How To Cook A Brisket

Happy Passover, Jews! And the rest of you! I'm going to tell you how to make the classic Seder main course of meat that has been braised beyond good sense. Because of the sacredness of this holiday I will try be more calm this time, but don't test me.

Get a brisket. This I should have to tell you already? We're here for me to teach you how to make a brisket, you should have a brisket. Buy the cheapest piece of brisket you can get, because you're going to boil the bemoses out of it.You want to be all fancy and grass-fed and environmentally conscious? You're a schmuck! By yourself a cheap brisket and spend the money you save on a good wine. Let's figure 2 pounds because, as your mother keeps worrying, you're going to die alone, so God knows you don't need enough for a big party or anything. And the leftovers are even better.

Preheat your oven to 350. Get a big pot, put it on the stovetop, and pour some olive oil on the bottom. Heat the oil. Brown the brisket on both sides. (I like to put a light coating of flour on the brisket, but with Passover people get touchy about that for some reason, so that's your call.) Put the brisket on a separate plate. Chop up two big white onions. You're going to tear up a bit, so it's a good time to phone your mom and tell her how sorry you are you haven't given her any grandchildren yet; the tears will make you sound more sincere. Put the chopped onions in the pot. You hear a lot of people going on about sautéing, but just give them a quick stir every three or so minutes. You've got better things to do with your time, I should hope.

Chop up a couple of cloves of garlic and add them in. Toss in half a bag of those little carrots that are already peeled for you. You want to put a bay leaf in there? Go ahead, it's no skin off my nose, and I've got plenty of skin there to spare! Add a jar of strained tomatoes, a yarmulke-load of salt (toss in a handful of, yes, rocksalt, or in honor of this holiday, Kosher salt, and then when you think, Oy, that's a lot of salt, toss in another handful. This is half a yarmulke-load, so repeat twice more.) Add 2 cups of red wine (not the GOOD RED WINE that you used the brisket-saving money on, use the crappy red wine you drink when you're by yourself watching "Law & Order" and wishing you were a goy) and 2 cups of beef stock. Drop the brisket back in. There should be enough liquid to cover the meat. If not, decide whether you'd rather sacrifice more wine or beef stock. (You'll want the wine, so this is not much of a choice.) If you're feeling exotic-and why the fuck not, you're cooking brisket for yourself on Passover when you should be at home with your family even though, God knows, you'd be more miserable there-you can add a cup of orange juice. I like to toss in a dried chipotle pepper as well, but I know the traditionalists out there think that's a sin against God. Well, fuck you! It adds a smoky, spicy quality to what is the blandest goddamn meat in creation.

Cover the pot, put the whole thing in the oven, and go read the Torah for three and a half hours! Kidding! Do whatever you want! Of course, if your mother did a good job instilling the proper neuroses in you as a child you'll be too afraid to leave the house with something in the oven, so maybe you could use this time to reflect on the suffering of our people and all they've been through. I would suggest a double bill of Caddyshack 2 starring Jackie Mason and Mel Brooks' Life Stinks. When the clock says three and a half hours later go check. The sauce should be a bizarre orange color you do not normally associate with meat, and it should be swimming in fat. Take the brisket out of the pot, slice it up against the grain, eat it alone, making sure that you're wearing something you don't really care about because that sauce WILL stain. It should taste like leather and tears. L'chaim!