Gluten Free

“Old clothes” may not sound that appetizing, but it’s one of those overcooked, funky, juicy, tender dishes you can’t stop eating (at least I can’t). And the only thing even remotely difficult about it is shredding the steaks into the ropy strands that give Ropa Vieja its fanciful name. Still, it’s not you-can-do-it-wrong difficult; it’s just a bit of an upper-body workout. You could cut the recipe in half and cook one steak, but with a dish that takes this long and keeps as well as it does (you can refrigerate it for a few days or even freeze it), I think this is a sensible amount. As a bonus, when you braise this much meat you end up with at least a quart of rich, dark beef stock, redolent of bay and cloves—perfect for cooking Arroz a la Mexicana (page 517)—which, not coincidentally, is a perfect side dish for Ropa Vieja. A couple of preparation notes: green bell peppers are a bit more traditional here, but I prefer to make Ropa Vieja with the sweeter red bell peppers. You choose. Cutting the steaks in half to make two thin steaks (hold the knife parallel to the cutting board) is a bit of a challenge, but if you freeze the steaks for about 30 minutes first, the firmer flesh will make it easier. Take your time, but don’t worry about doing too good a job—you’re going to shred the meat anyway.

Poaching a tenderloin of beef is the surest way to obtain perfectly and uniformly rare meat. Whether you choose a 2-pound piece, which will easily serve four, or a larger one, the procedure and results are consistently the same, making the dish ideal for dinner parties. As long as the meat is of fairly consistent thickness, every slice you cut—with the exception of the very ends—will look like the others. Buying the beef is simple but usually can be made even simpler with an advance call to the butcher; ask for the thick (châteaubriand) end of the tenderloin, 2 to 3 pounds (he will be willing to cut it to any size you like), in one piece, tied. If you allow the meat to reach room temperature before poaching, cooking time will be reduced by a few minutes; but it will be no longer than 20 and probably shorter anyway. It’s key to serve the meat with a variety of garnishes from which you and your guests can choose: minced shallots, good mustard, chopped cornichons, coarse salt, soy sauce, even ketchup. These can be combined—I favor mustard combined with shallots and cornichons. I’d like a potato gratin with this recipe (page 482), but any potato dish (including good old mashed potatoes) would be fine, as would almost any nicely prepared vegetable. Bread, too.

You can find oxtails at many supermarkets, but you can also braise any tough cut of beef this way. In Spain, traditionally, it’s bull’s tails (hence the Spanish name), and, surprisingly, it’s almost always made with white wine. It’s a simple enough recipe and one you can pretty much ignore while it cooks, especially if you put it in the oven. It’ll take a while. If you make this in advance, not only can you refrigerate it and skim the fat if you like, but you can remove the meat from the bone and use it in any stuffed dumpling, pasta, or vegetable. Having said that, it’s great served from the pot, with mashed potatoes. Other cuts of meat you can use here: short ribs, lamb shanks, chunks of boneless lamb or pork shoulder (which will be much faster) or beef chuck or brisket (which will be somewhat faster), bone-in chicken thighs (much quicker).

The New World version of the preceding recipe, this includes Spain’s capers (which, ironically, the Spanish version usually does not) and a bit more seasoning. Once again, you can use other meat in place of oxtails and can make this in advance, then refrigerate and skim the fat. This would be great with Coconut Rice (page 516) or any rice and bean dish, and Platanos Maduros (page 472). Other cuts of meat you can use here: short ribs, lamb shanks, chunks of boneless lamb or pork shoulder (which will be much faster) or beef chuck or brisket (which will be somewhat faster), bone-in chicken thighs (much quicker).

Unlike most braised meat dishes, this one ends up dry. The sauce is reduced slowly with the meat, and the result is something like fresh beef jerky. Be sure to vary the amount of chile according to your taste; I tend to be quite conservative when using chiles, but this dish is traditionally quite hot. Serve with white rice and a moist vegetable dish, like Spinach with Coconut Milk (page 487).

A big rustic one-pot meal. Easily expanded with the addition of more vegetables. Serve with a salad for contrast, and some bread or rice if you like. Other cuts of meat you can use here: short ribs, oxtail, or veal shanks.

Oven-baked ribs, which were once the standard, are now uncommon, because everyone thinks grilled ribs are the thing. But these are delicious, great with rice or polenta, and far easier than grilling. But if you like, you can use this sauce for grilling, too: parboil the ribs in water until nearly tender, then grill them, basting with the sauce, until they are nicely browned. Other cuts of meat you can use here: chunks of pork shoulder, short ribs (which will need much more time), bone-in chicken thighs (which will cook much more quickly).

This dish nicely combines the Mediterranean trio of garlic, red wine, and coriander. I first had it in southern Spain, where the culinary influence of North Africa remains strong. Like most braises, it takes time but, once the initial browning is done, very little work. There are a couple of ways to deal with the coriander: You can leave the seeds whole and wrap them in cheesecloth or just leave them in the sauce and eat them. Or you can crack them first, either with a mortar and pestle or by putting them in a plastic bag and crushing them with a rolling pin or the bottom of a pot. I like crusty bread here, plus a salad or steamed vegetable; the dish is complex and attention-grabbing enough not to bother with much more. Other cuts of meat you can use here: lamb shoulder is a great substitute; chunks of beef chuck or brisket are also good.

