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Brisket Sliders — The Quiet Week Between, When Leftovers Become Their Own Meal

The week between Christmas and New Year's. Year two of writing about it, because it happens every year, because the week between has its own identity and its own energy and deserves attention even when nothing major is happening.

David and James stayed through Monday, which gave me two extra days with them, and we had slow mornings — coffee, pernil sandwiches, the house quiet, the tree still up, the decorations still on — and the four of us sat at the kitchen table for hours on Tuesday morning and talked. About the restaurant, where David is going to be promoted to sous chef next summer (he has not told the staff yet, but the owner told him in November). About James's design work — he does freelance branding for small businesses, and he has been busy. About Lucía — not yet, there is no Lucía yet, but James and David had started the conversation about maybe adopting or using a surrogate eventually, not now, someday, and they told me and Eduardo, and we listened. I said, "You will be excellent fathers." James said, "We hope." Eduardo said, "You will be." We all drank coffee. I made more coffee.

David and James left on the 2 PM train on Monday. I sent them home with two bags of frozen food — pasteles, sofrito, a container of the arroz con dulce, a half-pernil — and a bottle of coquito. James hugged me at the station. He said, "Thank you for Nochebuena." I said, "Mijo, you are family now." He held the hug a little longer.

Tuesday Mami came over. The house was quieter. She sat in the big chair and ate a bowl of sancocho I had made from Christmas-day leftovers — a sancocho that used up the remaining turkey, the last of the pernil scraps, some leftover root vegetables, the whole refrigerator poured into a pot. The stew was ridiculous and also wonderful and Mami ate it silently. I watched her and I knew she did not quite remember Christmas. She knew it had happened. She did not remember the details. She ate the sancocho and she said, "This is good soup." I said, "I am glad, Mami." She said, "You are a good cook." I said, "Thank you, Mami." She said, "You get it from your grandmother." Pause. "And from me." Pause. "But mostly from your grandmother." The woman is the last word on everything. Wepa.

Wednesday Eduardo and I went for a walk in the cold air — twenty-three degrees, clear, the sky bright blue — and we walked for forty minutes and we did not talk much. We did not need to. Thirty-four years of marriage and we can walk together in silence and neither of us is uncomfortable and neither of us is performing anything. The quiet is ours.

Thursday I slept until 8 AM. Friday I organized the pantry. Saturday I made New Year's lentils, the traditional ones. Sunday I will tell you about. Wepa.

That whole week was pernil sandwiches and sancocho from scraps and the refrigerator slowly emptying itself into pots and onto bread. That is the cooking I love most — the cooking that does not try to impress, that just uses what is there and feeds whoever is sitting at the table. These brisket sliders are that kind of food. Low and slow meat, a little slaw for brightness, a soft roll that holds everything together. The kind of thing you make when the house is finally quiet and you are feeding yourself and the people who stayed.

Brisket Sliders

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 3 hours 30 minutes | Total Time: 3 hours 50 minutes | Servings: 12 sliders

Ingredients

  • 2 1/2 pounds beef brisket, trimmed
  • 1 tablespoon kosher salt
  • 1 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1 teaspoon onion powder
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced
  • 4 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 cup beef broth
  • 1/2 cup barbecue sauce, plus more for serving
  • 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
  • 1 tablespoon brown sugar
  • 12 slider buns (such as King’s Hawaiian)
  • 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For the slaw:

  • 2 cups shredded green cabbage
  • 1/4 cup mayonnaise
  • 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
  • 1 teaspoon sugar
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt

Instructions

  1. Season the brisket. Combine salt, pepper, smoked paprika, garlic powder, and onion powder. Rub the mixture evenly over the brisket on all sides. Let sit at room temperature for 20 minutes.
  2. Sear the meat. Heat olive oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Sear the brisket for 3 to 4 minutes per side until deeply browned. Transfer to a plate.
  3. Build the braising liquid. Reduce heat to medium. Add the sliced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes until softened. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more. Stir in the beef broth, barbecue sauce, apple cider vinegar, and brown sugar. Bring to a simmer.
  4. Braise the brisket. Return the brisket to the pot. Cover with a tight-fitting lid and transfer to a 325°F oven. Cook for 3 to 3 1/2 hours, until the meat is fork-tender and shreds easily.
  5. Shred and toss. Remove the brisket from the pot and shred with two forks. Skim excess fat from the braising liquid. Return the shredded meat to the pot and stir to coat in the sauce. Adjust seasoning to taste.
  6. Make the slaw. While the brisket braises, toss the cabbage with mayonnaise, apple cider vinegar, sugar, and salt. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
  7. Assemble the sliders. Split the slider buns and brush the cut sides with melted butter. Toast under the broiler or in a skillet for 1 to 2 minutes until lightly golden. Pile the shredded brisket onto the bottom buns, top with a spoonful of slaw, and close with the top buns. Serve warm with extra barbecue sauce on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 22g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 26g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 680mg

Carmen Delgado-Ortiz
About the cook who shared this
Carmen Delgado-Ortiz
Week 334 of Carmen’s 30-year story · Hartford, Connecticut
Carmen is a sixty-year-old retired hospital cafeteria manager, a grandmother of eight, and a Puerto Rican woman who survived Hurricane María in 2017 and rebuilt her life in Hartford, Connecticut, with nothing but her mother's sofrito recipe and the kind of determination that only comes from watching everything you own get washed away. She cooks arroz con pollo, pernil, and pasteles for every holiday, and her kitchen is always open because in Carmen's world, nobody eats alone.

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