In Praise of the Slow Braise



I think I’m possessed. It started with the slow-braised ribs and grits from Felicia Suzanne’s, and now the words slow braised hypnotize my senses. Once I spot them on a menu, I can’t order anything else.


Here’s an example. Last week, my husband Tony and I stopped at the Sunset Grill in Nashville for an early lunch. The day’s specials were lovely, and I knew I wanted the smoked trout salad with edamame, watermelon radishes, mixed nuts, and wasabi-citrus vinaigrette.

But no. “I’ll have the slow braised barbecue beef,” I said to the waiter.

“You’re having that?” Tony asked, amazed.

“Of course,” I answered, serenely. “It’s slow-braised.”

Here’s the sandwich, served with a cabbage slaw, dill pickles, and fries.

Tony went for the restaurant’s trademark voodoo pasta, a combination of chicken, bay shrimp, and andouille sausage in a spicy tomato sauce. It was good, but it wasn’t, well, you know, slow braised.

Before we got out of town, we stopped at Trader Joe’s, where I found this bounty of Brussels sprouts. I brought two stalks.


So here’s my question: Can you slow braise Brussels sprouts?

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