Even the most dedicated herbivore can get discouraged by the monotony of root vegetables, potatoes, onions, brassicas and such that crowd our midwinter produce sections. Fortunately, there’s a surefire remedy for the winter vegetable blues: braising.
Yes, I know that most of us think of succulent, slow-cooked meats (such as short ribs and lamb shanks) when we hear that cooking term, but this method is indispensable for transforming hearty, long-stored vegetables into flavorful, soul-warming dishes.
I learned that when I wrote my first solo cookbook. It was winter when I started working on it, so I hungrily dove into developing the classic meat-based braises that I so adored — osso buco, pot roast, pork belly, coq au vin — thinking I’d leave the vegetable chapter for later; I didn’t think it would be a very important chapter, anyway.
In short order, I found myself craving variety, and so I began to incorporate braised vegetables into my weekly recipe tests. I instantly fell head-over-heels for the way the technique added variety and complexity, and so much deliciousness, to my wintertime eating. By the time the book went to press, the vegetable chapter had become the biggest (and first) chapter in the book. Today I still love my classic meat braises, but for everyday eating I’m all about the vegetable braise.
For starters, braising refers to the age-old technique of cooking ingredients gently with a little bit of liquid in a covered pot. When applied to vegetables, braising can coax even the humblest plants into memorable dishes, and once you grasp the basic technique, the possibilities are endless.
The timing can be entirely flexible, too. In a hurry? Cut the vegetables smaller. Feeling languorous? Leave the vegetables in big chunks and let them simmer slowly. Of course, you’ll get more flavor exchange when you take your time, but you won’t ruin the dish by speeding things up. I find that most of my weeknight vegetable braises come together in under an hour, some in as little as 20 minutes, while I might let my weekend versions go for closer to two hours.
Most braises combine four elements: a main ingredient, liquid, seasonings and a bit of fat. When combined under the lid of a braising pot, the vegetables release their essences into the seasoned liquid, emerging infused with flavor and bathed in a savory sauce — a true example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. The key is to consider how each element contributes to the whole.
The main ingredient. Although you can braise most any vegetable, this simple technique is best appreciated with the older, full-flavored vegetables of winter. A certain alchemy happens under the lid of a braising pot that softens their rugged textures and mellows assertive characteristics. Great choices for braising this time of year are: carrots, onions, turnips, rutabagas, fennel, leeks, kale, broccoli, cauliflower, Jerusalem artichokes, endive, parsnips, salsify, escarole, mustard greens, collards and daikon radishes.
When prepping vegetables for the braising pot, I tend to go for larger chunks and pieces, keeping in mind that the more slowly they cook, the more flavor they absorb. Whatever size you choose, aim for uniformity so that everything cooks at the same rate. If you’re combining vegetables, chop tough-textured ones a bit smaller than tender ones so everything will be done at the same time.
The liquid. This is what defines braising, and your choice of liquid provides the basic profile for the final dish. Water will create the cleanest, lightest taste, but broth (chicken, vegetable or meat) will add a definite savory quality: that hard-to-define umami. Other favorite choices are wine, cider, beer, fruit juice, canned tomato, coconut milk and cream. Pungent liquids such as vinegar, soy sauce and fish sauce add tremendous flavor but are best used sparingly in combination with other liquids lest they overpower the dish. Building a braise is a balancing act, and you don’t want any single element to dominate.
The amount of liquid is also an important characteristic of a braise. For instance, if you add too much, you’ll be stewing, and the results become soupy and less concentrated. If you add too little, you’re more or less roasting, and you won’t get the yielding textures and profound flavor exchange.
My general rule is to pour in enough liquid to come about one-third of the way up the sides of the vegetable, but it depends on the vegetable. Dense, dry vegetables such as carrots or rutabagas might need a bit more liquid than endive or onions. The best practice it to peek under the lid during braising and add a few more tablespoons of liquid if needed. If it appears that you’ve added too much, wait until the end, when you can remove the lid and boil down any excess.
The seasonings. From the simplicity of salt and pepper to an aromatic mix of herbs and spices, there’s no limit to the possible combinations of seasonings that you can add to a braise. Although some of my favorite recipes lean toward plainness (nothing more than bay leaf, garlic, salt and pepper with red potatoes), other times I like to amp up things by sauteing a selection of aromatic seasonings in a bit of oil (or other fat) before adding the vegetables and the liquid.
Classic choices for this flavor base are members of the onion family (garlic, shallot, leek, scallion), fresh or dried chilies, fresh ginger, ground spices, and fresh and dried herbs.
A bit of fat. This one is optional, but I urge you to consider including some fat because of its amazing ability to add depth and richness to an otherwise plain dish. Even the thinnest thread of a tasty fat (think olive oil, butter, rendered bacon fat, ghee or duck fat) added at the start goes a long way to ensure wonderfully full-flavored braised vegetables.
