Chapter 3

BRISKET CURED

Long before there was refrigeration, there was salt. Salt for brining. Salt for curing. These ancient preserving methods kept meat safe for most of human history. And in the process, they gave us three of the world’s great incarnations of brisket: corned beef, pastrami, and Montreal smoked meat. In this chapter, you’ll learn how to make all three. You’ll also experience a lesser-known, but no less worthy Irish specialty: spiced beef. And once you’ve mastered curing, I’ll show you how to prepare superlative Irish corned beef and cabbage (the secret is buttering the broth) and a kung pao pastrami that will light up your

OLD SCHOOL PASTRAMI

YIELD: Serves 8 to 10

METHOD: Smoking, steaming

PREP TIME: 20 minutes for the brine and spice rub, plus 12 days for brining the brisket

COOKING TIME: 7 to 8 hours for smoking the brisket, plus 2 to 3 hours for steaming (or another 2 to 3 hours for smoking, and 1 to 2 hours for resting)

HEAT SOURCE: Smoker or charcoal grill (like a Weber kettle), then a stove or oven (sorry, folks—you won’t get the right smoke flavor on a gas grill)

YOU’LL ALSO NEED: 2 jumbo (2.5-gallon) resealable heavy-duty plastic bags; a large baking dish or a plastic bucket; spice mill; rimmed sheet pan; metal bowl or aluminum foil pan (for the smoker); hickory or other hardwood chunks or chips (the latter soaked in water for 30 minutes, then drained); heatproof gloves; pink butcher paper (unlined); large aluminum foil pan; a steamer (see here) or a large insulated cooler

WHAT ELSE: Traditionally, pastrami was made not with brisket but with another tough, fatty cut from the steer’s undercarriage: beef navel. (Think the bovine equivalent of pork belly.) In recent years, a new generation of pit masters—guys like Tim Rattray at the Granary in San Antonio and Joe Carroll at Fette Sau in Brooklyn and Philadelphia—has added house-smoked pastrami to the traditional barbecue repertoire, and in the process, brisket has become the preferred beef for curing and smoking. I call for an 8-pound chunk of brisket—a flat if you like your pastrami lean; a section with both flat and point if you like it fatty.

Picture the perfect pastrami. The exterior black as bitumen. The interior a bright shade of pink, like a drag queen’s hairdo. The stunning striations of meat and fat rendered iridescent by curing salt. The bite of black pepper and coriander seed overlaid with the subtle scent of wood smoke. And that’s before the taste—beefy, salty, garlicky—with spice, meat, and fat in luscious equipoise. It’s the sort of pastrami you get at Katz’s Deli or Pastrami Queen in New York City. And you’re about to make it at home. It won’t be difficult, but it will require a virtue in short supply in our age of reduced attention spans and instant gratification: patience. It takes a full 12 days to pickle the meat in a brine scented with garlic and onion. You’ll need to roast the spices in a skillet (to intensify their flavor) and grind them from scratch to make the rub. You’ll need 8 to 10 hours of smoking to give the meat the requisite smoke flavor and 2 to 3 hours of steaming or resting to make it tender. And you’ll need to use one ingredient that you might be unfamiliar with, a curing salt called Prague Powder #1. (Consumed in excess, it can kill you.) But persevere, dear reader, because pastrami is one of the most awesome manifestations of brisket on Planet Barbecue. The first time you cut into a home-cured, house-smoked pastrami, you’ll feel immense pride, deep satisfaction, and peak gustatory pleasure.

INGREDIENTS

For the brisket

1 section (about 8 pounds) brisket (preferably with both point and flat)

For the brine

1 gallon (4 quarts) cold water

1 cup kosher salt

1 tablespoon Prague Powder #1 (see box)

6 juniper berries, lightly crushed with the side of a knife (or 2 tablespoons gin)

2 teaspoons yellow mustard seeds

1 teaspoon celery seeds

8 cloves garlic, peeled and cut in half widthwise

1 small onion, peeled and quartered

For the rub

½ cup whole coriander seeds

½ cup whole black peppercorns

1. Using a sharp knife, trim the brisket, leaving a layer of fat at least ¼ inch thick (see here). Be careful not to over-trim. It’s better to err on the side of too much fat than too little. Place it in a jumbo resealable heavy-duty plastic bag set inside a large baking dish (or plastic bucket).

2. Make the brine: Combine 2 quarts of the cold water with the kosher salt, Prague Powder #1, juniper berries, mustard seeds, and celery seeds in a large stockpot, and bring to a boil over high heat, whisking until the salts are dissolved. Remove the pot from the heat and stir in the remaining 2 quarts of cold water. Let the brine cool to room temperature.

3. Add the brine to the brisket in the bag, along with the garlic and onion, and seal it shut. Place this in a second jumbo resealable heavy-duty plastic bag (to contain any leaks), seal it, and place the bagged brisket in the baking dish in the refrigerator. Brine the brisket for 12 days, turning the bag over each day so the brisket brines evenly.

4. On the 12th day, make the rub: Toast the coriander seeds and peppercorns in a large dry skillet over medium-high heat, stirring so they toast evenly, until fragrant, 1 minute. Working in batches, coarsely grind the toasted spices in a spice mill. Place in a small bowl and stir to mix.

5. Drain the brisket, discarding the brine. Rinse the brisket thoroughly in cold water, then blot it dry with paper towels. Place the brisket on a rimmed sheet pan. Season it generously on all sides with the rub, using your fingertips to rub the spices into the meat in a thick layer.

6. Fire up your smoker, cooker, or grill following the manufacturer’s instructions and heat to 250°F. Add the wood as specified by the manufacturer. Place a metal bowl or aluminum foil pan with 1 quart of warm water in the smoker—this creates a humid environment that will help the smoke adhere to the meat and keep your brisket moist.

7. Transfer the brisket from the pan and place it fat side up in the smoker. Cook until the outside is darkly browned and the internal temperature registers about 175°F on an instant-read thermometer, 7 to 8 hours. Refuel your cooker as needed, following the manufacturer’s instructions.

8. Set up a steamer following the instructions here. Place the pastrami fat side up on the rack. Steam it until very tender, 2 to 3 hours.

When serving pastrami cold, thinly slice it on a meat slicer for deli-worthy sandwiches.

9. Transfer the pastrami to a welled cutting board. At this point, you can serve it warm or cold. For hot pastrami, use a long sharp knife to slice the meat across the grain as thickly or thinly as you desire. For cold pastrami, let it cool to room temperature, then refrigerate it until cold and firm. Cut it into paper-thin slices on a meat slicer or by hand.

VARIATION

Smoked Pastrami (Hold the Steam): Once the domain of the delicatessen, pastrami has been embraced by a new generation of barbecue restaurants. Here, the entire cook is done in the smoker without the traditional step of steaming. This produces an equally fabulous pastrami—perhaps a bit smokier and drier than the deli version. To do this, cook the pastrami through step 7. Wrap the pastrami in unlined butcher paper, following the instructions found here. Return the pastrami to the smoker and continue cooking until the internal temperature reaches around 205°F, another 2 to 3 hours, or as needed. Place the wrapped pastrami in an insulated cooler and let it rest for 1 to 2 hours. Serve as described above.

Note: Pink curing salt, also known as Prague Powder #1 or InstaCure #1, can be found at some butcher shops or online. Do not confuse it with Himalayan pink salt.

HOW TO SET UP A STEAMER

Steaming is an essential step in preparing pastrami and Montreal smoked meat. Restaurants use professional steamers, but it’s easy to rig one up at home. Here are four simple configurations. Whichever one your choose, you’ll want to replenish the water as needed to keep the level at a couple of inches.

In a Chinese bamboo steamer: If you own a wok or you know your way around Chinatown, use a Chinese bamboo steamer. Fill the bottom of a large wok with water to a depth of about 2 inches. Place the appropriately sized bamboo steamer on top. (You may need to seal any steam leaks around the outside with rolled wet paper towels.) Add the cured brisket, cover, and steam as directed.

