Often, when I have the cattle and the hogs in the same pasture, they don't really get along very well with each other. They compete for food and mostly it goes like this: the hog is short and super powerful, and just noses right in there, displacing the cow. When the cow gets pushed out and then gets frustrated it takes about a four-yard run at the hogs with her head down, full steam ahead! For those of you who have never been around hogs, you will have no way of knowing that sheer volume of noise is a defense mechanism for hogs of all sizes, even down to very small piglets. So as soon as the hog gets shoved aside, it begins an absolutely astonishing assault of noise. In short, my point is that both types of these beasts, while very much noble-seeming beasts in their own way, can distill down to a truly toddler level of contention in a matter of seconds. In real fact, I feel the hogs have no real animosity towards the cows, but cattle seem to be quite aloof, maybe even just a little snobby.
Anyway, all that to say, I have finally brokered an agreement between these two powerful animals where both are in perfect harmony and are at peaceful rest, the one never struggling against its brother: the humble sandwich.
Yes, in this case, it's a Pastrami sandwich, something I've never before made. (The Pastrami, that is, not a Pastrami sandwich) I'm quite pleased to report that neither the pork or the beef was overwhelmed! I'm also pleased to see that while it is actually quite a lot of work, the lovely, almost iridescent sheen on the cross-grain cut of meat, the texture, the just-right "pull" as you bite it, and yes, the taste turned out quite nicely as well. The combination of the crispy homemade bacon atop some homemade bread with homemade Gouda cheese, and with just a pinch of sauerkraut (well, you know THAT'S going to be homemade!)
So how do you make Pastrami? Well, I'm glad you asked! Basically, Pastrami is the same as corned beef except after you get done corning your brisket (always beef), then you roll it in more spices (mostly pepper) and you smoke it until it gets up to 160 degrees. Technically, you could eat it raw because it is cured with real curing salts which lend it its beautiful, almost crimson color and the sheen of the meat that I referred to earlier. While I haven't tasted it raw, I'm thinking it probably tastes much better cooked.
If you are wondering how to corn your own brisket, it is much the same as ham as it involves brining it (that's just one way) using curing salts for about a week with a specific bunch of herbs and spices in the brine. This is probably way more information than anybody has ever wondered about corned beef (myself excluded), but I wondered about it, so I did my research: Why is corned beef called corned beef? What does corn have to do with it? Particularly when this ancient cured meat was named centuries upon centuries ago, even before the Americas were discovered (you know, the place from where corn originated)? I mean, how can you name something after a thing that is completely undiscovered still? It didn't even make sense to me.
But, as it turns out the ancient meaning of the word "corn" is actually more like a generic form of the word "grain." That still doesn't make that much sense, until you realize that it's the more generic sort of grain that also applies to grains of salt. Then it finally makes sense that in actuality, "corned beef" means "salted beef." But it has to be a specific kind of salt (curing salt) in order for it to work, so really what it means is cured beef.
But, as it turns out the ancient meaning of the word "corn" is actually more like a generic form of the word "grain." That still doesn't make that much sense, until you realize that it's the more generic sort of grain that also applies to grains of salt. Then it finally makes sense that in actuality, "corned beef" means "salted beef." But it has to be a specific kind of salt (curing salt) in order for it to work, so really what it means is cured beef.
So there ya go, more information about hogs, cows, corned beef and Pastrami than you ever wanted to know! You're welcome!
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| The fully brined, then smoked Pastrami (from a beef brisket), cooked to 160 degrees over a period of 5 hours. Most of the time if I am smoking brisket, you would take it 180-185, but fiberous membranes melt at that point, making it easier to pull, or shred. I wanted this for sandwich meat, so I didn't bring it up to shredding temp. |
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| Sliced... |
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| The Sandwich. |
