My Beef with Martha

For the past several years we have been making an annual party for my husband’s department featuring homebrewed beers and a luxurious spread of coordinated pub grub.  Last year, for example, my husband brewed German-style beers that we paired with traditional Oktoberfest fare.   This year I was looking for a new theme for our ‘Brew-Ha-Ha,’ determined to make what I call “square meals”—elegant casseroles that could be prepared well in advance and heated just before serving.   I turned to Martha Stewart Living for some inspiration.  There, in the October issue, was the answer:  potpies.   Specifically, the “Braised Short Rib, Stout, and Potato Pot Pie” caught my eye and my palate.  It sounded perfect.

Like any high-achieving Martha wannabe, I set out to test the recipes in advance. (This is my husband’s favorite part.)   In addition to the short ribs, I found another promising recipe in the “cozy foods” feature for a Thai-inspired green curry chicken pot pie—the “pie” in this case was achieved by baking thinly shredded phyllo dough on top.  I decided that these two MSL recipes, together with a fabulous lobster mac-and-cheese, were a promising spread.

Having already tested the lobster dish a few days earlier with results so good they made me weep, I set out to prepare a sampling of Martha’s beef and chicken recipes.  I did this on a day when my husband’s work schedule was particularly punishing, using the promise of this culinary adventure to carry him through his day.  I emailed him photos of the colorful ingredients, laid out in perfect mis en place, to whet his palate.   I sent provocative texts describing layers of flavors, urging him to imagine the aroma that would caress his nose as soon as he entered the house.  This culinary foreplay continued throughout the day until he begged me to stop; he feared for his patients’ safety.

When he got home, I pulled the two sizzling casseroles from the oven.  We glanced at them silently with knowing anticipation, then spooned a bit of each onto our plates.   In perfect unison we tried a few bites, first from one and then from the other.   Nothing.   Closing our eyes, we tried again, straining our tongues to experience the promised flavors.  Still nothing.  My husband looked at me apologetically, afraid to suggest that something prepared in my kitchen might have failed to satisfy his rather liberal culinary tastes.    I took no offense; these were not my recipes after all.  I let him off the hook.  “This sucks!” I offered.  “Thank you for saying it,” he replied.

We spent the rest of the evening  preoccupied with trying to understand what went wrong.  These were recipes made from bold ingredients, yet they produced virtually no flavor.  In fairness, the green curry dish assumed a spectacular verdant color that, since you taste first with your eyes, delivered visually if not gustatorily.  The short ribs braised in stout—and I used Guinness—was covered cleverly with thinly sliced potatoes; after cooking, these created an unfortunately beige dish.  And while the meat was tender and pulled apart nicely with a fork, it imparted virtually no flavor despite the use of rosemary, garlic, and did I mention the Guinness?  To make matters worse, the dish required peeling a full pound of cipollini onions, which is truly a thankless task. 

This is a good example of why you never serve your guests an untested recipe.  The concepts behind these recipes were good, but in execution they were sorely lacking.  To me this wasn’t defeat; it was a challenge.

The next day I prepared the same two dishes, only this time I employed my imaginary tongue to help me fortify the taste quotient.  The beef dish needed flavor.  I added chipotle powder to the seasoning rub for smoke and heat.  To the braising liquid I added a squeeze of tomato paste concentrate and a can of crushed San Marzano tomatoes for body and sweetness; a box of beef broth with a few shakes of Worcestershire sauce brought some concentrated meatiness.  I also sprinkled paprika and chopped rosemary on the sliced potato crust to give the finished casserole some visual appeal.  The chicken dish required a transformation not just from additional ingredients, but also in cooking technique.  Chicken has virtually no flavor on its own, so it needs to be cooked in a way that seals flavor within the pieces.  In the end, I decided it was better served over jasmine rice, which added more to the flavor profile of the dish than the crunchy dough on top.

With these upgrades, test run 2.0 was a success.  My husband said he would be proud to serve these dishes to our guests.   I wrote to Martha Stewart Living, concerned that these recipes would be disappointing readers everywhere.   Surely they would welcome my suggestions for brightening these dishes.

It is now three months since I reached out to Martha and her staff.  To date I’ve received only an auto-generated response acknowledging my email.   On the other hand, we had a very successful Brew-Ha-Ha with dozens of guests and not a single morsel of "my" Short Ribs or Green-Curry Chicken left over.  Literally, the platters were scraped clean.

Martha, you do a lot of things very well.  You even made going to prison seem productive and appealing.  But when it comes to these recipes, I win hands down.