In a round pot or Dutch oven: Place three open empty mason jars or cans in the bottom of a large round pot or Dutch oven. Fill them with water and add water to the pot to reach a depth of about 2 inches. Set a round wire cake rack atop the jars and place the cured brisket on top. Bring the water to a boil and tightly cover. Steam as directed.

With a steaming basket: This is better for smaller cuts of cured brisket. Place the largest folding steaming basket you can find in the bottom of a large pot or Dutch oven. Place the cured brisket on top. Add water to a depth of about 2 inches (it should be below the bottom of the basket). Cover the pot and steam as directed.

In the oven: Place a wire rack in a roasting pan or large Dutch oven. (If the rack sits too low to add water, raise it on open water-filled mason jars or cans.) Add boiling water to a depth of about 2 inches. Place the cured brisket on the rack. Tightly cover the roasting pan with aluminum foil or the Dutch oven with the lid. Place in a 350°F oven and steam as directed.

1. Make the brine.

2. Pour the brine over the brisket.

3. Brine the brisket.

4. Rinse the brined brisket with cold water.

5. Roast the spices before grinding.

6. Crust the brined brisket with the pastrami rub.

7. Smoke the brisket in your favorite cooker.

8. Steam the brisket (here in a bamboo steamer).

9. The steamed brisket is ready for slicing.

PASTRAMI: A Deli Icon

Quick—think of your favorite meat at your neighborhood delicatessen. You’re not alone if you named pastrami.

This pepper- and coriander-crusted meat—black on the outside, shocking pink inside, salty, mildly smoky, intensely garlicky—is one of the world’s great brisket success stories. And how it arrived at the American delicatessen is a journey as remarkable as the four-step process required to cook it.

You may be surprised to learn that, in the beginning, pastrami wasn’t Jewish. It wasn’t smoked. It wasn’t even beef.

Pastrami originated in Turkey, where it was made with lamb, goat, water buffalo, or even camel. It went by the name basturma—derived from the Turkish verb bastir—“to cure” or “to press.” Imagine arm-long strips of meat, salted first, then pressed, then rubbed with cumin, fenugreek, hot paprika, and other aromatic spices. The final step was air-drying, producing a cured meat similar to Italian bresaola. You still find basturma throughout Turkey and the Middle East today, where it’s thinly shaved over scrambled eggs or sliced paper-thin to munch with raki (anise liqueur) as an aperitif.

According to Robert Moss, author of a fascinating essay “How Pastrami Really Arrived in New York City” on SeriousEats.com, by the time the preparation reached what today is Romania (a Turkish province during the Ottoman Empire), it had morphed into pastroma. A commercial dictionary of the period described it as “ox, sheep, or goat’s flesh, salted, with garlic and spices, and dried in the sun for winter food.” Garlic had become a primary flavoring (after all, this was Romania). Later reports cite another inexpensive and widely available meat of the time: goose. In the 1850s, the Romanian port city of Braila on the Danube was a major pastroma exporter.

Between 1881 and 1914, more than 75,000 Romanian Jews immigrated to New York City—many of them to the Lower East Side. They brought their love of pastroma, dispensing it at grocery stores and kosher butcher shops that sprang up on Rivington, Allen, and Delancey Streets. One thing they couldn’t agree on was spelling. Newspaper ads of the period refer to “pastrame,” “pastromie,” “pestrame,” “pastromi,” “pasturma,” “pastromer,” and “pastroma.”

So, who first served a pastrami sandwich in the United States? Here, too, debate rages, with Sussman Volk (founder of Volk Provisions) and Willy Katz (founder of Katz’s Deli) being the top contenders. Eater food critic Robert Sietsema explores the chronology and much else about pastrami’s history in his mouthwatering book New York in a Dozen Dishes.

Contender #1, Sussman Volk, emigrated from Lithuania and opened a butcher shop somewhere between 1888 and 1903. (Family accounts differ from commercial records of the period.) A much-repeated story holds that Volk agreed to store a steamer trunk for a Romanian friend, who, by way of thanks, shared his recipe for pastrami. Volk began selling it at his butcher shop. So popular was the new meat that Volk rented a storefront at 88 Delancey Street, installed tables and chairs, and began selling pastrami sandwiches to what were soon standing-room-only crowds. The delicatessen was born.

The Katz family (owners of the landmark Katz’s Deli), on the other hand, credits Willy Katz with serving New York’s first pastrami sandwich. The family sets the date at 1888, when Morris and Hyman Iceland opened a delicatessen called Iceland Brothers. Katz bought it in 1903, changing the name to Iceland & Katz, then simply Katz’s Delicatessen in 1910. (Immigration and municipal records set the dates somewhat later.) What’s important either way is that, by the early twentieth century, pastrami had become a delicatessen icon.

Almost as iconic is the famous scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally . . . , in which Meg Ryan loudly fakes an orgasm while eating a pastrami sandwich at Katz’s Deli. (A woman at the next table utters the immortal line “I’ll have what she’s having.”) The late writer-director Nora Ephron conceived the scene during one of her weekly lunches with Rob Reiner at Katz’s. You can still sit at that table today and people line up to do so. According to Katz’s current owner, Jake Dell, customers like to re-enact the scene—some with brio equal to that of Ms. Ryan.

For most of the twentieth century, pastrami was made the traditional way—first brined, then rubbed, then smoked, and finally steamed. Over the years, the original beef cut—navel (the bovine analogue to the pork belly)—gave way to leaner brisket, although a few holdouts, like Katz’s, still make pastrami with beef navel.

And the latest chapter in pastrami’s colorful history? In 2007, Joe Carroll began serving barbecued brisket pastrami at Brooklyn’s Fette Sau (more on this remarkable barbecue joint found here). Tim Rattray made it a weekly special at the Granary in San Antonio. Billy Durney serves an amazing barbecued pastrami at Hometown Bar-B-Que in Red Hook, Brooklyn. These new school briskets are smokier than their delicatessen counterparts. Some pit masters even skip the step of steaming.

Here, you’ll find an Old School Pastrami in the style of Katz’s Deli. Here, there’s a New School Pastrami—flavored with fish sauce and makrut (kaffir) lime leaves—from Harry & Ida’s Meat & Supply Co., also in Manhattan. Here, you’ll find a fiery Kung Pao Pastrami in the style of chef Danny Bowien of Mission Chinese in San Francisco and Manhattan.

Which is to say, this ancient cured meat from Turkey continues to evolve.

Katz’s: landmark pastrami since 1888

NEW SCHOOL PASTRAMI

YIELD: Serves 8 to 10

METHOD: Smoking, steaming

PREP TIME: 30 minutes to make the brine and rub, plus 7 days to brine the pastrami

COOKING TIME: 6 to 7 hours for smoking, plus 2 to 3 hours for steaming

HEAT SOURCE: Smoker or charcoal grill (like a Weber kettle), then a stove or oven (sorry, folks—you won’t get the right smoke flavor on a gas grill)

You’ll also need: 2 jumbo (2.5-gallon) resealable heavy-duty plastic bags; a large baking dish or a plastic bucket; a rimmed sheet pan; a metal bowl or aluminum foil pan (for the smoker); oak and hickory or other hardwood chunks or chips (the latter, soaked in water for 30 minutes, then drained); a steamer (see here)

WHAT ELSE: Will Horowitz uses prime brisket points, not packers or flats—from local farms when possible. This recipe calls for two brisket points—since you’re going to this much trouble, you might as well make enough pastrami for a crowd. If you prefer lean pastrami, use brisket flats. Makrut (kaffir) lime leaves provide a Southeast Asian flavoring with a perfumed citrusy aroma. Look for them fresh at Asian markets. In a pinch, you could substitute a couple strips of fresh lime zest.

