Old School Markets: Oxtail Stew

Luck and a bit of free time found me in the Essex Street Market. I’d heard of it for far too long and was tired of answering “you mean you’ve never been?” in the negative.

Food purveyors are my peeps, literally. One of my great grandfathers was a seltzer man; his horse-drawn carriage schlepped fizzy water to thirsty Jews on the Lower East Side. Another great grandfather was a kosher butcher on 3rd Street and Avenue C, also on the Lower East Side.

Enclosed urban markets feel like pushcarts and pinched cheeses to me, a culinary time capsule. At Baltimore’s Cross Street Market there are unapologetic pints of Budweiser served in styrofoam cups, platters of just-shucked oysters and plenty of Old-Bay steamed crabs.

At the Arthur Avenue market in the Bronx, it’s like The Olive Garden – when you’re there, you’re family. There are old guys out front smoking just-rolled cigars and playing dominos. Italian is spoken, and gestured; it's like you’re on a Scorsese set.

Upon entering the Essex Street Market, I passed Anne Saxelby’s cheese shop and lingered a bit. The NY-state only cheese shop had been the impetus for my voyage, but line was long, with hipster mommies doing the baby sway, and I was worried that I might get checked into the wall at any moment. I moved along.

There was a second cheese shop in the back. In addition to cheeses, they had smoked and preserved meats, and pickles...I loved their tiny snack-sized sausages all saran wrapped and ready for me to toss in the bag. Cliff bars, eat your heart out.

This shop was also selling a Sicilian Olive Oil Blood Orange cake, which was “only offered on Fridays”. I asked why, and where it was made, knowing full well that the health department can play deaf-dumb-and-blind sometimes when it comes to immigrant traditions. My answer was a no-eye-contact “Wiliamsburg”. I got the sense that the woman behind the counter made it in her apartment, and schlepped it here on Fridays to make some extra bucks.

They gave me a sliver; it was irresistible. I paid my $4.50 for a 2 x 2-inch square, grabbed a snack sausage and kept moving.

To the right I noticed a barber shop with a mezuzah at the door in the market. You can find a lot of things at Whole Foods, but not a barber.

Just ahead was the butcher. I didn’t need anything; I just wanted to window shop, which as everyone knows is the best way to get your new-favorite thing, be it a dress, shoes, or in my case – a piece of meat.

On the side of the case there was a mound of, er…tails. Each tail was at least a foot and a half long, and undeniably tail-like. On the one hand, ewww. On the other hand, it could be tasty.

I was introduced to oxtail stew five years ago by a Brazilian woman with whom I was working. She talked up oxtails for months, then finally cooked a batch and brought them to the office. After she reheated the pot, she tossing in a bunch of watercress to finish the dish. The way she cooked, and tossed, and shared seemed so European (ok, South American) and sexy to me. When it was done, she walked around all puffed up talking about the power of Brazilian women.

I asked for the recipe. “Oh you know, it’s just a braise. Too simple for a recipe; there’s nothing to it. It’s the tail, and it’s cooked. For a long time. That’s it.

“How do I do it?” I wanted details.

“How do you do it?” she smiled. “You cannot; you are not Brazilian.” She wiggled her ample behind and sauntered off.

Yeah, yeah. I can’t make spring rolls because I’m Jewish, and you can’t make matzoh balls because you’re not. Garbage, all. There was the oxtail and this was my chance. I was taking it home.

Next, I needed the watercress. As I walked toward the vegetables, I passed a 65-year old, loud, big, grey haired man with a hard-to-place accent. He had the swagger of an institution, the type who would call himself “The Mayor of Essex Market”. As I walked by, he said, “You! Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

I looked at him and checked behind me in both directions. “Me?” I asked, hand to my chest.

“Yes, you!” he bellowed. Other shopkeepers and shoppers were looking up from their now, nodding and smiling. Apparently, this was not an unusual outburst. “What are you doing looking so beautiful?! You distract me from my work!” He shook his head and smiled.

At the Essex Street Market, there’s plenty of stuff you won’t find. But the things you can, you won’t find anywhere else.



Essex Street Oxtail Stew
Serves 6 to 8

One oxtail (about 2 pounds), cut into ½-inch pieces
Kosher salt
1 cup flour
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 large onions (purple, yellow – whatever you’ve got)
4 cloves garlic, chopped
5 sprigs of thyme
2 bay leaves
1 bottle of red wine (my new fave is $5.95per bottle at Red, White and Bubbly –Georges Blanc)
fresh horseradish (I had this left over from Passover, so I peeled and grated it – about ½ cup, and added it to the party. Mmmm)
2 to 4 cups low-sodium chicken stock, or as needed
2 parsnips, peeled and cut into ¼-inch coins
2 carrots, peeled and cut into ¼-inch coins
2 turnips, peeled and cut into wedges
1 bunch watercress, washed and trimmed
lime wedges, for serving
mashed potatoes, couscous, rice, for serving

1. Season oxtails well with salt, and dredge in flour, tapping off excess. Heat oil in a large, wide braising pan over medium-high heat. Cook oxtail in batches, until browned, about 5 minutes per side. Remove and reserve.

