Forget Short Ribs, Try Red Wine-Braised Chuck Instead (Patreon)

An affordable cut, good technique, and a few secret ingredients pave path to a velvety, restaurant-grade braise.I already have a pot roast recipe in my first book, The Food Lab. That one is unapologetically American—beefy, oniony, gravy-forward, designed to collapse into fork-tender shreds and coat mashed potatoes in thick brown sauce.

This recipe starts from many of the same structural principles, but it takes a slight left turn—or, rather, a pretty big leap over a pretty big pond. We head to Europe and allow a bottle of red wine to slip its way into the pot, bringing with it aroma, acidity, and that hard-to-pin-down je ne sais quoi. That quiet amour fou between chuck and Cabernet. That coup de foudre you feel when the wine hits the pan. That whispered appel du vide when you peer into the pot and think, what if I just lived here now?

Mondieu!

It’s still comfort food. It’s still a braise. But the wine changes the architecture of the flavor.

At its core, braising is simple: cook a tough cut of meat slowly in a moist environment until collagen converts to gelatin. But inside that simplicity is a lot of physics and chemistry, and small choices—cut selection, heat management, lid position—that can have an outsized impact on the result.

The Case for Chuck

The first choice is the meat.

A good braising cut needs three things: strong beef flavor, plenty of connective tissue, and enough fat to remain juicy through long cooking. Beef chuck hits all three. It comes from the shoulder of the steer, a set of muscles that get worked constantly. More work means more collagen. Given time, heat, and moisture, that collagen converts into gelatin, which is what gives braised meat its tenderness and the sauce its body.

Short ribs come from essentially the same muscle system—just farther down the animal where the chuck transitions into the rib primal. That’s why they cook similarly and why both cuts shine in braises. But short ribs are expensive, inconsistent in size, and often fatty in a way that can overwhelm the sauce. Chuck is cheaper, more uniform, easier to portion, and, properly handled, every bit as luxurious.

There’s also a structural advantage to working with chuck in large pieces. I prefer browning a whole chuck roast or cutting it into thick steaks rather than small cubes. Small stew-sized chunks have a very high surface-area-to-volume ratio. That means more edges, more surfaces, more opportunities to steam instead of brown, and more difficulty getting even contact with the pan. Large slabs brown more efficiently. You get deeper crust development with less fuss and less crowding.

In fact, despite the common advice to brown meats in an open pot in order to prevent steam from collecting in the pot and slow down browning, I've found that browning under a cover works nearly as well as without a cover, so long as the vessel is large enough.

Testing this started as a purely practical decision. I live in a busy household full of kids and pets. Oil splatter is not my friend. Any mess I can avoid making is to my advantage. One partccularly harried afternoon, in an effort to keep my cleaning tasks as minimal as possible, I browned a beef chuck with the lid sealed. It browned just fine. The only reason I brown with the lid off these days is force of habit (but I'll try and train myself out of it).

Building the Base

Once the beef is browned, the pot becomes a flavor concentrating vessel. Aromatic vegetables—onions, carrots, celery—go in first. Their moisture helps dissolve the fond left behind by the meat, reincorporating all those browned proteins into the base.

From there, flavor gets layered in: garlic, tomato paste, and three umami bombs: anchovies, soy sauce, and Marmite. Are they necessary? Definitely not. But they deepen savoriness without announcing themselves. You could get away with using none of them, just one of them, or all of them (plus a splash of Worcestershire, fish sauce, and sprinkle of pure MSG for good measure, if you'd like).

(By the way, if you want to take this stew in a completely different direction, feel free. Add some sprigs of rosemary and thyme and some strips of orange zest to capture the flavors of a southern French daube Provençal. Render lardons of salt pork or bacon and use the fat to brown the beef then finish the stew with mushrooms and pearl onions and those lardons for a boeuf Bourguignon. Add red wine vinegar, juniper, and cloves and you're getting half way to sauerbraten. Tomatoes and capers. Dried chiles and cumin. Raisins and olives. There are endless ways you can take this same process. You get the picture.)

Next comes the wine.

You don’t need anything expensive for this. You do need something dry and balanced—Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Syrah, Grenache all work well. Just avoid heavy oak and avoid sweetness. I generally like to reduce my wine (or any alcoholic liquid) before adding any remaining liquid. This is because you'll get a much more effective reduction in the total alcohol left in a dish by reducing the concentrated alcohol separately before diluting it.

With the wine added and reduced, the next step is to add stock, and this is where restaurant-style cooking and home cooking often severely diverge.

The Gelatin Gap

In a restaurant, a red wine braise would almost certainly be built on a deeply reduced veal stock. Veal bones come from young animals whose muscles haven’t fully developed, meaning they contain a higher proportion of connective tissue relative to muscle. Oftentimes you'll also add pig heads or trotters to the stockpot for even more collagen. Simmer the mixture overnight for maximum extraction, then strain, clarify, and reduce that stock, and you'll get something so rich with gelatin that it sets up like a Super Ball when chilled in the walk-in overnight.

