Cooking class: Tommy's French Beef Stew

Most retired folks here in my neck of the woods spend their days golfing and playing tennis.

"So, what do you do all day?" a woman inquired recently at a cocktail party after I told her I did neither. Rather than telling the truth -- that I'm an uncoordinated klutz and a bit of an agoraphobic to boot  -- I replied that I am teaching myself to cook.

I’ve been called many things but nobody has ever called me a good cook. I try – I do – but most things I attempt in the kitchen turn out tasting like shit badly. My wife, an excellent cook, says it’s because I follow recipes too closely which makes about as much sense as saying I’m a bad driver because I stay in the correct lane and obey the speed limits.

I am, however, renowned for four dishes, the inclusion of any of which on its menu would earn a restaurant at least four Michelin stars: 

1.   Pasta Bolognese: For the recipe, click here.

2.   Lemon Chess Pie: I’ll write about this someday. It’s easy.

3.   Hatton Chili: Thousands of gallons of this stuff which bears little resemblance to any chili you may know – it’s basically beef, bean and tomato soup but the best beef, bean and tomato soup imaginable – has been ladled out over the decades to hungry farm families attending get-togethers at the Community Hall in tiny (population 15 tops) Hatton, Missouri, near where I grew up. I fantasized about this chili for 40 years until my sister found at a garage sale a 1980s cookbook compiled by the ladies of the Hatton community. She called excitedly to report it included the recipe for Hatton Chili that, it turns out, was submitted by a friend whose mother-in-law was my eighth grade teacher. (I grew up in a town so small there were only two teachers for the entire junior high. Not that we even had a junior high school; all twelve grades were housed in the same building.) Now, if the Hatton ladies would publish their recipe for the pimiento cheese sandwiches they always serve with their chili I could die happy.

4.  French Beef Stew: It's a dish that’s perfect for cool autumn days which, here in Florida, mean temperatures that rise only to the mid-80s. And that, boys and girls, is what we are going to make today.

I found the base recipe on the Internet. It caught my attention because it contains something spicy that doesn’t come to mind when you think about beef stew. Despite that secret ingredient, the base recipe sounded blah so – maybe my wife is right here – I improvised and improved upon it, adding ingredients to, as the judges on American Idol urge contestants, “make it your own."

Ready for the best beef stew this side of the Atlantique? Pull up a stool, pour yourself a glass of wine (pour me one while you’re at it) and let’s get cooking.

Step 1:

Go to the grocery store and buy all the ingredients listed at the end of this blog. While this may sound condescending it’s no more condescending than an article I read the other day about saving for retirement that informed readers to, “Determine when you plan to retire and decide how much monthly income you will need once you’re not receiving a regular paycheck.” So I’m leaving nothing to chance here.

Step 2:

Note the label that says, “Born, Raised and Harvested 
in the U.S.” I suppose "Harvested" sounds better than, “Herded 
into a truck with a taser, taken to a slaughterhouse where its 
throat was slashed, then butchered and cut into bite-size pieces.”

Pour three or four tablespoons of olive oil into an electric skillet and set the temperature at 300 or so. As the oil is heating, pour a half-cup of flour into a plastic bag and add roughly two pounds of cut-up beef stew meat. Shake the bag (be sure to close it first or you’ll wind up looking like one of those living statues that inhabit the shopping mall at the Venetian in Las Vegas) until all the beef cubes are coated with flour.

Step 3:

Remove meat from bag and add meat to hot oil in skillet. Throw leftover flour away.

Stir and turn the meat every couple of minutes so it browns on all sides. (See photo below in case you're unable to envision what browned meat looks like.)

Once meat is brown (but not cooked through), remove from the skillet and place on a plate, in a bowl, in the clothes dryer, wherever – just make sure it’s not in the skillet before you proceed to …

Step 4:

Plop another splash of olive oil into the skillet, then add one diced red onion.

What’s with these freakishly large onions and potatoes these days?
The smallest ones I could find at my local supermarket weighed
more than a pound. Thanks, Monsanto!

Add a teaspoon or so of diced garlic. Stir and allow the onions and garlic to cook for a couple of minutes until the onions look shiny but don’t let them become brown and crispy.

Step 5:

Pour about a quarter bottle of wine – red or white, whatever you have open – into the skillet.

Using a spoon (as opposed to your fingers because you know better than to touch a hot skillet), scrape from the bottom any meat, onion and/or garlic bits that are sticking to it.

This step is essential because a huge percentage of what will become the stew’s flavor is concentrated in that gunk at the bottom that, if you don’t scrape it off, you’ll have to scrub away anyway, so just do it. Stir vigorously to distribute the gunk evenly throughout the onion mixture.

Step 6:

Place the meat back into the skillet and, stirring every so often, let everything cook until all the wine has burned off.

Step 7:

Add three 14.5 oz. cans of Italian diced tomatoes.

Step 8:

Pour in two cans of beef broth.

Step 9: 

If you can find any that weigh less than a Ford Explorer, add four diced small potatoes. Otherwise use two gigunda Monsanto-enhanced potatoes but don’t blame me if your grandchildren are born with two heads.

Step 10:

Add six diced carrots.

Step 11:

Add 1.5 teaspoons (or so) of dried thyme. (I forgot to photograph this step, which is worrisome because people are completely visually oriented these days and if you can’t see this step you are likely to think it’s not required but trust me, you need the thyme.)

Step 12:

Add a big-ass splash of Worcestershire sauce.

Step 13:

Add some pepper – freshly ground is nice. And salt, lots of salt. Good food requires salt, a maligned spice the USDA’s Center for Nutrition Policy will someday soon announce is good for you.  

Step 14:

Bring to a boil.

Reduce the heat until the mixture is bubbling none-too-violently, cover it, and walk away for the next 1.5 hours. 

Step 15:

Remove cover. (Duh.)  If the mixture appears to be too soupy turn up the heat and allow it to boil (don’t replace the cover) until most of the liquid has evaporated and the stew is nice and thick, like the canned Dinty Moore stew your mother used to serve up on snow days because she, unlike you, was too lazy to make it from scratch.

Step 16 (Optional):

Five minutes before serving, stir in some frozen peas – half a bag or so.

Step 17:

Just before serving, stir in the secret ingredient that makes this stew a standout -- about three tablespoons of Dijon mustard. (If I had any class I’d recommend Grey Poupon but I don’t.)

Eat: 

This recipe serves 10, and leftovers freeze well.

Bon appetit.

Shopping list

Olive oil
2 lbs of beef stew meat harvested in the USA
Flour
1 red onion
Diced garlic
Bottle of wine (red or white)
3 14.5 oz cans Italian diced tomatoes
2 cans beef broth
4 small (or 2 big) potatoes
6 carrots
Dried thyme
Pepper
Salt
Frozen peas
Dijon mustard