Pastrami, Vol. 1
What if you lived in a city famous for its spectacular food, but none of that food was actually from that city?
What if you could eat almost anything you want at almost any time you want, but not everything is going to turn out just the way it should be?
Why is the best pastrami in Las Vegas made in New York City?
Why can't we make our own stuff? Why? Can't? We?
This is pastrami, dry-brined for three days, home-smoked for over three hours, sliced thick and dropped on dill rye bread with (unseen) garlic mustard. The relatively small size of the 2.5-pound brisket allowed the curing process to go bananas, and so this meat is very salty. Eating it by itself, it is juicy and delicious with all the right notes of coriander seed and black pepper until a few seconds in when the salt sledgehammer smacks your buds out your mouth. But on this pleasant, soft, fragrant bread, it's a magical meal, almost balanced and much more satisfying than any of the high-stacked piles of thin-sliced, fatty, pink meat I've eaten lately.
This is one. There will be two, then three, four, maybe more. I'm going to do this. Wanna taste?