In Spain, where the world’s best oranges grow, they are used to season just about everything. One of my favorite encounters with the citrus fruit was an oven-braised dish of pork and oranges that I had in Seville. It could not have been simpler and can be reproduced easily. Use either country-style ribs, ribs cut from the rib (shoulder) end, or even spareribs if you like; avoid center-cut or loin pork chops here because they will become dry and tasteless.

Not exactly a dish, but the ideal filling for tacos and a preparation that plays many other roles, too. Use it to augment bean and rice dishes or to stuff cabbage, grape leaves, empanadas, or almost anything else. Do not use any cut of pork other than shoulder here; all others are more likely to become tough than tender.

Despite its name, this is not a tamale (it’s closer to polenta). It has neither the taste nor the texture of a real tamale, and, strictly speaking, it isn’t even Mexican, unless you remember that Texas is as Mexican as it is American. That being said, tamales are complicated, and this, at the very least, combines the earthy flavors of corn and pork. It’s a true Tex-Mex dish, dating back at least a century. Serve with rice and beans.

A surprising cousin of the Italian Roast Pork with Milk (page 400), similar in its preparation and results, completely different (but equally superb) in the eating. Because the pork is cut up and braised, it cooks more quickly. Use meat from the shoulder end. See page 500 for information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla. Serve this with Sticky Rice (page 508). Other cuts of meat you can use here: boneless chicken thighs.

Perfect for a buffet or a large dinner or for when you want to cook for one night and eat for a few following, this is my take on the various pork stews served throughout Southeast Asia. It should be quite sweet and quite strong. (One of the traditional ingredients is salted bean curd, a cheeselike concoction that is—like nam pla, page 500—a bit of an acquired taste. I’d include it here, but it’s quite difficult to find. Dried shrimp, page 185, equally legitimate, are a good alternative, as are fermented black beans, page 207). Serve this over white rice with a simple stir-fried or steamed vegetable. If you are in a hurry, use boneless pork, cut into 2-inch chunks; the dish will be ready in less than an hour. But I like the big presentation.

Korean meat stews tend to be dark and flavorful; in this one, the last-minute addition of silky bean curd gives the stew an almost creamy dimension. If you can find a jar of go chu jang, the chili paste sold in Korean markets, the dish will gain authenticity. But I have had good results with a couple of tablespoons of good miso, which is far easier to find, and a large pinch (or more) of hot red pepper flakes. Rice completes this meal, but adding a vegetable makes it even nicer.

Like any “curry,” this one contains several spices. But in this one, although it can be made quite hot, the flavor of cinnamon is dominant—and wonderfully offset by the addition of vinegar. If you can find mustard oil at an Indian or Pakistani market, use it here; not only is it the oil of choice for many Indian dishes, but it’s great for simply sautéing vegetables. Serve this with white rice or a simple pilaf. Other cuts of meat you can use here: Beef chuck or brisket (cooking time will be longer); chicken thighs, bone in or out; or lamb shoulder.

I first learned about baeckoffe—“baker’s oven”—from the great chef (also my friend and sometime coauthor) Jean-Georges Vongerichten, who is from Alsace. It’s one of those ancient unattended dishes given, in a pot, to the communal oven and picked up several hours later. Jean-Georges (like his mother) made it with pork, but when I was in Alsace I had it prepared with pork and lamb, which I liked a bit more. “My” version is below. Baeckoffe is great made in advance; that, combined with its flexible cooking time, makes it a very easy dish to prepare. With a salad and some bread, it makes a pretty relaxed meal for a small crowd. Other cuts of meat you can use here: traditionally, baeckoffe is a combination of slow-cooked meats, so with—or instead of—these two, you can use boneless beef (chuck or brisket is best) or veal.

An easy, luxurious, and always surprising dish in which the milk becomes curds and the pork wonderfully tender. As long as you use the right cut, that is: be sure to get a roast from the shoulder end, either a rib (shoulder) roast or a piece of shoulder (Boston butt). The garlic variation is really majestic, but I begin with the milder version for those non-garlic-lovers out there. This is a very rich, very filling dish. You might serve it with nothing more than bread (or rice) and salad. Other cuts of meat you can use here: to my surprise, a friend suggested I try this with bone-in chicken thighs, and it worked beautifully. Much quicker, too.

If you like franks and beans, this is for you. There are, of course, more complicated versions, ending with cassoulet, but this is the starting point. Other cuts of meat you can use here: longer, because they need some simmering time, but very good, are browned chunks of pork or lamb shoulder (or both), cooked in the beans in place of (or in addition to) the sausage.

Some Spaniards, like my friend Jose Andres, a chef based in Washington, D.C., who taught me this recipe, can talk until they’re blue in the face about fabada, the famous pork and bean stew they say is “the grandfather of the French cassoulet.” They will remind you to use only real fabes (dried beans you can find only at gourmet stores or specialty Web sites and that cost up to $20 a pound), tell you that you must have fresh morcilla (blood sausage), and on and on until you’re convinced that there’s no way you could ever make fabada at home. But dedication to the dish’s origins, along with a couple of simple substitutions, allows you to retain its spirit without going nuts.

This is the cassouletlike dish of the mountains between Spain and France, claimed by several cultures. When I was there, I was told that each of twenty different versions was the “only” authentic one; in this way, too, it’s like cassoulet. What they all had in common were the large white beans called Tarbais (after Tarbes, one of the larger towns of the region)—which you probably will not be able to find—and a stultifying heartiness. Great stuff: you must serve it with crusty country bread and a good red wine.