OBSESSIONS
24 JANUARY 2021
Love Me Tender The magic of oxtail,
passed from one generation to the next
By Bryan Washington
THE ODE
THE FIRST BITE OF OXTAIL IS A GIFT: The tug of meat from its
bone is swift and gentle, hardly requiring much effort at all.
Depending on whose hands have seasoned the meal, you might
experience a burst of heat immediately afterward. Or maybe,
if you’re lucky, a hint of sweetness, released from the gravy,
by way of the onion and sugar, before the marinade’s minced
peppers—sprinkled from one end of your bowl to the other—fold
themselves into the equation. Eventually, every component of
the oxtail brings itself to the forefront of your consciousness,
definitively upending the dish’s flavor profile, defining the meal
as both a challenge and a delicacy. Oxtail is just as much of an
investment as it is delicious.
I grew up with oxtail in Houston, ate it across paper plates
from biological Jamaican uncles and not-quite-biological
Jamaican aunties. In the city’s numbing humidity, on the lawns
of churches and the porches of backyards, the oxtail’s spice felt
like a cosmic joke—yet another assault on the senses. And then,
on occasional trips to Florida, family I hadn’t seen in ages
cracked bottles of Red Stripe over piles of dominoes, taking care
not to disrupt bowls of steaming rice resting underneath a layer
of gently simmered meat. Someone was always laughing too
loudly or yelling for someone else, and this dish embodied the
vibrancy of those gatherings: It tasted explosive, but methodical.
Predictable, even. Oxtail never felt like it would—or could—let
you down.
That’s a lot to ask of any dish. Oxtail became so familiar to
me as a totem of comfort that, for the longest while, the labor
implicit in its preparation never really registered in its totality.
I knew that it took entirely too long to make. I saw the hands
that went into grinding and chopping for the marinade. I knew
about the requisite waiting. But I also knew that it was a dish
that made me feel comfortable, and it made the world around
me a little bit better, regardless of where I was at the time. The
meat’s heat was a full-body experience. Its glossy texture FOOD S
TYLING: MAR
GARET
MONR
OE DICKE
Y; PR
OP
STYLING:
AUDRE
Y D
AVIS
photography by VICTOR PROTASIO
