OBSESSIONS
26 JANUARY 2021
Braised Oxtails with
Carrots and Chiles
ACTIVE 1 HR 20 MIN; TOTAL 3
HR 20 MIN, PLUS 8 HR
REFRIGERATION; SERVES 4
Oxtails—a deeply beefy cut
full of connective tissue—
practically melt when braised,
resulting in savory, tender
meat and a rich and glossy
gravy. Plenty of warming
spices, hot Scotch bonnet
chiles, and fresh thyme per-
fume this stew, while sweet
carrots and creamy beans
round it out.
2 lb. oxtails, cut into
2-inch pieces
2 small yellow onions,
finely chopped
1 cup thinly sliced
scallions (white and
light green parts), plus
sliced dark green tops,
for garnish
1 / 3 cup packed light brown
sugar
2 Tbsp. soy sauce
2 Tbsp. ground allspice
1 Tbsp. black pepper
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire
sauce
21 / 2 tsp. kosher salt, or to
taste
4 medium garlic cloves,
smashed
2 fresh Scotch bonnet
chiles, stemmed and
chopped
11 /^4 cups dried butter beans
2 Tbsp. vegetable oil
4 cups water, divided
2 tsp. fresh thyme leaves
3 medium carrots,
chopped into 1^1 /^2 -inch
pieces
- Combine oxtails, onions,
white and light green scallion
slices, brown sugar, soy
sauce, allspice, black pepper,
Worcestershire sauce, salt,
garlic, and chiles in a large
Eventually, the afternoon passed.
Steaming from its pot that evening, a
spoonful of the oxtail nearly knocked
me off my feet. The meat’s texture
was as gentle as silken tofu.
bowl; toss to coat. Cover with
plastic wrap. Place beans in a
separate large bowl; add cold
water to cover by about 3
inches. Cover with plastic
wrap. Place both bowls in
refrigerator for at least 8
hours or up to 12 hours.
- Drain beans; set aside until
ready to use. Heat oil in a
large Dutch oven over
medium-high until shimmer-
ing. Using a slotted spoon or
tongs, add oxtails, reserving
marinade in bowl. Cook
oxtails, turning occasionally,
until evenly browned on all
sides, about 15 minutes.
Remove from heat.
- Remove oxtails from Dutch
oven, and set aside. Discard
drippings, and return oxtails
to Dutch oven. Add beans,
reserved oxtail marinade, 3
cups water, and thyme.
- Cover Dutch oven; cook
over low, stirring mixture and
turning oxtails every 30 min-
utes and adjusting heat as
needed to maintain a very low
simmer, until meat is tender
when pierced with a paring
knife but not yet falling apart,
about 2 hours.
- Add carrots to oxtail mix-
ture; uncover and cook over
low, undisturbed, adjusting
heat as needed to maintain a
very low simmer, until carrots
are tender, meat easily pulls
away from bone with a fork,
and sauce starts to thicken,
about 45 minutes, skimming
fat from surface as needed.
Gradually stir in up to remain-
ing 1 cup water as needed
until sauce reaches a gravy
consistency.
- If desired, remove oxtails
from pot; shred meat and
discard bones. Stir shredded
meat back into pot. Divide
mixture evenly among bowls;
garnish with reserved dark
green scallion slices. —B RYAN
WASH IN GTON
MAKE AHEAD Oxtails can be
made up to 3 days ahead.
BEER Crisp Jamaican beer:
Red Stripe Lager
acknowledged a full day’s work. Home was wherever I could
find oxtail, and oxtail, simmered lightly for hours on end, felt
like home.
But it was exactly this component of the meal—the work of
it—that so shocked me when it came time to cook the thing on
my own. It shouldn’t have been so surprising, but there you
had it. After telling my boyfriend about so many evenings fan-
tasizing over oxtail’s allure—alongside platters of peas and fried
plantain and escovitch fish, sitting alongside sliced avocados
and shrimp broiled under callaloo—he finally asked why I didn’t
just make it myself. I didn’t have a good reason. The whole
process would take too long. I’d never land the texture. My
mother wouldn’t tell me the recipe. Or, even worse, she’d tell
me, and then I’d screw it up. I also didn’t have the stew’s most
precious ingredient: time. Making oxtail would always remain
a pipe dream, and I certainly didn’t have spare days to chase
that particular dragon. So I told my guy as much, and he left it
alone. We’d subsist solely on stories surrounding the dish for
the time being.
But of course we can’t simply let the promise of deliciousness
dissolve into memory. Because that’s another thing about oxtail:
Its allure is so pervasive that you can hardly kick the craving
before it rears itself up again. Oxtail is a dish that merits a very
long day: You either have the time to make it well, or you don’t
have the time to make it at all. One morning, a sudden and deep
urge to recreate my memories overcame me. So I chose to me-
ander through my local H Mart, scouring sealed packs of meat,
before bringing them home to marinate overnight. I wasn’t
exactly expecting a cakewalk, but I was entirely too anxious
about what I wasn’t doing. What I found, however, as the oxtail’s
aroma began to fill the room, was that the time passed either
way. It was simply no longer an issue. There’s never enough
time for the things that we love in this life. We make it, or we
don’t. We do the best with what we can.
Eventually, the afternoon passed. Steaming from its pot that
evening, a spoonful of the oxtail nearly knocked me off my
feet. The meat’s texture was as gentle as silken tofu. It was a
little like I’d remembered, but very obviously different—my
ingredients were the same, and my prep was close enough, but
the hands bringing it all together were different, were mine. I
sent a photo to my mom. Told my boyfriend to expect a full
meal. And then I ravenously, cravenly, snuck a few more bites
for myself. The magic of oxtail is that it lends itself well to tricks
and alterations, passed down from one pair of hands to the next.
Those changes—your changes—budge the flavor profile just
slightly, until what you’re left with, if you’re lucky, is a dish
that’s very much your own.
But, really, it’s for the folks at the table beside you: friends
and lovers and friends turned lovers turned family. You take
one bite and then the next. Reach for another scoop. Anticipate
the payoff. And then, all of a sudden, you’re home.
