For most of my life, I have refused to cook. I would go on and on about how I was no good at it, I didn’t like it, Alex was so much better, etc, etc, etc. I thought it was some how anti-feminist to want cook, and worse, to want to cook for Alex and as many other people as I could dupe into coming over for dinner. It seemed much more cosmopolitan to “make reservations instead of dinner.” Recently, the focus that comes with cooking a complicated meal from scratch has been not only soothing, but somehow more cosmopolitan than making reservations; we’re in a recession, biotch! So earlier this week, I made a beer-braised short rib pot pie with a potato crust. I picked up the newest Martha Stewart Living, and the pot pie on the cover made my mouth water, and I mean literally.
So, first off, HOLY SHIT this recipe took a lot of time. I made the short rib filling on Saturday afternoon, then baked them in little baby ramekins with potato crusts on Monday after work. The result was totally worth it, and exactly what I would have eaten in the middle of a 3-day snow storm. Bully for me, as it was 90 goddamn degrees on Monday. Fortunately, it was still fucking delicious.
Doesn’t the meat look like powered sugared brownies? Is that disgusting? I think that’s a touch disgusting.
I braised the short ribs in Alagash stout (Crazy Bitch Martha recommended Guinness, but this was in my refrigerator. Lazy FTW). Luckily for my taste buds, Alagash Black is the best damn beer on the face of the planet.
The Crazy Bitch Martha (as I referred to her many times throughout this little project) had me mandolin the shit out of 6 potatoes. I used maaaaybe half. Of one potato.
De-lish. With the leftover potatoes, I made chips. Very under-cooked chips, because that’s how I like them. Soggy.