The Case for Braising Vegetables

Mastering this technique opens the door to creative and diverse vegetable creations.

My Larousse Gastronomique tells me braising is a moist cooking method using a little liquid that barely simmers at a low temperature on a stovetop or in the oven.

My culinary education confirms this definition…but with one notable addition – braising is how large joints of tough meat are prepared…the rest is just a stew.

In today’s competitive food environment, trendy chefs look for a marketing edge and use terms like confit to describe food prepared in a similar style to braising or stewing. Something like Slow-cooked Root Vegetable Confit cooked in an Instant Pot ticks all trend boxes…and with a lovely photo, this dish is practically made for Instagram.

Whoa – I think that was the most boomer thing I’ve ever thought.

A few deep breaths later and I eventually came around to the notion that the term doesn’t matter much. Ultimately it’s all about the outcome.  If the food is outrageously delicious, then who cares if it’s called a braise, stew or confit?

I do.

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Braising vs. Stewing vs. Confit – Strictly speaking, the difference between these three cooking techniques has everything to do with the liquid amounts and types used. Braising uses small amounts of liquid to cook ingredients slowly, whereas stewing uses enough liquid to cover all ingredients. A confit is something slowly cooked while fully immersed in fat. Of course, there are other subtle differences between these cooking styles – mainly concerning meat cookery, but these differences are generally irrelevant within the plant-based cooking world.

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I wanted to – no, I needed to explore my thoughts more vigorously. Something inside me required a greater understanding of why I felt compelled to spend several hours in the kitchen carefully preparing vegetables…contemplating liquids and fats…herbs…seasonings. Why wouldn’t I simply chuck everything into a pot, cover it with a stock made from a processed cube, turn on the burner and then wait a half hour?

Ooh…I have fresh artichokes in the refrigerator.

What else do I have lurking? Let’s see… There are carrots (I always have carrots) and one small celeriac I also bought this morning – kind of on a whim, really. I have shallots and new potatoes caked in dirt. And fresh dill – why do I have fresh dill on hand? And I have lemons – lots of fresh lemons from the Amalfi coast.

I closed my eyes for a minute to allow the visions dancing around in my head to take on a bit more clarity. What was I seeing? What was I feeling? What were these ingredients telling me?

What if I slowly stewed these vegetables in a mixture of extra virgin olive oil and water…perhaps a touch of lemon…and a suggestion of sugar - didn’t I read somewhere that sugar can be a flavor enhancer and help preserve the shape of a vegetable?

I started to see my large le creuset pot fill up with vegetables…and I knew this was a meal that I needed to cook slowly in the oven, perhaps with a crumbled piece of baking paper placed over the vegetables…and the lid, of course…yes, definitely the lid but left slightly ajar to control the slow evaporation of moisture. I wanted these beautiful vegetables to cook slowly…to keep their shape…to preserve their individuality in flavor, yet merge into something powerfully communal. I wanted something light – something nutritious – something singing the praises of the Mediterranean – I wanted the food to take me on a journey of sun…and sea…

I better get started on those artichokes…and turn on the oven.

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Tutorial on How to Prepare an Artichoke

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I mixed flour, water, salt and lemon juice. I trimmed away the leaves of the artichokes and quartered the hearts. I washed away the dirt from the potatoes – should I peel them? Yes, I want something like a long wedge of potato to go with quartered artichoke hearts. I carefully peeled the celeriac – wedges or squares? I decided to keep the celeriac smaller than the potatoes…I wanted a hint of their flavor, not an overwhelming inundation of celery. I peeled the long shallots, taking an extra 30 seconds to appreciate their beauty. I decided to keep them whole. I put all the vegetables into the casserole-style pot…including some lemony flour water from the artichokes. I turned up the heat…I knew I needed to get the liquid hot before I placed it in the oven.

Oh…the fat.

I added a substantial amount of extra virgin olive oil to the pot and a couple of spoons of sugar. I gave everything a quick stir…and then a final pinch of salt – falling from my extended hand like any chef because…well, it looks and feels cool. The liquid is now approaching a simmer. I slowly took two- or three breaths, filling my lungs with the first aromas that rose within the evaporating steam.

I crumbled some baking paper, wetting it first so I could easily place it on the vegetables. I wasn’t sure about the liquid – was it too much or too little? How much liquid would still come out of the vegetables? Did I season everything adequately? Should I add something…anything…maybe a bay leaf? How long should I keep this pot in the oven? What if all of the vegetables fell apart in the pot? What if it tasted like…

Ok…enough. It’s time to get this pot into the oven. Yes, about that like…now I think I will completely close it and allow the process to unfold in a sealed environment. Let’s see…90 minutes should be enough time…

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Every part of the cooking process feeds me and fills me with joy…and it’s never more apparent than when I make braised vegetables – a simple technique with only four key elements to consider: the vegetables, liquid, seasonings and fat.

The fun part is the cooking journey… considering how each element contributes to the whole and how I can manipulate those elements into something my mind sees. To question myself. To trust my judgment. To ride the waves of self-doubt as they ebb and flow…and to finally land in a place of self-satisfaction…and to sit for a moment and enjoy a bowl of butter-tender vegetables that glisten in a rich syrupy sauce.