2. Add onions, garlic, thyme and bay leaves to skillet. Season with salt and cook, stirring until beginning to soften, about 5 minutes. Scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of a pan with a wooden spoon. Return the oxtail to the pan, cover with red wine. Bring to a simmer and cover with parchment paper so that the heat of the steam stays in, but some liquid can escape. Let simmer for 3 hours, adding horseradish after the first 1½ hours. Checking to see if more stock is needed to keep the oxtail 2/3 covered with liquid. If it is, add it.

3. Add the parsnips, carrots, and turnips. Simmer until cooked through, another 30 to 40 minutes. Turn off the heat, and stir in the watercress. Taste, and adjust for salt as needed.

4. Serve over some sort of starch with lime wedges.

Passover is a Pain in the Ass: Roast Lamb, Cauliflower Kugel, Moroccan Carrots

I hosted my first family seder last week. My Dad's a yeshiva boy, and I haven't belonged to a temple since my bat mitzvah, so it was bound to be a little touch-and-go. I chose to focus on the meal, and the ceremonial foods, as that was in my wheelhouse. Here's what I learned:

There's a reason no one in my family has done Passover since my grandmother passed the point of capable. It is a major pain in the tucchus. No really, I'll take Thanksgiving, Christmas, even latke frying any day of the week compared to the labor involved in Passover. Easter Ham? Please, people. I can rock that it in my sleep.

A key difference is that at Passover, you're required to sit around a table reading the story of Jewish servitude. That's cool, I like reading and I like stories. But the table's gotta be something worthy of having your relatives schlep miles to sit around. It's gotta look good. Ironed tablecloth, possibly a runner, flowers, glasses, China. Cloth napkins. Water pitchers. Wine. Now I'm not above the occasional paper plate, but this is Passover, and family elders were driving miles to be here. Go big or go home.

During the meal, there are all these food props. The seder plate, a stack of crumbly matzoh that gets cracked and hidden. Seasonal greens, hardboiled eggs, heck, even a salty dipping sauce. Haroset, maror, then we all dive into a make-your-own sandwich bar right before before dinner. Wine, wine and more wine.

Then, we can start thinking about the festive meal: a four course delight starting with gefilte fish and horseradish, roast chicken soup with matzoh balls, roast leg of lamb, kugel, and more. Oh, and here's a little wrench for added fun: you're not allowed to reach for any cook-comforts like flour, breadcrumbs, challah, rice, beans. Good luck with that.

For the desserts -- unless you're a masochist -- you ask someone to bring. Passover desserts are a craft unto their own; luckily I have a gifted baker cousin who was willing to buy that box of matzoh meal and make the magic happen. Alternatively, you can call your local Jewish bakery, or buy dried fruits and nuts and punt. Whatever you do, you must have those corn-syruppy fruit-slice jelly candies and macaroons. Because they're memories, and no one counts calories on Pesach.

Here's why it's worth doing. There was a moment of organization before the event, where I discussed with my Dad who'd be leading the service. I had a hagaddah, all marked up with stickies. Now, it's Jewish custom that the elder man at the table runs...everything, so I handed him the baton. He demurred, until we hit page 4 and it was time to say the blessing over the wine. The service would be his from then until the birkat hamazon (grace after meals).

And that is why the tsimmes (fuss) is worth it. To see my father, amidst his family, caught up in the moment, reliving his 60-something years of Passovers before, in the here and now. As always, the food is simply the backdrop for the experience. But as you're cleaning the 75th dish of the night, remember -- it's that care that allowed the moment to happen.


Anchovy Roast Leg of Lamb

Cauliflower Leek Kugel


Moroccan Carrots
Serves 4
Adapted from Einav Gefen

1 pound carrots, peeled and cut into “coins”
1 clove garlic, minced
1 scallion, thinly sliced
2 Tablespoons chopped parsley
1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and minced
1/4 cup lemon juice
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
1 Tablespoon finely chopped mint
¼ cup olive oil
pinch ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cumin
pinch red pepper flakes
1-2 teaspoons honey, as desired
salt for boiling water, plus more to taste
freshly ground black pepper

1. Bring a medium pot of water to a boil. Add 1 tablespoon salt and carrots, boil for 2-3 minutes, until the rawness is gone, but the carrot is still firm. Drain.

2. Meanwhile, combine garlic, scallions, parsley, ginger, juices, mint, olive oil, cinnamon, cumin, red pepper flakes, salt and pepper. Pour over carrots and marinate until ready to serve. Taste, and add honey if needed. Serve warm, room temperature or chilled.