This rich stock is what gives restaurant braises their tongue-coating texture. It’s why restaurant sauces feel voluptuous and velvety instead of thin and brothy.

Using chuck instead of short ribs compounds the issue slightly, since you’re missing the extra collagen that short ribs contribute from the connective tissue around their bones.

The fix for home is simple: use powdered gelatin.

I bloom powdered unflavored gelatin by sprinkling it directly over a bowl or large liquid measure filled with room temperature store-bought stock and let it rest until no more dry spots remain. As it heats up in the pot, the gelatin melts, and you've got something with the structural backbone of a long-simmered restaurant stock. Is it exactly the same? Not quite. It doesn't have the flavor of a true stock made from fresh ingredients, but it's darn close.

One more thing: You may notice that in virtually all of my recipes, whether I'm making a chicken- pork- or beef-based dish, I'll reach for the store-bought chicken broth over the beef. There's a reason for this! Chicken broth typically contains more actual natural chicken flavor than beef broth does, which more commonly tastes like water with lots of umami enhancers (like nucleotides and sodium) and just a hint of beef. I prefer the cleaner, more natural flavor of chicken broth when using store-bough. Besides, we're developing plenty of beef flavor through the braising process.

Once the gelatin-bloomed stock goes into the pot with the beef and aromatics, bring everything up to a gentle simmer on the stovetop. You’re not trying to cook it here—just making sure the liquid is hot enough to get things started evenly.

Now it’s time for the oven.

Transfer the Dutch oven to a rack set in the lower-middle of an oven preheated to around 300°F, and set the lid on top—but leave it cracked. This is an important part of the process both for heat management and for flavor development.

Under Cover

I braise in the oven because an oven is a constant-temperature device. A stovetop burner is a constant-heat-output device. On the stovetop, the same amount of energy enters the pot regardless of how much liquid is inside. As the liquid reduces and volume decreases, the temperature can creep upward. A gentle simmer at the beginning of cooking can turn into a more aggressive boil later without you adjusting anything.

In an oven, the contents equilibrate to the oven’s temperature. Whether the pot contains a gallon of liquid or half that, the temperature remains stable.

Lid position plays a critical role here. If you braise in a 300°F oven with the lid fully sealed, evaporation is minimized. Less evaporation means less evaporative cooling. The liquid inside will reach the hard boiling point of water — 212°F. At that temperature, muscle fibers contract aggressively, squeezing out moisture.

Leave the lid slightly cracked, however, and evaporation increases. Evaporation requires energy; as water molecules escape the surface, they absorb heat from the liquid below. That cooling effect keeps the braise hovering in the 180–190°F range—a sweet spot where collagen breaks down efficiently but muscle fibers are less likely to over-tighten. The cracked lid also encourages gradual reduction, concentrating the sauce naturally as it cooks instead of forcing you to reduce it aggressively at the end.

The oven adds another advantage: it heats from above as well as below. As the surface of the braising liquid evaporates, it leaves behind a protein-rich film hat can actually brown in the dry oven heat. You are, in effect, browning the stock itself during the braise. Those browned proteins dissolve back into the liquid, adding a layer of complexity that’s difficult to achieve on the stovetop.

Finish With Intent

Once you bring the beef, braising liquid, and aromatics to a simmer, transfer the whole Dutch oven to a rack inside an oven set at around 300°F, with the lid slightly cracked to encourage evaporation. Check it about 15 minutes in to make sure it’s at a very slow simmer, with a lazy bubble breaking the surface every few moments. Adjust the oven temperature slightly if needed, then leave it alone for an hour or two.

If you want to give yourself a real treat, leave the house while the beef is braising. Take the dog for a walk. Go push a kid on a swing (make sure their parents are OK with it first). Look like the coolest mom or dad on the block in your rollerblades. Just get out for about 15 minutes, then step back inside.

You will be greeted with the most glorious aroma you've ever been greeted by. You will want to bathe in it. You will wish you could sew up your nose, mouth, and butt in order to trap that aroma inside of you for the rest of your existence.

But don't do that.

Instead, check on the beef occasionally. Flip it over once or twice so that opposite sides are submerged. Scrape down any browned bits from the sides with a silicone spatula and stir them into the stock. Cook the beef until it’s just tender enough to tease apart with a couple forks. Not shredding. Not collapsing. Just at the moment when the connective tissue yields with a gentle tug. That’s the point where it’s still juicy, still structured, but undeniably tender.

Once it’s there, remove the beef and strain the braising liquid into a separate pot, discarding the spent aromatics but scraping every browned bit from the Dutch oven into the liquid. Reduce that liquid with freshly cut carrots—or whatever vegetables you’re using—until it tightens into a glossy glaze, skimming excess fat as it rises. Once the sauce coats the back of a spoon without feeling heavy, return the beef to the pot and warm it gently, turning it over and over, spooning the hot reduction across its surface.

