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.
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.
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 12:13 PM
2 Comments:
I love your adventures into the unique world of New York food, and you make oxtail soup sound like something I'd like to try. How did it taste to you? Anything like the soup from the Brazilian woman?
UKW
Like the old man in the market, have to admire a sexy woman prowling the Lower East Side for her favorite thing, a piece of meat. Happy to hear you ended up with the six incher over the little links.
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