roast cuts but not what I want. I google "butchers" on the phone. Bingo. There's a hit and it's right around the corner, New Deal Kosher Meat.

So I don't get frustrated driving over there I call.

"New Deal"

"Hello good morning, do you by any chance have bone-in rib roasts?"

"Oh yeah, I just got a nice rib in."

"Okay, I'll be right over."

The friendly gentleman asks where I'm coming from and gives me spot on directions. It's right on 163 Street but in a little old NoMiaBeach strip mall that would be easily passed by.

Entering through the front door, there is about twenty feet of display coolers on the left. Of course the scale sits atop the coolers. It's the kind of place that makes you feel like you should be wearing a top coat and fedora with a matching scarf. This is an old school butcher here. Heshy is on the telephone chatting to somebody about an order. He looks up and gives me the "be right with you" nod. From the sound of it, the person on the other end is in need of some poultry but wants some bones too. Probably to make some stock. Heshy assures the caller he will include some bones in the order, "no charge." I like what I'm hearing.

Heshy hangs up and apologizes for being on the phone. I assure him it's fine and also thank him for acknowledging my presence. He then says he must make another quick call and he'll be right with me, "you the guy who called?"

"I sure am. Take care of business."

"I've got a great rib cut I'm sure you'll like."

He makes another quick call to clarify another order. Hangs up and again apologizes. The delivery guy pops in the back door whereupon Heshy gives him some instructions. There is another guy, who I find out is Heshy too, trimming some meat by the back counter.

Heshy, the first one, starts talking about ribs and what a great cut it is for a roast. He opens the door to the walk-in, which sits to the left as well and at the end of the row of display coolers. I glance inside where there are various cuts of meat hanging from a handmade hook arrangement on the walk-in wall. I notice a skinned and gutted rabbit. Note to self!

Heshy comes out with a full rib, 13 bones. I'm hoping he's not expecting me to take all of it. "How much you need." I hesitate and he asks how many I'm feeding. Really it's just for a couple here but a rib roast that small may as well be a thick steak. I'm planning on some yorkshire pudding so I'm gonna need a fair amount of fat. A hearty helping of leftovers is always appropriate so I tell him I need enough for four. He recommends three ribs and he says he'll cut it right at the fourth rib so I get a higher meat to bone ratio. Thanks Heshy. He also recommends taking out the chine and feather bones for ease of carving at the table. This is a real butcher!

Heshy walks over to weigh the roast. I already picked up some veal bones at my other favorite joint around the corner. But like I said, you can never have enough.

"You have any nice veal marrow bones" I ask. Heshy affirms that he does and I explain that I already have some but it's good to know I can get some when I need them. To which he replies, "look, I've got a couple bags in the freezer. Take them now because I don't always have them. No charge." Who can argue with that?

We get into another conversation about how it's difficult to find good butchers these days. Heshy says, "well you can blame this butcher on my father."

We square up the bill and I walked out with my rib roast and even more veal stock bones. I also have a friendly neighborhood butcher (not really my 'hood but it's a small world) who I can call by name...and all is right with the universe.

Aspiring Saucier Sums Up The Splendor Of Stock

Beef stock tastes like Chef-Boy-R-Dee ravioli.

Veal stock is more velvety than actual velvet.

Beef stock is a sweaty, hairy truck driver on the final leg of a cross-country haul, in which he stopped only to sleep, not shower.

Veal stock is like standing naked under a gentle waterfall in the sunlight.

Beef stock makes your house smell like farts.

Veal stock makes your house smell like home.

I'm blaming this on my mother. A couple months ago I was handed a paperback copy of Anthony Bourdain's tome "Kitchen Confidential." Touted as a peak into the underbelly of the foodservice industry in America, the book is really more than that. There are many messages to be gleaned from its pages. As one who has had many different jobs in the restaurant business, I can relate to the sordid sorts described in Bourdain's book. But that's not what I took away from the reading. What I took away was an enhanced appreciation for the men and women who endeavor to provide us, you and me, with a dining experience that is memorable. There is plenty to say about the book but that's not why I'm here today.

Flaco Bourdain touched me several times when he spoke about sauces. I think I was meant to be a saucier. Of course, I have often thought that I was meant to be many things in my life but leave that aside now and just indulge this most recent revelation.

When I worked the graveyard shift as a building engineer (maintenance guy) at the Hyatt Regency Columbus, I would often walk by one of the several big steam kettles in the banquet kitchen. Peering into the pot, I always wondered just what in the hell was going on in there. Many years later I now know exactly what was happening. And I think I like it. No, I know I like it.

