Mum would be impressed with my beef brisket

Brisket, for me, is an aromatic memory. The scent of it wafted through my childhood home for hours as the meat braised slowly, with the familiar bouquet of bay leaf and onion, the beefy perfume of the simmering broth.

Granted, this was quite a few years ago, in the fairytale land of brisket and noodle kugel, where all was right with the world.

My mother was a brisket expert, with a method from which she never veered. First, she would shower the meat with a popular commercial brand of “seasoned salt”, then slice up an onion or two. The brisket was plunked into a large copper-bottomed skillet (she had the whole set, down to the smallest saucepan). A bay leaf and a couple of cups of water were the only other ingredients — though it’s possible there was a beef bouillon cube tossed in too.

The lid went on and the meat was placed in the oven at a low temperature. Three or four hours later, out came a perfect brisket, deeply flavoured, moist and succulent. It was a foolproof recipe with no bells or whistles. The only variable was the meat itself. If it was well marbled with fat, the result was juicy; if it was too lean, it could be dry. Fatter was always preferable. I had tasted other families’ versions of brisket, some made with ketchup or chilli sauce, some in a sweet-and-sour sauce, some teriyaki-esque. None could compare; my mother’s was far superior. I loved the intense flavour of the broth and nibbling on the salty long-cooked onions. It was so tender, you could cut it with a fork.

It was welcome for a weeknight dinner or a cold sandwich the next day, but it was also special enough to serve on Friday night. For the Jewish New Year, it was absolutely standard fare.

Like beef short ribs, a prime brisket is no longer the cheap cut it once was. But the investment is well worth it. Among its other virtues, it tastes best prepared a day or two in advance and reheated.

Cooking a brisket last week, I aimed for the benchmark example I was raised on. There were minor differences. One was making my own seasoned salt with salt, pepper, paprika and cayenne. Adding a few cloves and allspice berries seemed appropriate. I also wanted tons of caramelised stewed onions, which I cooked separately on top of the stove.

While my brisket could not, of course, compete with the glorified-in-memory perfection of my mother’s, the heady aroma swirling around my apartment came pretty close.