Harry & Ida’s Meat & Supply Co. burst onto New York’s deli scene in 2015, with a decidedly new take on pastrami. Here was a delicatessen that cured its own meats, using exotic flavorings such as Asian fish sauce, makrut (kaffir) lime leaves, and maple sugar. Unlike traditional spots, Harry & Ida’s proprietor, Will Horowitz, starts with brisket points (not whole briskets or beef navels). He smokes them with oak and hickory, and thanks to a 3-hour steaming process, the meat comes out tender enough to slice with the side of a fork. (“Water is an essential part of making pastrami,” Horowitz says.) This enables him to serve it in 1-inch-thick steaks, not thinly sliced, as at most delicatessens. He piles these steaks not on the traditional rye bread but on soft puffy hoagie rolls. You can’t eat pastrami without mustard, and Will’s contains anchovies. (You’ve probably gathered by now that Will is obsessed with umami flavors.) The traditional pickles give way to a crispy-creamy Cucumber, Buttermilk, and Rye Berry Salad. And each pastrami sandwich is lavished with fresh dill—“a ton of fresh dill,” insists Will—which provides an unexpected counterpoint to the salty richness of the pastrami. It is, in short, the ultimate pastrami sandwich—and if it took flavorings from Scandinavia and Southeast Asia to get there, well, I’m sure Will’s great-grandparents, Harry and Ida, would have approved.

INGREDIENTS

For the brisket

2 brisket points (3 to 4 pounds each, 6 to 8 pounds total)

For the brine

1 gallon (4 quarts) cold water

cup Asian fish sauce

1½ cups kosher salt

¾ cup maple sugar or light or dark brown sugar

1 tablespoon Prague Powder #1 (also known as pink curing salt; see box)

2 bay leaves

2 makrut (kaffir) lime leaves, or 2 strips fresh lime zest, each ½ inch wide and 1½ inches long

1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns

1 tablespoon juniper berries, lightly crushed with the side of a knife (or 3 tablespoons your favorite gin)

1 tablespoon allspice berries, lightly crushed with the side of a knife

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

1 tablespoon mustard seeds

1 tablespoon chopped fresh garlic

1 cassia or cinnamon stick (cassia comes in smooth sticks, and cinnamon in shaggy sticks—both have a cinnamon flavor)

For the rub

¼ cup coarsely ground black pepper

¼ cup maple sugar or light or dark brown sugar

2 tablespoons ground coriander

4 teaspoons garlic powder

4 teaspoons chili powder

4 teaspoons sweet paprika

1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

for serving (optional)

Hoagie rolls (you’ll need 4 to 6 per brisket point), cut almost in half lengthwise and opened like a book

Anchovy Mustard (recipe follows)

1 bunch fresh dill, stemmed and torn into sprigs

Cucumber, Buttermilk, and Rye Berry Salad

1. Using a sharp knife, trim the brisket points, leaving a layer of fat at least ¼ inch thick (see here). Be careful not to over-trim. It’s better to err on the side of too much fat than too little. Place them in a jumbo heavy-duty resealable plastic bag set in a large baking dish (or plastic bucket).

2. Make the brine: Place 2 quarts of the cold water, the fish sauce, salt, sugar, Prague Powder #1, bay leaves, makrut (kaffir) lime leaves, peppercorns, juniper berries, allspice berries, coriander seeds, mustard seeds, garlic, and cassia in a large stockpot and bring to a boil over high heat, whisking until the sugar and salts are dissolved. Remove the pot from the heat and stir in the remaining 2 quarts of cold water. Let the brine cool to room temperature.

3. Add the brine to the brisket points in the bag and seal it shut. Place this bag in a second jumbo resealable heavy-duty plastic bag (to contain any leaks) and place the bagged brisket in the baking dish in the refrigerator. Brine the points for 7 days, turning the bag over each day so the meat brines evenly.

4. On the 7th day, make the rub: Place the pepper, sugar, coriander, garlic powder, chili powder, paprika, and cayenne in a bowl and mix together, using your fingers to break up any lumps.

5. Drain the briskets, discarding the brine. Rinse the briskets thoroughly with cold water and blot dry with paper towels. Place the briskets on a rimmed sheet pan. Season them generously on all sides with the rub, using your fingertips to rub the spices into the meat in a thick layer.

6. Fire up your smoker, cooker, or grill following the manufacturer’s instructions and heat to 250°F. Add the wood as specified by the manufacturer. Place a metal bowl or aluminum foil pan with 1 quart of warm water in the smoker—this creates a humid environment that will help the smoke adhere to the meat and keep your brisket moist.

7. Transfer the brisket points from the pan and place them fat side up in the smoker. Cook until the outside is darkly browned and the internal temperature registers about 175°F on an instant-read thermometer, 6 to 7 hours. Refuel your cooker as needed, following the manufacturer’s instructions.

8. Set up a steamer following the instructions on here. Place the pastrami fat side up on the rack. Steam it until very tender, 2 to 3 hours. Keep the pastrami warm until serving.

9. To serve, transfer the pastrami to a welled cutting board and use a long, sharp knife to slice the pastrami as thickly or thinly as you desire. Pile it on hoagie rolls slathered with Anchovy Mustard and heaped with fresh dill, with the cucumber salad on the side.

ANCHOVY MUSTARD

Yield: Makes 1 cup

Anchovy gives this mustard a briny umami flavor, while the preserved lemon (available at Whole Foods, gourmet shops, and online) adds a salty, tangy, lemony tartness. If preserved lemon is unavailable, add ½ teaspoon finely grated lemon zest and 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice.

INGREDIENTS

1 anchovy fillet, minced

1 tablespoon minced preserved lemon

1 cup coarsely ground deli-style mustard

Combine the anchovy, preserved lemon, and mustard in a mixing bowl and whisk to mix.

Anchovy Mustard will keep, in a sealed jar in the refrigerator, for several weeks.

BRISKET WHISPERER—WILL HOROWITZ

If Will Horowitz wants to tinker with his century-old family pastrami recipe, he’s certainly earned the right. His great-grandparents, Harry and Ida—namesakes of his pastrami emporium in Manhattan—ran a delicatessen in Harlem. (They cured their pastrami and sauerkraut in buckets on the fire escape.) Will earned dual degrees in writing and Tibetan Buddhism and became a survivalist, then a chef. His fascination with fermenting and curing dates from his survivalist days, and his food prep area looks as much like a biology lab as it does a kitchen.

What? You haven’t heard of Will or the Ducks Eatery and Harry & Ida’s restaurants he runs with his sister, Julie? I bet you’ve heard of their latest creation—a smoked watermelon “ham” that recently rocked the blogosphere. (There’s currently a one-month waiting list for this curiosity, which retails for $75.) Will cures and smokes all sorts of foods you wouldn’t expect, from seaweed and mushrooms to radishes, and his watermelon ham is just the most recent, er, fruit of an omnivorously curious mind and a chef’s willingness to try anything.

That includes deconstructing traditional deli pastrami, enriching the brine with Asian fish sauce, maple sugar, and makrut (kaffir) lime leaves. (You’ll find the recipe here.) As for the barbecued brisket served at Ducks Eatery, “it took me a solid year of experimenting to get the meat we serve today,” Will says. One secret is to vary the cooking temperature during the 15-hour cook, starting low (230°F) for the first three hours to set the smoke flavor, then boosting the heat as high as 325°F to build the bark. Will finishes the brisket at 250°F to gelatinize the collagen and render the fat. But don’t ask to see his instant-read thermometer. “I haven’t taken a temperature in eight years,” he says. “We check all our briskets by feel.”

So what is it about brisket that has inspired Will to make it the focal point of two restaurants? “I love the heritage and family tradition. I love how it can be simultaneously so fatty and luscious and so lean. Ultimately, I love the challenge of cooking a cut of meat comprised of two different muscles that behave completely differently in the smoker. There are a lot of paths to the top of the mountain. Take your time and you’ll get there.”

As the owner of both a deli and a restaurant that has been described as a New Wave barbecue joint, Horowitz thinks a lot about the connection between pastrami and Texas brisket. “Both originated with Eastern Europeans (Romanian Jews in the case of the former; Austrian and Czech butchers in the case of the latter).” Both used spice and smoke to preserve meat before the advent of refrigeration. “And what is the classic pastrami seasoning but a Texas salt and pepper rub fortified with garlic and coriander?” Will asks with a smile.

