I can say with the utmost confidence that growing up in New York City, the nexus of the universe when it comes to Jewish delis, has made me somewhat of a (self-proclaimed) expert on all matters pastrami. A homemade version of this smoky and peppery staple of any decent NY-style sandwich shop has always eluded me because in order to make a decent and ‘authentic’ pastrami, one needs two very important things; time and a smoker. Time is something that I have in abundance but a smoker is one piece of essential kitchen hardware that I am lacking. Enter my pal Fishman, who was kind enough to not only recently invest in a smoker but to play host this past Sunday afternoon to the wife and I. Fishman, who has become quite the accomplished smoker, offered to prepare a few of his signature dishes and asked me to make something, thus finally giving me a chance to bring my pastrami dream to life.
I did a ton of research before embarking on this journey. What I present below represents a work in progress. For a first attempt, I was pleased, but there is much room for improvement. More on that later. Unless you’re Michael Ruhlman and you use short ribs (pure genius), most pastrami begins with corned beef and corned beef begins with brisket, specifically what’s referred to as a brisket ‘flat’. Typically, this is what you’ll find at most mega-marts, though the whole brisket, in addition to the flat, will also contain a second section referred to as the ‘point’, which is much more irregularly shaped and contains more fat than the ‘flat’. For this project, I selected a 3 lb flat from my local butcher shop.

I tried to choose a brisket with uniform thickness all the way around. My specimen had a pretty thick layer of fat on the surface, which should be trimmed away until it is only about an 1/8 ” thick. Some fat on the surface is desirable as it will help ‘baste’ the meat during cooking, but if the layer of fat is too thick, it can impede the next step, the curing process. Uniform thickness is also good to have as a way to encourage even curing.
Curing can be done in one of two ways, dry or wet. In the dry curing method, salt and other spices are rubbed on the surface of the meat and it is allowed to sit in the refrigerator for anywhere from three days to three weeks. In the wet method, the meat is submerged in a brine, also for three days up to three weeks. The ‘wet’ method felt a bit more authentic to me, so that’s what I went with. To make the brine, I filled a large pot with 4 quarts of water and added the following:

1 c kosher salt
1 c light brown sugar
6 cloves of garlic, crushed
3 tablespoon whole black peppercorns
3 tablespoons pickling spices (a mixture of coriander, juniper berries, peppercorns and a bunch of other goodies – this can be found at any major supermarket)
4 teaspoons thyme
8 bay leaves
Stir the water and spices to combine and heat the mixture just until the salt and sugar are dissolved, then let it cool completely, ideally to a temperature between 36 and 40 degrees F. I like to do this the day before so that the brine can chill overnight in the refrigerator before I use it though you can cut back on the amount of water and add ice to the mixture once the salt and sugar are dissolved.
Once the brine is cool, pour some of it into a plastic container (it must have an airtight lid), add the meat and make sure that it is completely submerged in the brine before putting on the lid. It is important that the container is actually big enough to allow the brisket to be totally submerged in the brine. Since I didn’t have any containers big enough to allow that, I made the executive decision to cut my brisket in half and use two containers.

I had just over a week until my date with the smoker, so I went with a six day brining period. Not ideal as I would’ve preferred a lengthier brining time, but six days would have to do. In order to reduce the chance of spoilage during a lengthy brining period, some folks also include some kind of preservative, in the form of a curing salt (pink salt, for example) along with their brining spices, but this is not totally necessary. Pink salt, which is salt that has also been fortified with trace amounts of sodium nitrite for food preservation and bacteria eradication purposes, can be used and is often what provides pastrami (and tons of other cured meats) with its characteristic red hue. I figured that a six day brine wouldn’t be long enough to introduce any unwanted bacteria into the meat, so I skipped it, opting instead to make sure that my hands were squeaky clean every time I handled the meat and the plastic containers.
Once the meat is placed into the refrigerator, the only thing that you’ll need to do during the brining period is ensure that the meat remains completely submerged. I checked on the meat once a day and also shook the container around each day to ensure that the brine came into contact with all surfaces of the meat. After six days, the meat was removed from the brine (which was then discarded) and allowed to soak in cold tap water for an hour in an effort to remove any potential residual saltiness.

After its hour long bath, I dried the meat off and it was ready for the next step, the application of the spice rub. In an effort to keep things as ‘traditional’ as possible, I made my rub out of freshly ground black peppercorns and coriander seeds, to which I also added a few dashes of garlic powder. Note that the spice mixture is ground relatively coarsely.

I liberally applied the rub to every surface of the meat, then wrapped the meat up tightly in a few layers of plastic wrap and aluminum foil, then parked it in the refrigerator overnight. The next day, I packed up the car and headed over to my friend’s house.
Here she is in all of her glory, the Char Griller Smokin Pro, pictured with the add-on side fire box, an absolute requirement if you want to utilize all 830 square inches of available grill space for indirect, smoking goodness.

In short, the fire box is fed with hot charcoal briquettes, then a layer of soaked wood chips are laid on top of the coals. The heat from the charcoal causes the chips to release smoke, which then travels from the smaller chamber through the larger chamber (with aid of vent holes) and permeates the meat within. I wasn’t taking any chances here; even though the main chamber of the grill is equipped with a temperature gauge, I wanted to be absolutely sure of what was going on within the soon-to-be pastrami, so I relied on my probe thermometer to let me know when the meat reached an internal temperature of 165 degrees F.

Smokin’!

After about two hours in a 225 degree smoker, the meat was pulled and allowed to rest.

After a lengthy resting period, it was finally time to slice into pastrami…

…and pile it high on some toasted marble rye.

As far as the taste is concerned, I think I nailed it. Appearance-wise, I didn’t miss the bright red color of traditional deli pastrami. Where I missed the mark was in the overall tenderness of the final product; my pastrami was much tougher than what I was hoping for. I think there were two factors at work here, brining time and cooking method. Even though I was constrained by time, a longer period of soaking in the brine probably would’ve done some good. Also, had I opted for a hybrid cooking method in which the pastrami was flavored by the smoking process for part of the cooking, then steamed in order to complete cooking, the moist heat generated by the steam would’ve served to more effectively break down all of the connective tissue contained deep within the brisket. Because of the toughness of the meat, I also had a hard time slicing it thinly and cleanly without actually tearing through the individual slices. But like I said earlier, for a first attempt, I’m quite encouraged by my results.
In addition to the pastrami, Fishman contributed some really tasty smoked wings and a ginormous turkey, along with a small side of salmon and some sausage (unfortunately, neither of which are pictured here).

I’m not going to divulge his secret recipe for wings here, but I will say that I would’ve been happy eating nothing but these all day long.

That is of course, until I tried his smoked turkey. That Fishman sure is a clever bugger; he strategically injected his turkey with beer, garlic oil and cayenne pepper prior to smoking it.

I will go on record as saying that it was the most flavorful turkey I’ve ever had. As good as my own roasted turkey is, I may insist on a smoked turkey come Thanksgiving this year.
Doing what we do best…manning the smoker.

Good work, men!

Aside from the little bit of smoking action that I’ve seen at work, I must say that this was my first real experience with any kind of large scale smoking operation. I am quite impressed with the capabilities of the rig that Fishman purchased. After reading up on the pros and cons inherent in the offset smoker design, I was concerned that it would be hard to maintain a constant, smoking-friendly environment of around 225 degrees inside the main chamber, but it didn’t really seem like Fishman had any trouble doing just that, provided that he had a steady supply of hot coals to feed to the beast once its temperature began to drop below 220 degrees. Perhaps it is finally time to the bite the bullet and invest in a smoker of my very own. Any recommendations?