Short Ribs and Frites
I won't pretend I invented this dish. I didn’t. But I did make it mine — which is to say I cooked it, cursed at it, and left my fingerprints all over it. These balsamic-braised short ribs — dressed up here as “Short Ribs and Frites” — are a love letter to steak frites, except you swap the steak for something with soul. Something that bleeds patience and smells like Sunday at your grandma’s house, if your grandma drank Côtes du Rhône and cursed in French (Mine, does not. My grandma’s cooking is terrible) .
The original version hails from Taste & Technique by the late great, Naomi Pomeroy — an icon of Portland, a heavy hitter who knew how to balance elegance and savagery in a single plate. The book was recommended to me by Chef Danielle Lewis of Castor, and it's been the most important cookbook I own. Not because it’s flashy. Because it works.
The Cast
You’ll need:
1 lb bone-in short ribs (your butcher will know what you’re doing if you just grunt and nod)
5 tbsp kosher salt
4 tsp freshly cracked black pepper
5 tbsp olive oil (or enough to slick a pan like an oil spill)
3 stalks celery, cut into 2” pieces
4 large carrots, peeled and hacked into similar hunks
2 yellow onions, rough chopped
2 tbsp tomato paste (go heavy if you’ve had a bad week)
5 prunes, pitted — fresh is best, but dried works
3 peels of lemon (no pith, don’t be a rookie)
4 sprigs fresh thyme (don’t you dare use dried)
A whole head of garlic, smashed. Jarlic? Sure, if you hate yourself.
3 cups beef stock
2 cups red wine (drinkable, but not precious — save the Burgundy for enemies)
½ cup balsamic vinegar (Naomi calls for 10-year aged. I call for whatever won’t bankrupt you. Napoleon brand will do just fine.)
The Ritual
First, clear 3.5 hours from your calendar. This is not 30-minute meals. This is meditation. This is penance. This is love.
Season like you mean it. Salt those ribs until you’re afraid you overdid it. You didn’t. Half that amount in black pepper.
Get your pan hot — but not screaming. You want sheen, not smoke. Sear each rib like it owes you money. Brown every side. No shortcuts. Toss them in a Dutch oven (enameled or stainless only — if you use bare cast iron, you’re cooking metallic sadness).
Oven to 350°F. No excuses.
Back in the pan, splash in some oil. Toss in your carrots, onions, and celery. Sauté until they’re starting to caramelize. Add tomato paste. Let it darken. Don’t stir too soon — let it stick a bit, that’s the flavor.
Dump the veg into the Dutch oven. Add prunes, lemon peel, thyme, garlic. Set aside.
Now the magic sauce:
6. In a separate pot, combine stock, wine, balsamic. Bring it to a lazy simmer. Add a tablespoon of salt.
7. Pour the whole mess over the ribs and veg in the Dutch oven. Cover it. Into the oven. Let it ride for 2.5 hours.
When time’s up, pull it. Let it sit uncovered in the braising liquid for 30–45 minutes. Long enough to cool, not long enough to forget.
To serve: warm them back up in the oven for 5–7 minutes. Keep them swimming in the sauce. Dry short ribs are a sin.
I plated mine over fries. Yeah, they were frozen. Team frozen fry for life — crispier, less cleanup, more time to drink. You want to go full send? Fry them in goose fat. But don’t let the starch distract from the real star: the ribs, dark and sticky with balsamic reduction, tender enough to shame a filet.
Serve this to someone who deserves it. Not because it’s fancy, but because it matters. Three and a half hours of your life went into this. That means something. That’s the price of real food.
Enjoy it. Don’t fuck it up.
— Avery
