Slow Cooker French Dip Sandwiches -- A Valentine’s Brisket for Thirty-Six Years of Love Letters

February. Valentine's Day. Marvin's card this year was three pages — the full Marvin, the unabridged edition, three pages of handwritten love in his accountant's precise handwriting, referencing our first date (pastrami, 1980), our honeymoon (Catskills, 1982), and the time in 1999 when I accidentally set the kitchen on fire making bananas Foster and he put it out with a dish towel while calmly finishing his crossword. The card was funny and tender and exactly the right length, and I put it in the drawer with the other thirty-five, and the drawer is becoming an archive of a marriage told in annual installments.

I made our Valentine's dinner: brisket. The tradition. The same brisket I have made for thirty-five Valentine's Days, the brisket that Marvin eats and declares perfect, the brisket that is the love letter I write in meat and salt and time. Six hours, low and slow. The house filled with the smell. Marvin set the table. He lit the candles. He poured the wine — a Long Island Merlot from the vineyard we visited on our twentieth anniversary. The wine is not extraordinary. The memory it carries is.

After dinner, he gave me the card. I read it at the table, with the candles still burning and the brisket still warm, and I laughed at the bananas Foster reference and felt my eyes sting at the last line, which said: "Ruthie — you are the best sentence I have ever read. Love, Marv." An accountant writing about sentences. A woman who teaches sentences, receiving one. The collision of our two worlds — his numbers, my words — in a Valentine's card that I will keep until the paper disintegrates, and even then I will keep the memory of the paper, which is a different kind of keeping, the kind that happens in the body, in the hands that held the card, in the eyes that read the words.

I wrote about love and brisket on the blog. The post was shorter than usual — some things do not need many words. Love does not need many words. Brisket does not need many words. The combination of the two needs only this: he eats. She cooks. The table holds them both. The candles burn. The card is in the drawer. Another year. Another Valentine's Day. Another reason to make the brisket.

Thirty-six years of Valentine's cards. Thirty-six years of brisket. The numbers are the same. The accountant and the cook. The words and the food. The love and the meal. Indistinguishable. Inseparable. Mine.

This is the brisket. The one from the story, the one from thirty-six Valentine’s Days, the one Marvin declares perfect every single year. Six hours, low and slow, the house filling with that smell that says someone is home and someone is loved. If you’re making this for your own someone — light the candles, pour whatever wine carries your best memory, and give it the time it asks for. Brisket cannot be rushed. Neither can love.

Slow-Cooked Valentine’s Day Brisket

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 6 hours | Total Time: 6 hours 30 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 whole beef brisket (5 to 6 pounds), trimmed to 1/4-inch fat cap
• 2 tablespoons kosher salt
• 1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
• 2 teaspoons smoked paprika
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 teaspoon onion powder
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 3 large yellow onions, sliced into thick half-moons
• 6 cloves garlic, smashed
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1 cup dry red wine
• 2 cups low-sodium beef broth
• 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
• 3 sprigs fresh thyme
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar

Instructions

1. Season the brisket. Combine kosher salt, black pepper, smoked paprika, garlic powder, and onion powder. Rub the mixture generously over every surface of the brisket. Let it sit at room temperature for 45 minutes while the oven preheats.
2. Preheat the oven. Set the oven to 300°F. Position a rack in the lower third.
3. Sear the meat. Heat olive oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy roasting pan over medium-high heat. Sear the brisket fat-side down for 4 to 5 minutes until deeply browned, then flip and sear the other side for 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer to a plate.
4. Build the braising liquid. In the same pot, add the sliced onions and cook over medium heat for 8 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until softened and golden. Add the smashed garlic and tomato paste, stirring for 1 minute. Pour in the red wine and scrape up all the browned bits from the bottom. Let the wine reduce by half, about 3 minutes. Stir in the beef broth, red wine vinegar, and brown sugar.
5. Braise low and slow. Return the brisket to the pot fat-side up. Tuck the thyme sprigs and bay leaves around it. The liquid should come about halfway up the meat. Cover tightly with a lid or a double layer of aluminum foil. Place in the oven and cook for 5 to 6 hours, until the brisket is fork-tender and pulls apart easily.
6. Rest and slice. Remove the brisket from the pot and let it rest on a cutting board for 15 to 20 minutes. Discard the thyme sprigs and bay leaves. Skim excess fat from the braising liquid. Slice the brisket against the grain into 1/4-inch slices.
7. Serve. Arrange the sliced brisket on a warm platter and spoon the onions and braising liquid over the top. Serve with the remaining sauce on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 485 | Protein: 52g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 680mg