Like many of the new generation of brisket masters, Will is deeply concerned about sustainability, including the lessons we can learn from a plant-based diet. His pastrami sandwich comes with a veritable farmers’ market of rye berries, cucumbers, and fresh dill. “Sure, we could buy cheaper brisket and boost our output,” he says. “We prefer to work with meat from local farmers.”

“Cook with compassion,” Will says. “Remember, your brisket comes from what was once a living, breathing creature. Your job as a cook is to be a storyteller. Tell the story of this beautiful cut of meat as simply and as perfectly as you can.”

CURING SALTS

Corned beef, pastrami, and Montreal smoked meat are some of the world’s most delectable manifestations of brisket. One is boiled; two are smoked; and two may or may not be steamed. But they all have one thing in common: All owe their vivid pink color, iridescent sheen, and soulful umami flavor to a curing salt called sodium nitrite.

Wait: Aren’t sodium nitrite and its sibling, sodium nitrate, artificial ingredients added by evil food manufacturers and indisputably shown to cause cancer?

So they were accused in the 1980s, and while nitrites have long since been exonerated, a certain prejudice toward them persists to this day.

Nitrites occur naturally in both mineral deposits and plants. (Sodium nitrite—NaNO2—has two oxygen atoms for every nitrogen atom; sodium nitrate—NaNO3—has three.) Both give cured meats their shimmering rosy hue. They do so by binding with the myoglobin in beef and other red meats, converting it to nitrosomyoglobin, which turns cooked meat pink.

More importantly, nitrites and nitrates greatly reduce the risk of a potentially fatal foodborne illness called botulism. And when combined with salt, they greatly extend cured meat’s shelf life. They also create a unique cluster of flavors—salty, hammy, cheesy. You can make corned beef and pastrami without nitrites, but they won’t look or taste quite right.

So how did sodium nitrite get such a bad rap? Well, for starters, when consumed in large quantities, it can be toxic. (That’s why manufacturers dilute it with table salt and dye it pink as a warning.) It was also linked to higher cancer rates in a handful of questionably accurate experiments in the 1970s.

There’s just one catch: Sodium nitrite occurs naturally in many vegetables, including celery, spinach, carrots, and beets. In fact, according to the American Meat Institute (an organization admittedly pro–curing salt), more than 90 percent of our daily nitrite intake comes from vegetables. The USDA allows up to 156 parts per million (PPM) of sodium nitrite in corned beef, pastrami, and other cured meats. A daily serving of vegetables can contain up to 1,900 PPM! Case closed.

The curing salt you’ll use in this book is sodium nitrite. (Sodium nitrate is used in slow cures—for salami, for example—that take place over several months.) Nitrites are sold under several names, including:

• Pink curing salt (sel rose in French)

• Prague Powder #1

• InstaCure #1 or Quick Cure

• Morton Tender Quick

Regardless of what you call it, curing salt contains roughly 6 percent pure sodium nitrite mixed with 92 percent table salt, with small traces of an anti-caking agent and red food dye to color the mixture pink. (Don’t confuse the latter with Himalayan salt, which is naturally pink.)

When working with curing salt, a little goes a long way: 4 ounces will cure 100 pounds of meat.

Sodium nitrite is safe, effective, and indispensable for making pastrami, corned beef, and other cured meats, but never forget that, consumed in excess, it can be toxic. Follow the manufacturer’s instructions—and the recipes in this book—and you’ll be fine.

Brisket hacks:

When curing brisket, label the package accurately with the date you began and your target date. Cure the meat in the refrigerator. Turn it daily so it cures evenly. Drain it well, then rinse the meat thoroughly with cold water and pat it dry. When making pastrami or smoked meat, drain and rinse off the brine or rinse off the cure, then pat it dry with paper towels before smoking.

When brining, make sure the brisket is completely submerged in brine by weighting it with a dinner plate or tightly sealed bags of ice. (Replace as needed.)

When dry curing, thoroughly mix the curing salt with the other dry flavorings before applying them to the brisket.

One cut of meat cured four ways. Clockwise from top right: pastrami, corned beef, smoked corned beef, and Montreal smoked meat

KUNG PAO PASTRAMI

YIELD: Serves 4 as a starter, or 2 as a main course

METHOD: Stir-frying

PREP TIME: 20 minutes

COOKING TIME: 10 minutes

HEAT SOURCE: Stove or grill side burner

YOU’LL ALSO NEED: A metal strainer; a wok; a wok spatula

WHAT ELSE: You may need to take a trip to an Asian market to make this one. For chile paste, you want a hot, salty Chinese version (la jiao jiang) or sambal oelek from Indonesia. Chinese hot bean paste (dou ban jiang—another condiment made with chiles and soybeans) piles on more salty-garlicky flavors. (I’ve made it optional.) Tianjin peppers (rust-colored dried chiles) pump up the heat even further. (In a pinch, substitute 2 to 3 teaspoons hot red pepper flakes.) Sichuan peppercorns don’t belong to the pepper family at all, but they are tiny reddish dried berries that possess the odd property of simultaneously numbing and cooling your mouth. There’s no substitute, but if unavailable, your stir-fry will still taste pretty remarkable without them.

There are two ways to approach restaurants, just as there are two philosophies for living your life. The first is to find places you like and return to them often for your tried-and-true favorite dishes. This guarantees meals you will like in surroundings that make you comfortable. The other approach is to constantly seek new experiences, forsaking the comfort of the familiar for a shot at the unplanned and extraordinary. My wife adheres to the first school, so when she picks the restaurant, I know I’m in for a good meal. I’m all about the thrill of the new, which means that often I’m disappointed, but occasionally I’m blown away. So for me to return to the same restaurant and order the same dish in the space of two weeks—and this in one of the most sophisticated restaurant cities in North America that I’ve flown 3,000 miles to visit—well, that suggests a pretty astonishing meal. But that’s exactly what I did at Mission Chinese in San Francisco. You won’t find the dish that so captivated me—stir-fried kung pao pastrami—at your average Chinese restaurant in North America or China. Then again, Mission Chinese chef-owner Danny Bowien was born in Korea and raised in Oklahoma, and his first claim to culinary fame involved not Asian food, but winning a Pesto World Championship. Bowien’s take on traditional kung pao features two decidedly non-Chinese ingredients: pastrami and potatoes. The sauce roars in like a SWAT team, assaulting you with salt, garlic, chile hellfire, and tongue-numbing Sichuan peppercorns. Eating it will hurt your taste buds, and the only way to get relief is to take another bite. What follows is a streamlined version of Danny Bowien’s masterpiece.

INGREDIENTS

1 pound thick-sliced pastrami (make your own following the recipe here, or ask the deli guy to slice it ¼ inch thick)

2 tablespoons Chinese chile paste or sambal oelek

2 tablespoons soy sauce

2 tablespoons Chinese rice wine (Shaoxing), sake, or Scotch whisky

1 tablespoon Chinese hot bean paste (optional)

2 teaspoons sugar

½ cup peanut oil

12 ounces Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch dice (enough to make 1 cup)

1 tablespoon Sichuan peppercorns

3 to 6 dried Chinese chile peppers (Tianjin peppers), or to taste

A 1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and cut into matchstick slivers

2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

4 scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced crosswise (set aside 1 tablespoon of the green parts for garnish)

4 ribs celery, cut on the diagonal into ¼-inch slices

2 serrano or jalapeño chiles (or to taste), stemmed and thinly sliced crosswise

1 cup unsalted dry-roasted peanuts

1. Cut the pastrami slices crosswise into 1-inch pieces and set aside.

2. Make the sauce: Combine the chile paste, soy sauce, rice wine, bean paste (if using), and sugar in a small bowl and whisk to incorporate.

3. Place a metal strainer over a heatproof bowl and line a plate with paper towels. Heat the peanut oil in a wok over high heat or on a hot grill set up for direct grilling (see here). Add the potatoes and fry, stirring with a wok spatula, until golden, 6 to 8 minutes. Pour the fried potatoes and oil into the strainer and drain for 2 minutes. Reserve the oil that has collected in the bowl and transfer the potatoes from the strainer to the prepared plate; blot any excess oil off the potatoes with a paper towel.