The most common way to incorporate fat is to begin by sauteing the above-mentioned seasonings in a little oil. A bolder take would be to fry up bacon, sausage, pancetta or the like, and use it — and its rendered fat — to flavor the dish. You can also just drizzle a few drops of oil over the vegetables before covering the pot and setting it to braise. Trust me: Even that little bit of added fat makes a delicious difference.
Onions glazed with pomegranate molasses
1 pound white boiling onions, about 1 inch in diameter (see headnote)
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 teaspoon peeled, minced fresh ginger root
1 clove garlic, minced
1 2- or 3-inch cinnamon stick
1 bay leaf
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, or more as needed
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup water, or as needed
2 teaspoons pomegranate molasses
1 to 2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro or parsley
Fresh pomegranate seeds (arils), for garnish (optional)
4 servings (makes 13/4 cups)
Make ahead: The dish can be refrigerated for up to 5 days.
Note: Look for walnut-size boiling onions at the market. Pearl onions work, too, but they are fussier to peel because they are smaller, and they might cook more quickly. If you happen to find fresh baby/spring onions (not skinny scallions), skip the blanching step. Instead, leave about 1/2 inch of the green stem and peel away only the thinnest outer membrane before braising.
Bring a medium pot of water to a boil over high heat. Drop the onions into the water; blanch for 1 minute, then drain them and rinse quickly with cold water. Drain again. Use a paring knife to trim off the root ends, and peel the onions.
Heat the oil and butter in a medium skillet (just large enough to hold the onions in a single layer) over medium-low heat until the butter melts. Add the ginger, garlic, cinnamon stick and bay leaf; cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is fragrant and the ginger and garlic have softened, about 4 minutes.
Add the onions, stir to coat, and season with the crushed red pepper flakes, salt and and a pinch of the black pepper. Add just enough water to come about one-third of the way up the sides of the onions.
Once the water begins to bubble at the edges, cover the skillet and adjust the heat as needed so the liquid bubbles at the edges. Braise until the onions are tender enough to easily pierce with the tip of a paring knife, 20 to 30 minutes, depending on their size.
Uncover; increase the heat to medium-high and bring the liquid to a full boil. Discard the cinnamon stick and bay leaf. When there is just under 1/4 inch of liquid left in the skillet, add the pomegranate molasses. Cook, shaking the pan to prevent the onions from sticking, until the pan liquid is reduced to a glaze and the onions are well coated.
Taste, and adjust the seasoning as needed. Top with a scattering of the cilantro or parsley (to taste) and, if using, the pomegranate seeds. Serve hot or warm.
Nutrition 5/8 Per serving: 110 calories, 1 g protein, 13 g carbohydrates, 6 g fat, 3 g saturated fat, 10 mg cholesterol, 250 mg sodium, 2 g dietary fiber, 6 g sugar
Butter-braised carrots and fennel with orange zest
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large shallot, minced (a heaping 1/4 cup)
1 teaspoon coriander seed, crushed
2 small bulbs or 1 medium bulb fennel, plus a few fennel fronds for optional garnish
2 strips of orange peel, removed with a vegetable peeler, each about 3/4 by 2 inches
1 pound carrots, trimmed, scrubbed well and cut into 1/2-by-2-inch sticks
1 teaspoon kosher salt, or more as needed
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup dry vermouth or dry white wine
1/2 cup water
The sunny hue of this dish brightens any cold-weather meal. Serve it alongside something meaty, like steak or chops. But it’s also a fresh counterpoint to a bowl of whole grains.
Make ahead: The dish can be refrigerated up to 4 days.
Melt the butter in a large skillet or shallow braising pan over medium heat. Add the shallot and coriander seed; cook for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the shallot is translucent.
Trim the fennel bulb(s); if desired, reserve a handful of the fennel fronds and coarsely chop them. Cut the fennel bulb into 1/2-inch-thick wedges.
Stir the orange peel and fennel into the shallot mixture until evenly coated; cook until the fennel just begins to sizzle, about 4 minutes. (This will give the fibrous fennel a head start on the quicker-cooking carrots.) Add the carrots, and season with the salt and a good pinch of pepper.
Add the vermouth or wine; once it begins to bubble, add the water. Cover, and reduce the heat to medium-low; cook for about 40 minutes, stirring once or twice.
Uncover; increase the heat to medium and let the liquid reduce for about 5 minutes or until it nicely coats the vegetables. Taste, and adjust the seasoning as needed.
Discard the orange peel, if you like. Serve hot or warm, garnished with the fennel fronds, if using.
Makes 4 to 6 servings.
Nutrition 5/8 Per serving (based on 6): 100 calories, 2 g protein, 14 g carbohydrates, 4 g fat, 3 g saturated fat, 10 mg cholesterol, 410 mg sodium, 5 g dietary fiber, 7 g sugar.
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