You’ll notice how gorgeously glossy the gelatin-rich sauce becomes as it clings to the meat. It’s the visual equivalent of the aroma you inhaled earlier. You’ll wish you could sew up your eyelids and fill your ears with wax to trap that image inside your brain forever. (In this scenario, visions escape through the ears.)

But don’t do that.

Serve it over mashed potatoes, polenta, noodles, beans—anything willing to surrender itself to gravy.

If you want to make it even better, refrigerate the beef in its braising liquid overnight. As it cools, the gelatin sets and the meat reabsorbs some of the surrounding juices. The next day, lift out the beef, scrape off any gelatin clinging to its surface, and melt the stock in a wide pan. Slice the beef into thick slabs and reheat them gently in the simmering liquid, turning occasionally. Finish with a swirl of butter.

It will be richer, juicier, and more cohesive than it was on day one—which is one of the enduring pleasures of a properly built red wine braise.

And when you serve it to your friends and family, they may start to look at you differently. More lovingly. More tenderly. More menacingly.

You may notice one or two of them edging toward the doors, needle and thread in hand, ready to sew up the exits and trap you—the glorious cook, the alchemist ne plus ultra—inside this velvet-draped chamber of beef and Bordeaux.

A curtain flutters. A faint accordion begins to play from nowhere in particular.

“Reste,” they whisper.

Your eyes roll back in your head as the sauce glistens under candlelight. Red satin swirls. Feathers descend from the ceiling. The beef trembles under its lacquer of reduction. Juicy and seductive.

You may be tempted to run.

But don't do that.

Stay with them. Stay here. Forever.

And ever.

Et toujours.

Recipe: Red Wine–Braised Beef Chuck

Yield: 6 servingsActive Time: 45 minutesTotal Time: 3–4 hours (plus optional overnight rest)Oven Temperature: 300°F (150°C)

Ingredients

For the Beef

4 pounds (1.8 kg) boneless beef chuck roast, trimmed and cut into 2–3 large pieces

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons (30 ml) neutral oil

For the Aromatic Base

1 large onions, sliced (about 2 cups/300g)

2 carrots, cut into large chunks (about 200g)

2 ribs celery, roughly chopped

3 cloves garlic, roughly smashed

2 tablespoons (30 g) tomato paste

3 anchovy fillets

1 teaspoon (5ml) Marmite (optional)

1 tablespoon (15ml) soy sauce

For the Braising Liquid

4 cups (1 quart) low-sodium chicken stock

4 tablespoons (4 packets; about 30g) unflavored powdered gelatin

1 bottle (750 ml) dry red wine

2 bay leaves

A few sprigs fresh parsley

3 sprigs fresh thyme

For Finishing

3–4 carrots, sliced (or other vegetables of choice)

1 tablespoon (15 g) butter (optional)

Method

For the Beef: Adjust an oven rack to the lower middle position and preheat oven to 300°F (150°C). Season the beef generously with salt and pepper. Heat the oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add beef and cook until deeply browned on all sides, 8 to 10 minutes total. You may cover with the lid to reduce splatter and retain heat. Transfer beef to a plate.

For the Aromatic Base: Add onions, carrots, and celery to the pot. Cook until lightly browned, 6 to 8 minutes. Stir in the garlic, tomato paste, anchovies, Marmite, and soy sauce. Cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.

For the Braising Liquid: Pour the wine into the Dutch oven, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom. Bring to a simmer and reduce by ate least half, 10–15 minutes. Meanwhile, pour the stock into a large bowl or a wide liquid measure. Srprinkle the gelatin over the top in a thin, even layer, and let it sit until fully bloomed and no dry gelatin remains, 5 to 10 minutes.

Assemble the braise: Return beef to pot. Add the stock mixture, bay leaves, and thyme. Liquid should come about halfway up the meat. Bring to a gentle simmer, cover with the lid slightly cracked, then transfer to oven. Cook until beef is just fork-tender, 2–4 hours depending on size, turning the beef over and adjusting the oven heat temperature as necessary to maintain the barest simmer as it cooks.

Strain and reduce: Remove the beef with a stiff spatula and togs and set it on a large plate. Strain the liquid through a fine mesh strainer into a large saucepan. Add fresh carrots (or other vegetables) and simmer until liquid reduces to a glossy glaze and vegetables are tender, about 15 minutes. Skim excess fat with a ladle or fat skimmer, or blot it off with paper towels.

Finish: Return beef to sauce and warm gently, turning occasionally. Stir in butter if desired. Serve immediately over mashed potatoes, polenta, noodles, or braised white beans.

To Make Ahead and reheat: allow the braise to cool, cover, and refrigerate overnight. The next day, remove the beef, scraping off any excess gelatinous stick into the pot. Reheat the sauce and vegetables until simmering. Slice the chilled beef into serving-sized slabs and return them to the pot. Spoon the sauce over them repeatedly until completely heated through. Serve immediately over mashed potatoes, polenta, noodles, or braised white beans.