4. Return 3 tablespoons of the strained oil to the wok. Add the Sichuan peppercorns and dried chiles and stir-fry over high heat (or on the hot grill) until fragrant, 10 seconds. Add the ginger, garlic, scallions, celery, and fresh chiles and stir-fry until aromatic and beginning to brown, 30 seconds. Add the pastrami, ¾ cup peanuts, and the potatoes to the wok and stir-fry until fragrant, 2 minutes.

5. Stir the sauce to reincorporate the ingredients and add it to the wok. Stir-fry until the sauce boils, thickens, and coats the other ingredients, 1 minute.

6. Sprinkle the remaining ¼ cup peanuts and 1 tablespoon scallion greens on top and serve at once directly from the wok.

CLASSIC CORNED BEEF

YIELD: Serves 6 to 8

METHOD: Boiling or braising

PREP TIME: 15 minutes, plus 8 days to cure the brisket, plus another 1 hour for soaking

COOKING TIME: 2½ to 3½ hours

HEAT SOURCE: Stove, oven

YOU’LL ALSO NEED: A large, nonreactive stockpot; 2 jumbo (2.5-gallon) resealable heavy-duty plastic bags; a baking dish or a plastic bucket; a colander; a Dutch oven with a tight-fitting lid; a welled cutting board

WHAT ELSE: Corned beef demands little in the way of kitchen skills (if you can stir and boil water, you can make it), but you do need to plan ahead. Namely, figure on 8 days for pickling (curing) the meat and about 3½ hours for cooking.

You can’t get more Jewish than a corned beef sandwich on rye bread, right? Or can you? According to Irish cooking authority Darina Allen, the Irish have been “corning” (pickling) beef since the eleventh century. Between the 1680s and 1825, beef corning was the biggest industry in County Cork. Corned beef from Cork was exported across the British Empire, from Newfoundland to the West Indies. It was the Irish immigrants in New York at the turn of the last century who made corned beef the St. Patrick’s Day icon it is today. So where does the Jewish connection come in? The Irish corned beef, but not necessarily brisket. They adopted the latter from their Jewish neighbors on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Curiously, the term corned comes not from the grain we eat on the cob (or use to brew whiskey) but from the medieval word for a large kernel of salt. You could think of corning as brining—with the addition of pickling spices, such as bay leaves, peppercorns, mustard seeds, allspice, and ginger. Here’s a traditional corned beef that’s surprisingly easy to make. It tastes equally great cold in sandwiches or hot with boiled potatoes and cabbage, and can be used deliciously to make the Double-Down Reuben sandwich or Corned Beef Hash. And here you’ll find a Raichlen twist: a corned beef you cook in a smoker. Just don’t wait until St. Patrick’s Day to try them.

“Corn” the brisket in a brine flavored with pickling spice.

INGREDIENTS

For corning (curing) the beef

2 cups hot water

1 cup coarse sea salt or kosher salt

½ cup light or dark brown sugar

¼ cup Pickling Spice (recipe follows, or use your favorite commercial brand)

2 teaspoons Prague Powder #1 (pink curing salt; see box)

2 cups ice water

¼ cup Irish whiskey

1 beef brisket flat (3 to 4 pounds)

For cooking the corned beef

1 whole clove

1 bay leaf

1 medium onion, peeled and quartered

3 carrots, peeled and trimmed

3 ribs celery

For serving

Sliced rye bread and mustard (optional)

Boiled potatoes and/or cabbage (optional)

1. Make the brine: Combine the hot water, coarse salt, brown sugar, pickling spice, and Prague Powder #1 in a nonreactive stockpot. Bring to a boil on the stovetop over high heat. Let cool to room temperature, then stir in the ice water and whiskey.

2. Meanwhile, using a sharp knife, trim the brisket, leaving a layer of fat at least ¼ inch thick (see here). Be careful not to over-trim. It’s better to err on the side of too much fat than too little.

3. Place the brisket in one of the jumbo resealable heavy-duty plastic bags. Add the brine and seal the bag. Place it in another resealable plastic bag (to catch any leaks), seal it, and place the bagged brisket in a baking dish or plastic bucket.

4. Brine the corned beef in the refrigerator for 8 days, turning the bag daily.

5. Drain the brisket in a colander, discarding the brine. Fill a stockpot with fresh cold water, add the brisket, and let soak for 1 hour, then drain again.

6. Preheat the oven to 300°F.

7. Place the corned beef in a Dutch oven and add water to cover by a depth of 1 inch. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to a simmer and skim off any foam that rises to the surface, using a ladle or slotted spoon.

8. Use the clove to pin the bay leaf to one of the onion quarters. Add the onion to the brisket pot along with the carrots and celery. (Note: If you like your carrots and celery with a little chew to them, add them after 2 hours of braising.)

9. Cover the Dutch oven with the lid or aluminum foil, crimped to fit tightly, and place it in the oven. Braise the corned beef until very tender (test it by inserting a fork—it should pierce the meat easily), 3 to 3½ hours, or as needed.

10. Transfer the corned beef to a welled cutting board. At this point, you can serve it hot or cold. For hot corned beef, use a long, sharp knife to slice the meat across the grain into ¼-inch-thick slices. (Reserve some of the broth for spooning on top.) Serve on rye bread with mustard or with boiled potatoes and/or cabbage. For cold corned beef, let it cool to room temperature, then refrigerate it until cold and firm. Cut it into paper-thin slices on a meat slicer or by hand and serve it on rye bread with mustard.

PICKLING SPICE

Yield: Makes ¼ cup

I prefer this pickling spice to commercial blends because you can customize the flavorings and make sure the spices are fresh.

INGREDIENTS

10 juniper berries

6 allspice berries

6 whole cloves

2 dried bay leaves, crumbled

1 cinnamon stick (3 inches), broken into 3 or 4 pieces

1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

2 teaspoons mustard seeds

½ teaspoon ground ginger

Combine the ingredients in a mixing bowl and stir to mix. Pickling Spice will keep, in a sealed jar at room temperature away from heat and light, for at least 2 months.

CORNED BEEF through the ages

Attman’s Deli on Lombard Street in Baltimore, where I grew up, may not serve the best corned beef in America. But if someone else does it better, I’ve yet to find it. Attman’s simmers its cured beef briskets in waist-high cauldrons, much as it did when the restaurant opened in 1915. They slice it so thin that you can almost read through it, and they pile it so high on rye bread that your jaws will ache from opening wide enough to take a bite.

Lombard Street was Baltimore’s answer to Delancey Street in New York, and in my grandfather’s day, you could get world-class corned beef from a half-dozen delis and meat markets there. Today, most deli corned beef comes from giant factories, and while it’s reasonably tasty, you’d never mistake it for Attman’s. Or for Katz’s Deli in Manhattan, or Manny’s in Chicago, or Langer’s in LA.

Corned beef? Delicatessen? Wait: Didn’t corned beef come from Ireland? Isn’t corned beef what you eat on St. Patrick’s Day—whether you’re Irish American or not? So how did it get from the Emerald Isle to the New York–style delicatessen?

In the beginning, the Irish raised cattle mostly as draft and dairy animals. What little meat people ate came primarily from pigs and sheep. That changed when the English conquered Ireland in the twelfth century. To sate England’s appetite for beef, English landlords established huge cattle farms in Ireland (displacing Irish farmers in the process). By the 1800s, Ireland was exporting tens of thousands of cattle to England each year.

That all changed with the Cattle Acts of 1663 and 1667, explains Shaylyn Esposito in a fascinating Smithsonian.com article titled “Is Corned Beef Really Irish?” Promulgated to protect the English beef industry, these acts forbade the export of live Irish cattle to England. Irish beef prices plummeted, forcing the nation’s meat merchants to salt their surplus inventory to keep it from spoiling.

