I don’t know when cooking a steak became so complicated. When I was growing up—and this is probably true for you too—we didn’t need to have charcoal or wood chunks or lighter fluid or a hibachi or a Big Green Egg to cook a steak, much less a sous vide machine and a water circulator. You didn’t have to own a backyard or blacken your hands or dispose of dusty ashes. All you needed was a big steel pan, some oil, salt, and a piece of good meat. Some of the best steaks I ever ate were cooked this way—where the beefiest flavor and the deepest crust depended mainly on a good pan, a strong burner, and an honest piece of meat. I like to call this method Back to the Pan, because it encourages people to not get too fussy about steak.
Back to the Pan is at the heart of this book, because that concept—a simple, classic technique with an emphasis on essential ingredients—was driving me when I made my deep dive into steak in 2014 with the creation of Knife, my restaurant in Dallas. Knife was a response to the sad state of the American steakhouse, which often lacks personality, verve, and distinctiveness. More important, it usually lacks good steak, a particularly galling failure when you live in Dallas, a beef capital. I wanted to celebrate and honor meat, not exploit it.
Reinventing the steakhouse was a daunting task, requiring that I first travel across the country visiting steakhouses. I ate a lot of steak, most of it uninspired, but I also got a clear sense of what was missing.
First, I went out in search of great local beef. Then, when I wanted to transform that beef to become even beefier, I found Adam Perry Lang and Mario Batali, who helped me understand the nuances of aging meat. Last, I tried to design a menu that respects that precious meat and expresses its flavors as purely as possible with some of the flair of a chef. But the philosophy of Knife is clear: Let the product speak for itself. So I kept things mostly simple in the cooking, reaching back to my roots in classic French cookery, like Back to the Pan.
I follow the same pattern in this book. I tell my own story so you’ll know where I come from. I then discuss sourcing great beef, with an emphasis on the notion that you don’t need to spend a fortune to have great-tasting meat, so I introduce you to the Old School cuts—a filet is a great steak, but more often you can find even more flavor in lesser-known cuts at just a fraction of the price. In the equipment chapter, I detail just that: the few things you’ll need to deliver the most perfect steaks at home. Beyond steak, Knife is devoted to the celebration of meaty deliciousness in every form. To that end, I back-loaded the book with the recipes and techniques to execute everything we do.
My wish is that you will create the ideal steakhouse meal at home. It’s not complicated. All the tools, techniques, and, nowadays, great meat are available to you. A delicious, perfectly cooked piece of meat is a precious thing—I hope it means as much to you as it does to me.
