Drew and I spend the Christmas and New Year holidays at our home in New Orleans. It is our present to ourselves and we relish the extended time in the Quarter. The city gears up for not only the holidays but Bowl games, possible Saints playoffs and the inevitable beginning of Carnival season on January 6th. The already celebratory population is even more festive. Spending two weeks in New Orleans means I cook-a lot. Sure, we visit our favorite restaurants: Sylvain, Cochon, Mandina’s, Meaux Bar and Coquette among others, but you can’t eat out twice a day for two weeks. Neither the budget nor waistline will stretch that far. Fortunately, great ingredients are available in New Orleans. We stop at St James Cheese for fabulous cheeses (and unbeatable sandwiches for lunch), visit Cochon Butcher for aged meats and house made charcuterie, take the bus up to Whole Foods for staples and call on The Wine Seller, Bacchanal and Martin Wine Cellar for beverage deliveries. The stands at the French Market offer local produce, especially Louisiana satsumas. The kumquat tree in our courtyard is heavy with fruit for muffins, cocktails and relish for pork and chicken. Since I cook every day in Chicago it is no effort for me to cook for our friends and neighbors in New Orleans.
Which brings me to the pastrami. Here for our usual vacation this year I made the mistake of mentioning that I had perfected pastrami in Chicago and had planned to bring some down for our friends but had changed my mind at the last minute due to luggage space-or lack thereof. Our friends pouted. They complained. They told me I wouldn’t wear that pair of boots anyway and the space would have been better served holding pastrami. In the spirit of neighborliness and holiday generosity I quickly counted the days I had left in New Orleans and volunteered to re-create the pastrami using the kettle grill in the courtyard. This was met with loud applause and more champagne. Only later Drew asked me, “How are you going to do that?” It was easy enough to order the brisket from our neighborhood grocery store. The owner isn’t really friendly to me yet (after 8 years I am still an outsider) but he said he would accommodate my request. I told him exactly what I wanted (brisket flat, with all the fat left on). It would be ready in 3 days.
When I picked it up the brisket was fully trimmed and cut into pieces because, as he said, “people won’t buy it any other way”). I thought of mentioning that I had ordered it whole and untrimmed but since I had to get it into the brine I just said thank you and hurried the 2 short blocks home. It was there that Drew’s question began to make sense. How was I going to brine 7 pounds of brisket when I only had a 5 quart bowl and a 3 quart saucepan? Where would I find the essential sodium nitrite that would keep the pastrami rosy? (I begged a couple tablespoons from Cochon and tipped the bartender heavily.)
I rummaged through my neighbor’s cabinets for the requisite spices and mixed up the brine at home using all the pots and bowls in my kitchen in the process. Amazingly, the brisket fit (in two pieces) into the 5 quart bowl and after adding the brine and weighting the beef with a plate to keep it submerged, I covered the whole thing with foil and shoved it into the fridge where Drew had thoughtfully rearranged the bottles of wine so it would fit.
After a three day soak in the brine the brisket was ready for resting. Just as a roast needs to rest after cooking to redistribute the juices and turn the meat uniformly medium rare, a brined piece of meat needs a 12 hour rest to allow the brine to equalize and the meat to become uniformly salted.
New Year’s Eve I got up early and set up the Weber in the courtyard. Drew made Bloody Marys and we read the newspaper as the coals burned down. A couple quarts of soaked hickory chips started a good, thick smoke and the meat went on the cool side of the grill, opposite the fire and chips. After about 15 minutes of smoke our next door neighbor called our upstairs neighbor to tell them the courtyard was on fire. This brought the rest of the neighbors out and the party was on. Drew made muffins, eggnog appeared and, after an hour or so it was time for lunch. Leftover barbecue from The Joint became smoked chicken poor-boys and champagne corks popped to toast the end of the year. More coals, more wet chips, some basting with Abita, more champagne and the day went by. People came and went and the brisket smoked slowly at about 250°F for the next 8 hours. A little after dark I took the brisket off, wrapped it in foil and closed up the grill. Debbie called down from upstairs to say that dinner would be ready in an hour and to bring up some red wine. I had just enough time to shower the smoke away and change for dinner. Granted, this was a holiday celebration and we were on vacation. Some of our neighbors are retired but a few work full time and work long hours. Not everyone in New Orleans spends all day feasting. But even a dinner of 2 people can become a feast if there is joy in the eating and drinking. Good food and good friends make every day a holiday and every meal a feast.
Oh yes, the pastrami? Well, the outside was so crusty I couldn’t slice it thinly enough so I called on Debbie to take it to the grocer to slice on his slicer. (Being an outsider, I couldn’t ask for the favor.) I divided the rosy, slightly chewy meat among the neighbors and made a mental note to skip the extra boots (that I didn’t wear) and take food along with me when we return for Mardi Gras.