The first reference to corned beef appears in a twelfth-century comic poem called Aislinge Meic Con Glinne (The Vision of Mac Conglinne). Back then, beef was cured with sea ash (burned seaweed) instead of salt. In the age before refrigeration (make that most of human history), “corning” (salt curing) was the most effective way to preserve meat. Butchers used coarse rock salt, whose large grains were the size and shape of barley corns. These “corns of salt” gave rise to the name corned beef.

Thanks to Eire’s abundant beef and low salt tax (10 percent of England’s at the time), Irish corned beef became big business. It fed the sailors in the Royal Navy, foot soldiers in Wellington’s army, and armies of slaves on Caribbean plantations. It was exported to Colonial America and to British outposts throughout India, Africa, and Asia. It even went to England’s archenemy, France. Dublin, Cork, and Belfast grew rich on a corned beef industry that literally fed the world.

Sadly, the only people who weren’t eating much corned beef themselves were the Irish. Corned beef was too expensive for the average farmer or factory worker.

The Irish wouldn’t start eating corned beef in substantial quantities until the mid-1800s when a million or so immigrants—refugees from the potato famine—settled in New York City. Wages were higher in America and beef was plentiful, which meant that Irish immigrants could now afford a meat that had been financially off-limits for centuries. And where did they buy it? From other immigrants—Eastern European Jews—who turned a cheap tough cut from the steer’s undercarriage into a newly coined delicacy: kosher-style corned beef brisket.

Today’s corned beef differs dramatically from its eighteenth-century Irish namesake. Back then, butchers corned any tough cut of beef—neck, shank, belly. Today, we use only brisket. In the old days, the meat was heavily salted with rock salt, with saltpeter (potassium nitrate) added as a preservative. (Yes, the same saltpeter used to make gunpowder.) Today, corned beef is brined with pickling spices, such as allspice, cloves, mustard seed, and bay leaves. It owes its iridescent pink sheen and umami tang to a more modern curing salt, sodium nitrite. To be sure, it’s salty, but not nearly as salty as the tinned corned beef of the Industrial Revolution.

One thing is certain: Corned beef’s popularity hasn’t waned over the centuries. Abraham Lincoln served corned beef at his first inaugural dinner in 1861. More recently, NASA astronaut John Young snuck a corned beef sandwich in his spacesuit pocket prior to boarding his flight on Gemini 3. As for the modern-day Irish? On St. Patrick’s Day, most still prefer lamb or bacon to corned beef. And they never drink green beer.

Resistance is futile: A great corned beef Reuben can tempt even the most die-hard dieter.

SMOKED CORNED BEEF

YIELD: Serves 6 to 8

METHOD: Smoking

PREP TIME: 15 minutes, plus 8 days to cure the corned beef

COOKING TIME: 6 to 8 hours, or as needed, plus 1 to 2 hours for resting

HEAT SOURCE: Smoker or grill

YOU’LL ALSO NEED: Hickory or other hardwood chunks or chips (if using the latter, soak in water to cover for 30 minutes, then drain); a metal bowl or aluminum foil pan; heatproof gloves; heavy-duty aluminum foil; a Dutch oven; an insulated cooler; a welled cutting board

WHAT ELSE: Made from the brisket flat, corned beef is leaner than pastrami. So I like to wrap it in foil two-thirds of the way through smoking—the built-up steam breaks down tough muscle fibers, tenderizing the meat.

Like most brisket dishes, traditional corned beef requires a slow, low-temperature cook in a moist environment to render it tender. Did someone say low and slow? Sounds like barbecue, and the only thing missing is wood smoke. Some years ago, I had the idea to smoke corned beef instead of braising it. Think of it as pastrami, but without the peppery crust. (It’s the perfect cured meat for people who find pastrami too garlicky.) The smoke lends a complexity and depth of flavor you just don’t find in traditional corned beef.

INGREDIENTS

1 recipe Classic Corned Beef, prepared through step 5

Rye bread, mustard, pickles, sauerkraut, and/or coleslaw, for serving

1. Fire up your smoker, cooker, or grill following the manufacturer’s instructions and heat to 250°F. Add the wood as specified by the manufacturer. Place a metal bowl or aluminum foil pan with 1 quart of warm water in the smoker—this creates a humid environment that will help the smoke adhere to the meat and keep your brisket moist.

2. Place the cured brisket fat side up in the smoker. If using an offset smoker, position the thicker end of the brisket toward the firebox. Cook the brisket until the outside is darkly browned and the internal temperature registers 165°F on an instant-read thermometer, 6 to 8 hours. Refuel your cooker as needed, following the manufacturer’s instructions.

A Brisket Chronicles first: corned beef in a smoker

3. Tightly wrap the corned beef in heavy-duty aluminum foil, pleating the edges to make a hermetic seal. Continue cooking the corned beef until the internal temperature reaches 205°F, another 2 hours, or as needed.

4. Place the wrapped corned beef in an insulated cooler and let it rest for 1 to 2 hours. (This allows the meat to relax and the juices to redistribute.)

5. Transfer the corned beef to a welled cutting board and unwrap it. At this point, you can serve it hot or cold. For hot corned beef, use a long sharp knife to slice the meat across the grain into ¼-inch-thick slices. For cold corned beef, let it cool to room temperature, then wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate it until cold and firm. Cut it into paper-thin slices on a meat slicer or by hand. Serve on rye bread with mustard, pickles, sauerkraut, and/or coleslaw.

CORNED BEEF AND CABBAGE

YIELD: Serves 6 to 8

METHOD: Boiling or braising

PREP TIME: 20 minutes

COOKING TIME: 3 to 3½ hours, or as needed

HEAT SOURCE: Stove (and oven if braising)

YOU’LL ALSO NEED: A Dutch oven with a tight-fitting lid; cheesecloth and kitchen string; a welled cutting board

WHAT ELSE: You can boil the corned beef and cabbage in a large pot on the stove top or braise it in a Dutch oven—the latter requires less supervision.

Like Italian bollito misto and French pot au feu, corned beef and cabbage is supreme comfort food—Irish in this case. (It’s also quintessential St. Patrick’s Day fare par excellence here in America—more on that here.) Basically, you put the ingredients in a pot and boil them until tender. There’s a little more to the preparation than that, of course, because you want to sequence cooking vegetables so they come out just tender, not boiled to ignominious mush. Another twist on the traditional recipe: buttering the broth. In the best of all worlds, you’d start with home-cured corned beef (such as the Classic Corned Beef, prepared through step 5). Barring that, use an uncooked corned beef—often available in your supermarket meat department, especially around St. Patrick’s Day and Easter. Or order it by mail from Snake River Farms ( snakeriverfarms.com) or Mister Brisket ( misterbrisket.com).

INGREDIENTS

1 corned beef (3 to 4 pounds, uncooked)

2 bay leaves, crumbled

1 teaspoon mustard seeds

1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns

1 teaspoon allspice berries

1 savoy cabbage (about 2 pounds)

3 large carrots, trimmed, peeled, and cut crosswise into 2-inch sections

2 medium onions, peeled and quartered

1 pound Yukon gold or boiling potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 2-inch pieces

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley or chives (optional)

Spicy mustard, for serving

1. Place the corned beef in a Dutch oven. If braising, preheat the oven to 300°F.

2. Tie the bay leaves, mustard seeds, peppercorns, and allspice berries in a square of cheesecloth (alternatively, wrap them in aluminum foil, then perforate the bundle with a fork). Add the spice bundle to the pot and add water to cover by a depth of 2 inches.

3. Bring the corned beef to a boil over high heat, skimming off any foam that rises to the surface with a ladle or slotted spoon. Reduce the heat to low and gently simmer the corned beef, uncovered, until nearly tender, 2 hours. (Alternatively, cover the Dutch oven, place it in the preheated oven, and braise the corned beef until nearly tender, 2 hours.)

4. Remove any wilted or blemished outside leaves from the cabbage. Cut the cabbage in half through the core. Make V-shaped cuts to remove the core, then cut each cabbage half into quarters to obtain 8 wedges.

