
Chef Thomas
Beef and Ale Stew
Braising steak surrendered to dark ale and slow time, with onions and mushrooms, until the gravy turns thick and malty and the kitchen smells like the kind of evening you want to stay in for.
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Created by Chef Thomas
Ox cheeks braised long and slow in a bottle of red wine until the meat yields to a spoon and the collagen turns the sauce to silk, the kind of dish that fills the house with a smell that says stay.
The smell hits you before you remember what's in the oven. It starts around the two-hour mark, a low, savoury warmth that seeps out from the kitchen and settles into the hallway, the sitting room, the coats by the door. Wine and beef and thyme and something deeper, the particular sweetness of collagen beginning to give. By hour three, the whole house smells like a place you'd want to come home to.
Ox cheeks were cheap once. Butchers practically gave them away, the oddest of the odd cuts, nobody quite sure what to do with them. Now they've been discovered, which is a mixed blessing, but they're still worth every penny because no other cut does what this one does. The connective tissue that makes them tough when raw becomes, over four hours of patient heat, the most extraordinary natural sauce: glossy, rich, sticky, coating everything it touches. You don't make this sauce. The meat makes it for you. All you do is provide the wine and the time.
This is a January dish, or a February one. It needs the dark outside the window, the cold that makes you pull your sleeves down over your hands. It needs an afternoon where you have nowhere to be, where the oven ticks quietly and the wine reduces and the kitchen becomes the warmest room in the house. I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: ox cheeks, red wine, slow oven, Sunday. I've cooked it dozens of times since and changed almost nothing. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract, but some conversations don't need revising.
Serve it in warm bowls with something plain underneath to catch the sauce. Mashed potato is traditional and right. A few people at the table, a bottle of the same wine you cooked with, the kind of evening that doesn't need to be anything other than what it is. We're only making dinner.
Quantity
4 (roughly 250g each after trimming)
trimmed of sinew
Quantity
2 tablespoons
seasoned with salt and pepper
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
30g
Quantity
2
halved and thickly sliced
Quantity
2
peeled and cut into rough chunks
Quantity
2 sticks
sliced
Quantity
4 cloves
crushed but left whole
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 bottle (750ml)
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
2
Quantity
a few sprigs
Quantity
1 strip
pared with a vegetable peeler, no pith
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| ox cheekstrimmed of sinew | 4 (roughly 250g each after trimming) |
| plain flourseasoned with salt and pepper | 2 tablespoons |
| beef dripping or olive oil | 2 tablespoons |
| unsalted butter | 30g |
| onionshalved and thickly sliced | 2 |
| carrotspeeled and cut into rough chunks | 2 |
| celerysliced | 2 sticks |
| garliccrushed but left whole | 4 cloves |
| tomato purée | 1 tablespoon |
| red wine | 1 bottle (750ml) |
| beef stock | 500ml |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| thyme | a few sprigs |
| orange peelpared with a vegetable peeler, no pith | 1 strip |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
Pat the ox cheeks dry with kitchen paper. This matters. Wet meat steams instead of browning, and browning is where the flavour starts. Dust them lightly in the seasoned flour, shaking off any excess. Heat the dripping or oil in a heavy casserole over a high heat until it shimmers and just begins to smoke. Brown the cheeks in batches, two at a time, giving each side a good three or four minutes until they've developed a deep, mahogany crust. Don't crowd the pan. Don't move them too soon. When the meat releases itself from the bottom without tearing, it's ready to turn. Set them aside on a plate.
Turn the heat down to medium. Add the butter to the same pan and let it melt into the dark, sticky residue left by the meat. That residue is pure flavour. Add the onions, carrots, and celery with a generous pinch of salt. Stir them through the butter and cook for eight to ten minutes, until the onions have softened and turned translucent, and the kitchen smells sweet and savoury at once. Add the garlic and tomato purée, stir for another minute until the purée darkens slightly and loses its raw, tinny edge.
Pour in the whole bottle of wine. Don't be shy about it. Let it come to a proper boil, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to lift every scrap of caramelised goodness stuck there. Let the wine bubble away for five or six minutes until it has reduced by roughly a third and the raw alcohol smell has gone, replaced by something deeper, fruitier, more like a promise. The sauce should already be starting to smell like the kind of evening you want to have.
Return the ox cheeks to the pan, nestling them down among the vegetables. Pour in the stock. The liquid should come about three-quarters of the way up the cheeks, not fully covering them. Tuck in the bay leaves, thyme sprigs, and the strip of orange peel. Bring it all to a very gentle simmer on the hob, then cover with a lid and transfer to the oven at 150C (130C fan). Leave it alone for three and a half to four hours. Check it once, halfway through, to make sure it's barely ticking over: the odd lazy bubble breaking the surface, nothing more. If it's bubbling vigorously, drop the oven by ten degrees.
The cheeks are done when they yield completely to the pressure of a spoon. Not a knife. A spoon. You should be able to pull the meat apart without any resistance at all, and the sauce around it will have turned glossy and slightly viscous from the collagen that has melted out over those long, patient hours. This is what ox cheeks do that almost no other cut can: they turn their own connective tissue into a sauce that coats the back of a spoon like something you would spend hours making separately.
Lift the cheeks out carefully and set them aside, covered loosely. Fish out the bay leaves, thyme stalks, and orange peel. If the sauce is thin, set the casserole on the hob over a medium heat and let it reduce, uncovered, for ten to fifteen minutes until it coats the back of a spoon. Taste it. Season with salt and pepper. Taste it again. The sauce should be rich, deep, and just slightly sticky. Return the cheeks to the pan and warm them through gently. Serve in warm bowls with something to soak up the sauce: mashed potato, creamy polenta, or just good bread torn from the loaf. There are few better feelings than putting this in front of someone on a dark evening.
1 serving (about 480g)
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