Braised Short Ribs in Red Wine

This is peasant cooking dressed for the opera. French farmwives invented the braise to turn the toughest cuts into silk, and we've been perfecting their technique ever since. Short ribs carry more flavor than any prime cut because they work for a living. All that connective tissue, all that intramuscular fat, all those dense muscle fibers? They're waiting to be transformed. Three hours in a covered pot accomplishes what no amount of money spent at the butcher counter can buy.

The wine matters here, but not in the way you might think. Don't waste your drinking burgundy on the pot. Buy something honest. A decent Côtes du Rhône or California pinot noir for twelve dollars will do beautifully. The alcohol burns off. The tannins mellow. What remains is fruit and depth and the particular magic that happens when wine meets beef fat over low heat. I've made this dish with twenty-dollar bottles and six-dollar bottles. The difference disappears after the first hour.

Christmas demands this kind of cooking. The braise can be made entirely ahead, refrigerated for three days, and reheated while you greet your guests. The flavors deepen overnight. The fat rises and solidifies, making it absurdly easy to remove. You'll spend Christmas Eve doing the work and Christmas Day accepting compliments. That's the proper order of things.

Serve this over something that absorbs the sauce without apology. Creamy polenta, mashed potatoes, wide egg noodles, crusty bread torn into rough pieces. The sauce is the treasure here. Don't let a drop go to waste.