5. Add the cabbage, carrots, onions, and potatoes to the pot, and continue boiling (or braising, covered) until tender, 1 to 1½ hours more, or as needed. There should be enough liquid to cover the corned beef and vegetables by a depth of 1 inch; add water as needed. (If braising the corned beef and there’s too much liquid, keep the Dutch oven uncovered after adding the vegetables.)

6. To serve, remove and discard the spice bundle. Transfer the corned beef to a welled cutting board and use a sharp knife to slice it across the grain as thickly or thinly as you desire. Transfer the slices to a platter or plates, and use a slotted spoon to arrange the boiled vegetables beside the meat, leaving the cooking liquid in the pot.

7. Strain 1½ cups of the cooking liquid into a large heatproof bowl. Whisk in the butter until melted. Spoon this buttery sauce over the corned beef and vegetables. Dust with parsley, if using, and serve plenty of spicy mustard alongside.

IRISH SPICED BEEF

YIELD: Serves 6 to 8

METHOD: Braising or boiling

PREP TIME: 20 minutes, plus 5 to 7 days for curing the brisket

COOKING TIME: 3 hours, or as needed

HEAT SOURCE: Stove (and oven, if braising)

YOU’LL ALSO NEED: A baking dish; spice mill or clean coffee grinder (for the spice rub); butcher’s string; a Dutch oven or roasting pan; a brick wrapped in aluminum foil or another weight (if serving cold)

WHAT ELSE: Like Jewish pastrami and Montreal Smoked Meat, spiced beef was originally designed to preserve meat in the age before refrigeration. You can serve it hot out of the pot or pressed under a weight and chilled, to be sliced and eaten cold. Tradition calls for boiling the beef, but braising it in the oven requires less supervision.

I came across this singular dish in a book called The Complete Book of Irish Country Cooking by Darina Allen. Founder of the renowned Ballymaloe Cookery School in Shanagarry, County Cork, Allen dispels the common notion that Irish food is straightforward, even bland. Consider spiced beef, a brisket rubbed with a fragrant mixture of salt, sugar, peppercorns, juniper berries, and allspice. “Spices were difficult and expensive to procure, which meant that spiced beef was a once-a-year indulgence,” writes Allen. That indulgence was traditionally served at Christmastime, and although few Americans have heard of it (I hadn’t), it appears in James Joyce’s short story “The Dead.” Peppercorns, allspice, and juniper berries also figure in pastrami and corned beef, of course, lending vigor and excitement to what otherwise would have been a drab diet of salt beef. My assistant, Nancy Loseke, notes a similar dish her Danish grandmother used to make for Christmas. She used flank steak, not brisket, and called it rullepølse.

INGREDIENTS

1 brisket flat (3 to 4 pounds)

6 to 8 tablespoons Irish Spice Rub (recipe follows)

1 bay leaf

1 medium onion, peeled and quartered

1 whole clove

3 carrots, trimmed, peeled, and cut into 2-inch pieces

3 ribs celery, cut into 2-inch pieces

1 bottle (11.2 ounces) Guinness or other dark beer

Your favorite fruit chutney and/or coarse-grained mustard, for serving

1. Using a sharp knife, trim the brisket, leaving a layer of fat at least ¼ inch thick (see here). Be careful not to over-trim. It’s better to err on the side of too much fat than too little.

2. Place the brisket in a large nonreactive baking dish. Generously season it on all sides with the spice rub (you’ll need about 6 tablespoons for a 3-pound piece of brisket or 8 tablespoons for 4 pounds), rubbing it into the meat with your fingertips.

3. Cover the brisket with plastic wrap and cure in the refrigerator, turning it daily, for 5 to 7 days (the longer the cure, the richer the flavor). After a few days, liquid may accumulate in the bottom of the baking dish: This is normal, as the salt draws liquid out of the meat. Discard this liquid before you roll the beef.

4. If braising, preheat the oven to 300°F.

5. Place the brisket on a wire rack over a sheet pan for 30 minutes to drain off the liquid and dry the meat (the surface will be tacky).

6. Roll the brisket (long side to long side) into a compact cylinder, and using butcher’s string, tie the brisket crosswise every 2 inches. Place it in a Dutch oven or roasting pan. Pin the bay leaf to one of the onion quarters with a clove. Add the onion, carrots, and celery to the pot with the Guinness and enough water to cover the meat and vegetables by a depth of 1 inch. (Note: If you like your carrots and celery with a little chew to them, add them after 2 hours of braising.)

7. Gradually bring the spiced beef to a boil over high heat. Lower the heat and gently simmer the beef, uncovered, until cooked and tender, 3 hours, or as needed. (Alternatively, cover the pot, place it in the oven, and braise until tender, 3 hours, or as needed.)

8. Transfer the spiced beef to a welled cutting board, discarding the cooking liquid. (You can serve the vegetables on the side and spoon some of the cooking liquid over the beef by way of a sauce.) Remove and discard the butcher’s string. For hot spiced beef, use a long sharp knife to cut it across the grain into ¼-inch-thick slices. Serve with chutney and/or mustard. For cold spiced beef, place it in a large loaf pan or baking dish and top with a brick wrapped in foil or another weight. (This compacts the meat.) Let cool to room temperature, then cover and refrigerate overnight. Remove the weight, transfer the meat to a cutting board, and thinly slice it crosswise. Serve it with chutney and/or mustard alongside.

VARIATION

Smoked Irish Spiced Beef: Okay, you saw this one coming. Season and cure the beef as described in steps 2 and 3. Drape it with strips of bacon and smoke it as directed in the Bacon-Smoked Brisket Flat recipe. Think of it as pastrami with an Irish brogue, and, yes, you should serve it with Guinness.

IRISH SPICE RUB

Yield: Makes about 1¼ cups

One doesn’t normally think of Irish food as spicy or highly seasoned, but this spice rub fairly explodes with the flavor of allspice and juniper berries. Sometimes I like to add Prague Powder #1 (sodium nitrite) to give the spiced beef the handsome rose color and umami flavor of corned beef. It isn’t traditional, but it makes one heck of an Irish spiced beef.

INGREDIENTS

¼ cup whole black peppercorns

¼ cup allspice berries

¼ cup juniper berries

9 tablespoons (½ cup plus 1 tablespoon) coarse sea salt or kosher salt

½ cup sugar

1 teaspoon Prague Powder #1 (pink curing salt; optional; see box)

Coarsely grind the peppercorns, allspice berries, and juniper berries in a spice mill. Transfer to a mixing bowl and mix in the salt, sugar, and Prague Powder #1 (if using).

Irish Spice Rub will keep, in a sealed jar away from heat and light, for several weeks. It makes an invigorating seasoning not just for brisket, but for pork shoulder, poultry, and ribs.

MONTREAL SMOKED MEAT

YIELD: Serves 12 to 14

METHOD: Barbecuing/smoking, steaming

PREP TIME: 20 minutes, plus 12 days for curing the brisket, plus 4 hours for soaking

COOKING TIME: 6 to 8 hours for smoking, plus 2½ to 3 hours for steaming

HEAT SOURCE: Smoker or charcoal grill, steamer

YOU’LL ALSO NEED: A rimmed sheet pan; a food processor; a baking dish; a jumbo (2.5-gallon) heavy-duty resealable plastic bag (optional); a large stockpot or roasting pan; a spice mill; a wire rack; hardwood chunks or chips (if using the latter, soak in water to cover for 30 minutes, then drain); a metal bowl or aluminum foil pan; a digital instant-read thermometer (preferably remote); pink butcher paper (unlined; optional); a welled cutting board.

WHAT ELSE: Smoked meat isn’t all that difficult to make, but you will need almost two weeks from start to finish. During that time, you’ll dry-cure the brisket, then soak it, then smoke it, then steam it. So plan ahead accordingly. (Once it is smoked, you can hold the beef in the refrigerator for up to 3 days before steaming and serving it, Joe Tietolman says.)

