Grilled London Broil

I turned sixty-one this week. April twelfth. The birthday was warm — the first truly warm day of spring, the kind of day that makes you open every window and let the air move through the house and feel the world waking up. Sixty-one is not a milestone birthday. Sixty-one is a continuation birthday, the kind that asks nothing except to be acknowledged and fed, and I acknowledge it and I feed it, because I am Ruth Feldman and feeding birthdays is what I do.

Marvin gave me a card. Handwritten, as always. Three pages. Funny, tender, referencing our shared history with the precision of a man whose memory is excellent — the dates correct, the jokes specific, the references to events that only two people in the world would understand, because the events happened to us and no one else was there. The card was evidence. Evidence of a mind working perfectly. Evidence that can be entered into the file against the vibration, against the repeated question about David, against the nothing that was almost certainly nothing. The card was three pages of evidence, and I held it, and I read it, and I put it in the drawer, and the evidence was reassuring, and I was reassured.

David brought the children. Ethan, four, presented me with a birthday drawing: a large circle (my head), a small triangle (my body), and a rectangle (the stove). "That's you cooking, Bubbe," he said. I am a circle with a triangle on a rectangle. I am the most abstract and most accurate portrait of myself I have ever received. I put it on the refrigerator. Rebecca brought wine and a collection of Wisława Szymborska's poems, because Rebecca knows that poetry is the gift I prefer above all others, because poetry is condensed truth, and truth is what I teach and what I cook and what I need.

I made my own birthday brisket. The tradition. No one else touches the birthday brisket. The birthday brisket is mine to make, and the making is the gift I give myself, because the making is the meditation, and the meditation is the centering, and the centering says: you are sixty-one. You are a woman at a stove. You have a husband and two children and two grandchildren (three in two weeks, when Noah arrives) and a blog and a classroom and a brisket braising for six hours, and the six hours are the measure of your life, and the life is good, and the brisket is perfect.

Miriam called from Tel Aviv and sang in Yiddish. The Rosen sisters. Still singing. Still cooking. Still calling every Friday. Still arguing about kugel. Sixty-one and sixty-one years of this. The chain holds.

The birthday brisket is sacred — six hours of braising that belong to me and no one else — but when the day is warm and the windows are open and spring is finally announcing itself, sometimes the grill calls too. This London broil is the brisket’s warm-weather cousin: beef, sliced thin, made with the same patience and intention, but kissed by flame instead of wrapped in low heat. It’s the recipe I reach for when sixty-one feels less like reflection and more like celebration, when Ethan’s drawing is on the refrigerator and Miriam’s voice is still in my ear and the evidence of a good life is everywhere I look.

Prep Time: 15 minutes + 4 hours marinating | Cook Time: 14 minutes | Total Time: 4 hours 30 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 to 2-1/2 pounds London broil (top round), about 1-1/2 inches thick
1/3 cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon onion powder

Instructions

Score the beef. Using a sharp knife, lightly score both sides of the London broil in a crosshatch pattern, about 1/8 inch deep. This allows the marinade to penetrate the meat.
Make the marinade. In a medium bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, olive oil, red wine vinegar, garlic, Dijon mustard, Worcestershire sauce, black pepper, smoked paprika, thyme, and onion powder until well combined.
Marinate the beef. Place the London broil in a large resealable bag or shallow dish. Pour the marinade over the meat, turning to coat evenly. Seal and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or up to overnight, turning once halfway through.
Bring to room temperature. Remove the beef from the refrigerator 30 minutes before grilling. Remove from the marinade and pat lightly with paper towels. Discard the remaining marinade.
Preheat the grill. Heat a gas or charcoal grill to high heat, around 450–500°F. Clean and oil the grates.
Grill the London broil. Place the beef on the hot grill and cook for 6 to 7 minutes per side for medium-rare, or until an instant-read thermometer registers 130°F in the thickest part. Resist the urge to move the meat — let it develop a proper sear.
Rest before slicing. Transfer the beef to a cutting board, tent loosely with foil, and let it rest for 10 minutes. The temperature will rise another 5 degrees as it rests.
Slice and serve. Using a sharp carving knife, slice the London broil against the grain into thin strips, about 1/4 inch thick. Fan the slices on a platter and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Grilled London Broil — The Birthday Beef That Feeds Sixty-One Years of Living