Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

Brisket = Food of the gods!

Posted by Lissa on March 11, 2010

Good morning all!  Did you know that brisket is super-powered?  No seriously!  You take a slab of meat roughly the size of your torso and, by a mysterious process of alchemy, transform it into meat gold.

Dr. Boyfriend diligently carved and trimmed and seasoned the beef on Friday night and tenderly laid it in the smoker.  By making the painful (but admirable!) choice of choosing food over sleep, he was able to tend it periodically through the night before popping it into the oven to finish at 200 degrees.  When it was finally ready to eat, I took a bite and my eyes rolled back in my head.  Flavorful, tender, savory, juicy meat-gold, y’all. I think I went into a food stupor and was unable to talk until I’d had two helpings.

(We didn’t starve Friday night, mind you; we feasted on pork loin.  And remember, I don’t usually like pork; I have very poor luck having it retain even a drop of moisture.  Apparently the secret is to pan-sear it all over in a cast-iron skillet and then pop the skillet directly into the oven.  I think it might have been finished on the stovetop too?  Supremely moist and tender!)

Elektra Blu was MOST helpful, offering to dispose of any unwanted bits and pieces.  (Well, she also offered to dispose of the whole damn thing, but she had very good food-manners; she begged less than my cat does, and without the little vocalized “Mew!”s.  Which is good, ’cause that would have been weird.)

Shoothouse Barbie was kind enough to let me feed her the first night to cement my identity as a member of the pack.  Sooooo cute — you get the cup of food and walk over to her dish, then instruct her to sit.  The first time she sat for me, she did so with her nose in her bowl; I sternly “Hey!“d her and she sat bolt upright.  Then you pour the food in the dish and she has to wait until you say “Okay!”  Even though she’d barely known me for a couple of hours she obeyed.  Such a good puppy!  Such good doggie manners!  Which is a good thing, because I fear my ideas of pet enrichment may be rubbing off on SB . . .

"Save me, Obe-Dog Kanobe, you're my only hope!"

I fell just a little in love with this puppy.  I mean, she was SUCH a sweetie!  She loves attention and occasionally “pets” you with her paw and gives hugs by snuggling her head between your legs and — well, just LOOK at her!

Shoothouse Barbie and Dr. Boyfriend are fabulous hosts, by the way.  They fed us gourmet food until we lolled around in gluttonous stupor and let me walk the dog and even put a pitcher of water and two clean glasses in our room and were just the most thoughtful and polite folks ever.  And oh, the conversations we had!  Everything from chemistry to engagement rings to puppies and kitties to family to politics to the caliber wars to meth dens to AR-15 triggers to spin classes and gym mixes to the proper composition of a breakfast taco to digital cameras to crock pot recipes to retirement savings to cargo pants to Johnny Depp to dove hunting to lots of other stuff.

So, the friends (furry and otherwise) and food component of this mini-vacation were an A-plus.  Tomorrow — our trip to the range!

4 Responses to “Brisket = Food of the gods!”

  1. You are most welcome anytime, darlings!

  2. …and yes, nothing quite like being woken up three times in the middle of the night by a barbecue-scented man crawling into bed next to me. Uber-like!

  3. Brad K. said

    A friend brought me a poached pork chop once. Poached in chicken stock, I believe, in a sauce pan. Just wonderful.

  4. Brad_in_MA said


    That brisket does indeed look good. I don’t smoke ’em . . . rather I braise ’em for HOURS at 275 degrees in beef stock with TONS of onions, garlic, salt, pepper and a touch of paprika. Hmmmmm. Just like my grandmother (Bubbe Frances) used to make. Serve said brisket with some herbed roasted red potatoes and some sort of roasted veggie (I like mixed asparagus and brussel sprouts), put out a nice glass of BOLD cabernet . . . and now you’re “cookin’ with gas.”

    — Brad

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