The Mediterranean, as seen by the Midwest

Let’s get this out of the way: although this dish is called Italian beef, it isn’t Italian, in that it does not hark from the nation-state known as Italy. It does come from the Italian-American immigrant community, and is typically associated with Chicago. But it’s not Italian in the Tuscany/Parma/Liguria/Emilia-Romagna sense of the word. It is, as my grandfather would have put it, “Eyetalian.”

I got here by a rather meandering route, but there were some interesting stops along the way. First, I need to sing the praises of one J. Kenji Lopez-Alt, of Serious Eats. I’ve referred to him in passing a few times before, but he is a very talented chef/researcher who writes the Serious Eats Food Lab column, among other things; he is currently working on a cookbook which is highly anticipated here at Schloss Moss.

Recently, he posted a recipe for braised oxtail sandwiches. They looked amazing, so I decided to give them a go. Because my local grocer didn’t have oxtails, and I didn’t have time to check other stores, I made the recipe with beef shanks instead, but it was pretty damned good. While the peppers and melted cheese were nice, they seemed a bit like gilding the lily to me—the beef was good enough to stand on its own. I thought his braising technique was spot-on and definitely something that I needed to have in my repertoire—the broth was so good I wanted to take a straw to it.

But that wasn’t the end of the matter, by a long shot. Because as good as Lopez-Alt’s oxtail sandwiches were, I remained unsatisfied—they had awakened a craving for my mother’s Italian beef sandwiches, which I hadn’t tasted in years. Decades, even. And no, there are no Italians in my family that I am aware of, nor are we from Chicago (although we are Midwesterners). But Italian beef sandwiches are an amazing thing—you cook a relatively cheap cut of beef for a long time until it basically falls apart, as per Lopez-Alt. But you have flavored it strongly with garlic, so that the beef and broth are redolent of everyone’s favorite allium (The garlic is presumably what makes it Italian). You can augment it, as is typical in Chicago, with peppers, onions, and cheese, but the beef and the broth should be amazing all by themselves.

So of course, like anyone who has a craving for Mom’s home cooking, I called Mom and asked for her recipe. The next day, she emailed me the following:

My Italian Beef

Season Roast with:  Salt,  Pepper,  Garlic,  Oregano,  and  Italian Seasoning.

After the roast browns in the oven, add beef broth and cover the roast.  Bake 3 hours or so.  If needed, I may add more beef broth and seasonings to the broth.

That’s it. That’s all she wrote—literally. I called her again to try to get more details, i.e., what cut of beef, how much beef broth, what oven temperature, etc. And although she was trying to be as helpful as she could, she didn’t remember a lot of the specific details, as she hadn’t made it in years. We figured she cooked it around 350 F or so, for instance, and were pretty sure that she used a chuck roast and seasoned it with garlic powder—fresh garlic was not something that most Midwesterners were cooking with in my youth.

You can probably see where this is going, right? An attempt to merge the flavors I associate with my mother’s cooking with the Lopez-Alt braising techniques. It seemed a relatively straightforward proposition; adding some garlic and oregano to the process would hopefully give me the taste I remembered, and the pepper and cheese accompaniments would still work.

I decided to abandon the oxtails. They were not easy to find locally, and when I finally did run them to earth, they were priced at over $5/lb. That seems rather a lot for a cut that has long been known as a cheap one, especially given the other cuts that are available for the same price (or less). And while my earlier experiment with beef shank went well, I decided to opt for chuck, which is my preferred braising cut and what Mom remembered using. It's also easy to find.

This is a chuck roast that weighs about 2 ¾ pounds (1.24 kg). I have dusted it liberally with salt, pepper, dried oregano, and garlic powder before browning it in some canola oil over medium-high heat. I am well aware that it is the current fashion to use fresh herbs at all times, and it seems a folly to use garlic powder when real garlic is cheap and readily available. I get that. But fresh garlic and fresh oregano would burn during this browning process. And garlic powder (not garlic salt) works quite nicely for spice rubs, which is more or less what this is.

Preheat your oven to 250F/125C.

From here on out, I am basically stealing Mr. Lopez-Alt’s braising technique, which is French-derived. We're trotting all over Europe today, it seems. Anyway, after browning the meat on both sides, I set it aside and began sautéing some chopped onion (1 large), chopped carrot (1 large) and chopped celery (2 stalks). I cooked them over medium heat until they had softened and browned, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to mix in any coagulated juices left in the pan by the beef. 



After 10 minutes or so, I added 4 cloves of minced garlic, and stirred them around for a minute. I then added a tablespoon of tomato paste and stirred it around for a minute.

Not that you asked, but this brief sautéing is a good thing to do whenever you’re adding tomato paste to any kind of sauce. It will add much more flavor than if you just stir it in raw.

Anyway, now you want to add 1 ½ cups of red wine—roughly half a bottle. Boil that down until it is reduced by half. Lopez-Alt says this takes 5 minutes; it took me longer, but I suspect he has a more efficient stove than I do. 



Then add 3 cups of chicken broth and a couple of bay leaves, and bring that to a boil. Return the beef to the pot, put the lid on slightly askew, and move the whole contraption to the 250F oven.

Now the beef needs to cook for 3 ½ to 4 hours. This is not fast food, people. When the beef is super-tender—a fork should penetrate it with ease—remove it from the pan and let it cool until you can handle it without burning your fingers.

Strain the cooking liquid and throw away the veggies and bay leaves—they have nobly given their all in the service of flavor, and there’s nothing more they can do for you now. Although Lopez-Alt doesn’t say to do so, I degreased the cooking liquid at this point, using a degreasing pitcher. You could also skim the fat off with a spoon, or you could chill it until the fat is solidified and remove it that way. Or you could leave it in. I don’t judge.

Now put the liquid, degreased or not, back into the pan and crank up the heat. We want to boil this down until it’s reduced to a cup or so. It will thicken and intensify in flavor.

Meanwhile, shred the beef. You can use two forks if you want, but I recommend using “your impeccably clean hands,” to quote JC. It’s easier that way.

Taste the reduced broth for seasoning. If you want to replicate the taste of my youth, your broth should be quite garlicky. I added more minced garlic to mine, but it didn’t really taste quite right. That’s when I remembered that I was trying to replicate a Midwestern dish from the 1970’s. So I added more garlic powder. That did the trick. You, of course, may do as you like.

Add the shredded beef to the broth. Hope you're hungry. 



Now it’s sandwich time. Toast some rolls, bread, or buns.

Put a generous amount of your beef on the bread, and go to town. That’s basically it for my version.

However, the Lopez-Alt version has you top the beef with some chopped pickled cherry peppers…

And then some cheese, which you melt under a broiler. He uses Gruyère. I used Provelone.

You pays your money and you takes your choice. Bon appetìt, y’all.

Lopez-Alt’s Braised Oxtail recipe can be found here. The ingredients I used for my version are found below.

1 beef chuck roast (between 2 and 3 pounds)

kosher salt

garlic powder

dried oregano

black pepper

canola oil

1 large onion, chopped

1 large carrot, chopped

2 stalks celery, chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon tomato paste

1 ½ cups red wine

3 cups chicken broth

2 bay leaves

Sandwich rolls or buns

Gruyère or Provelone cheese, optional

Pickled cherry peppers, optional