Smoked meat is pastrami with a French Canadian accent. One taste of the meat—spicy, salty, subtly smoked, and supremely succulent—and you’ll sign up for a Rosetta Stone French course. Although closely related, smoked meat differs from pastrami in several key ways: It’s not brined but dry-cured with salt, sugar, and spices, which makes it more fragrant and aromatic. (The allspice in the rub may make you think of Jamaican jerk seasoning.) It starts as a whole packer brisket, not the point or flat, which means that every smoked meat sandwich has an irresistible ratio of fat to lean meat. Until recently, you had to travel to Montreal to experience smoked meat, but native son Joel Tietolman serves the real deal at his Mile End Deli in Brooklyn, and more recently, in Manhattan’s West Village and Tennessee. (A great source for smoked meat in Chicago is Fumare.) “A lot of people who find corned beef boring will find smoked meat extraordinarily tasty,” says Tietolman. That might be the understatement of the year. The following has been adapted from the Mile End Cookbook by Noah and Rae Bernamoff, who opened the Mile End Deli in Brooklyn with Tietolman.

INGREDIENTS

1 packer brisket (12 to 14 pounds)

For the curing rub

4 heads garlic (yes, you’re reading this right—the original recipe called for 12!), broken into cloves and peeled

¾ cup kosher salt

1½ tablespoons Prague Powder #1 (pink curing salt; see box)

½ cup sugar

1 cup whole black peppercorns

6 tablespoons coriander seeds

¼ cup mustard seeds

2 tablespoons whole allspice berries, cracked (a cast-iron skillet works well for this)

3 tablespoons dehydrated onion flakes

3 tablespoons sweet paprika

12 dried bay leaves, crumbled

For the finishing rub

¾ cup black peppercorns

6 tablespoons coriander seeds

¼ cup sweet paprika

For serving

Sliced rye bread (or grilled French bread)

French’s mustard (to be authentic) or deli-style mustard or Dijon

1. Using a sharp knife, trim the brisket, leaving a layer of fat at least ¼ inch thick (see here). Be careful not to over-trim. It’s better to err on the side of too much fat than too little. Place the brisket on a rimmed sheet pan.

2. Make the curing rub: Place the garlic in a food processor and pulse to finely chop. Add the salt, Prague Powder #1, sugar, peppercorns, coriander seeds, mustard seeds, allspice berries, onion flakes, and paprika, and process to mix. Work in the bay leaves, running the processor in short bursts.

3. Spread the curing rub on the brisket on both sides, patting it into the meat with your fingertips. Cover with plastic wrap. (Alternatively, place the rubbed meat in a jumbo, 2.5-gallon resealable plastic bag along with any remaining rub.) Cure the brisket in the refrigerator for 12 days, turning the brisket over each day so it cures evenly.

4. Rinse the brisket to remove the curing rub. Place the brisket in a large stockpot or roasting pan and add cold water to cover by a depth of at least 3 inches. Soak the brisket at room temperature for 4 hours to temper the salt.

5. Meanwhile, make the finishing rub: Grind the peppercorns and coriander seeds in a spice mill. Add the paprika and stir to combine.

6. Drain the soaked brisket and rinse it under cold running water. Arrange it on a wire rack set over a rimmed sheet pan. Pat it dry with paper towels and let it air-dry for 10 minutes.

7. Sprinkle the finishing rub over the brisket, rubbing it into the meat with your fingertips. Be especially generous with the rub on the fat side.

8. Fire up your smoker, cooker, or grill following the manufacturer’s instructions and heat to 250°F. Add the wood as specified by the manufacturer. Place a metal bowl or aluminum foil pan with 1 quart of warm water in the smoker—this creates a humid environment that will help the smoke adhere to the meat and keep your brisket moist.

9. Place the brisket fat side up in the smoker. If using an offset smoker, place the thicker end of the brisket toward the firebox. Cook until the internal temperature reaches 170°F on an instant-read thermometer (in the thickest part of the brisket), about 6 to 8 hours. Note: This is a shorter cooking time and lower temperature than are usual for smoked brisket, but the smoked beef will be steamed for several hours.

10. You can steam the brisket right away, which makes this a long continuous cooking process. If so, proceed to step 11. Otherwise, transfer the brisket to a wire rack set on a rimmed sheet pan and let cool to room temperature, then refrigerate it, uncovered, overnight. At this point, the brisket can be wrapped in pink butcher paper and stored in the refrigerator for several days before steaming.

11. When you are ready to steam the beef, set up a steamer following the instructions on here.

12. Unwrap the brisket, if necessary, and separate the point from the flat (see here); wrap the flat in aluminum foil and refrigerate it. Place the point section fat side up on the steaming rack and steam for 1½ hours.

13. Unwrap the flat and place it atop the steamed point. Continue steaming until both sections of the brisket are very tender, 1 to 1½ hours more.

14. To serve, transfer the smoked meat to a welled cutting board. Use a long sharp knife to separate the point and the flat, then cut each across the grain into thin slices. When building sandwiches or serving, include slices from both the lean flat section and the fatty point section. (According to Joel, the perfect ratio is 60 percent lean to 40 percent fat.) Serve on rye bread or grilled French bread with the mustard of your choice.

Note: Tradition calls for steaming, as it does for pastrami, but you can also make excellent Montreal-style smoked meat by smoking the brisket the whole time and omitting the steaming step. In this case, you’ll need 10 to 14 hours of smoking to reach an internal temperature of 205°F (follow the method used in The Big Kahuna Barbecued Packer Brisket).

MONTREAL SMOKED MEAT

Two Jewish butchers left the Old Country bound for North America. One settled in New York City, where he introduced a Romanian specialty: pastrami. The other moved to Montreal, where the same specialty became smoked meat.

That’s how Joel Tietolman, owner of the Mile End Deli in Brooklyn (and elsewhere), explains the difference between the most famous deli meat in America and the most famous Canadian deli meat that most Americans have never heard of.

Mile End Deli, Brooklyn, NY

Tietolman wants to set us straight. So in 2010, he and his then partner, Noah Bernamoff, opened Mile End (it’s named for a Jewish neighborhood in Montreal). Talk about chutzpah! Here were two guys—best friends growing up in Montreal—who proposed to put a French Canadian cold cut up against New York’s beloved pastrami. Sure, they’d serve corned beef (house-cured and freshly steamed) and poutine (that essential French Canadian dish of French fries topped with gravy and cheese curds—it tastes better than it sounds). But the real reason Tietolman wants you to trek out to Brooklyn—or to the new locations in Manhattan’s West Village and Nashville—is to try the smoked meat.

Classic smoked meat sandwich on rye. Yes, the mustard is French’s.

Believe me, it’s worth it. Picture a moist slab of brisket, darkly crusted with spice on the outside, shocking pink inside, salty and garlicky the way all good pastrami is salty and garlicky, but with a subtly different texture and flavor. It’s sweeter than pastrami and simultaneously leaner and fatter. A kissing cousin, but distinct in its own way.

As it turns out, there are other differences between smoked meat and pastrami.

• Smoked meat is dry-cured with a spice rub; pastrami is wet-cured in a brine.

• Smoked meat is made with a whole packer brisket, while pastrami often starts with only the flat or the point (see New School Pastrami). This gives you both lean and fatty smoked meat; a proper sandwich will contain both.

• Pastrami traditionally comes with a slather of spicy deli mustard, like Gulden’s, whereas in Montreal, the only mustard worthy of smoked beef is an American import: French’s. A few years ago, Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau stopped by Mile End for a smoked meat sandwich. He loved the experience but had one complaint: They served deli mustard—with nary a bottle of French’s on the premises.

Smoked meat arrived in Montreal early in the last century with Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe. Once such immigrant was Reuben Schwartz, whose namesake restaurant—founded in 1928—remains the go-to place for smoked meat in Montreal. (Tietolman calls it the Katz’s Deli of Quebec.)

So the next time you’re in Montreal, here’s where to try smoked meat:

• Schwartz’s Deli

• The Main Deli Steak House

• Reuben’s Deli & Steakhouse

• Snowdon Deli

• Smoke Meat Pete

And now you can make it at home, following the recipe here.

Schwartz’s Deli

Snowdon Deli

The Main Deli