I'm talking about stock. Currently I have a love affair going on with veal stock. There are several bags of frozen veal stock in the freezer and I'm working on another batch right now. I think I may need therapy soon.

If you search for veal stock recipes, you'll find many. A quick evaluation of a few will reveal various "recipes." Okay, it's not like we are preparing delicate puff pastries or subtle souffles here. It's stock. Sure, ingredients are important but nobody will notice if you happen to be a little disproportionate in your proportions.

So what's the recipe already? Relax cowboy. There isn't a real recipe here, just guidelines.

Start of with about 10 pounds of veal bones. I know. It sounds like a lot. You can use less if you don't have a large pot. Roughly chop an onion or two. If you're closer to five pounds of bones, one onion will suffice. Whatever quantity of onion you use, roughly chop half that volume of carrots and onions. This is known as the mirepoix or the holy trinity. It's a French thing. Easily enough, if you use one onion, use one carrot and one stalk of celery. I use a little more of each but that's just me.

Put the bones in an oiled roasting pan. roast at 450F until they are a light brown. You may need to turn a little. I don't. There's enough work in this already than to have to worry about an even roast on the bones. When that's done, I toss the mirepoix on top and roast again for another twenty minutes or so. You can always roast the bones and the trinity separately if you like.

Be sure and deglaze the roasting pan with a good bit of red wine and pour that into the pot as well. Don't use a cheap box wine. When you're done you can drink the rest of the bottle.

When all is done, put the bones in the stock pot with about a gallon of water. More water if you have ten pounds of bones. Don't worry about being crazy precise about the water. More is always better than less as you will be reducing and concentrating later.

Bring the water to a medium simmer. I usually cover the pot as that retains more heat and uses less energy. Again, you will be reducing later. At this stage, the more water the better the extraction of all the good bits. Classic recipes call for diligently skimming off the shmeg. I do that from time to time but I'm not religious about it. In the end, I'm straining off all the bits anyway so I don't see a huge need for it. And when I was at the Hyatt Regency, there wasn't anybody standing around skimming.

Now go do some yard work or go for a bike ride or something. Just let it sit there for the about five or six hours while all the good shnizzle gets cooked out of the bones. You can stir and skim if you're obsessive. That's okay. I usually fire this up in the afternoon and let it go all night.

When you've decided that you have had enough. Strain out the bones using whatever convenient method you have. Remember, don't let the liquid go down the drain! I've read recently that some chefs like to do another extraction. I guess it makes sense. The solvent, water, will only extract a finite amount of solute, the tasty stuff. When the solution becomes saturated, the process is done. You can extract more solute by starting with fresh solvent. I'll do that on my next batch.

Use a tea towel or several layers of cheesecloth to strain the liquid. This is where it can get messy. Be careful and preserve as much of the liquid as possible.

At this point I put the raw stock back into the pot, toss in a bouquet garni (that's a fancy French name for some herbs tied up in a cheesecloth satchel) of parsley, thyme, and bay leaf.

Let that simmer and reduce for the better part of the day. At some point you should add about 6 ounces of tomato paste. Be sure it is dissolved well in the liquid otherwise it will sit on the bottom of the pan and burn. Not tasty.

I don't use any salt or pepper in my stocks. When I am ready to use the stock in whatever I decide, at that time I will adjust the seasoning. Remember, you're not after a finished product that is ready for a plate. You are after an intensely flavored base to be used for other preparations. For this reason, I concentrate my stocks by reducing and reducing and reducing.

You will read that a good way to store stock is by putting it in ice cube trays and freezing. That is an abomination. You will end up with frozen, freezer burned chunks of stock. That's not the way to treat something you have pampered for the last two days. If you have a vacuum sealer, use it. Just be sure and clean out the liquid tray otherwise you end up with a stinky mess in a few weeks. Don't ask me why I know. If you don't have a vacuum sealer, use zip top bags and evacuate all the air.

The other day I was in the mood for some onion soup. Easy. Rough chop some onions. Simmer in water for a couple hours. Reduce and add your prepared stock. Place some stale or toasted bread in a steep sided bowl, pour the good stuff over it, grate some gruyere over the top, brown under the broiler and voila, French Onion Soup. And it is righteous.

A brief word on the use of veal vs. beef bones. The purists' comments you can read above. There is a distinct difference in the aroma of roasting veal bones and roasting beef bones. Certainly, I recommend using veal bones when they are available. But don't let availability stop you. Escoffier would scoff at the notion of substitution here. But he died a long time ago so what's the difference anyway. Most traditional recipes for the classic French demi-glace call for using both beef bones and veal bones so I don't see the fuss. Although my preference would be for veal bones only.

Cosmico Appetito