Slow-Cooker Asian Short Ribs

Late January and the rain is relentless. I have made peace with the rain in the way that Portland people make peace with the rain: by pretending it is a feature, not a bug, and by investing in waterproof everything. Miya has a rain suit now — a full-body yellow ensemble that makes her look like a very small fisherman — and she splashes in every puddle with the commitment of someone who has decided that wet is better than dry, and the decision is non-negotiable.

I made Japanese hot pot three times this week — a different variety each time. Monday: shabu-shabu, thin slices of beef swished in boiling kombu broth. Wednesday: yosenabe, a everything-in-the-pot approach with chicken, tofu, vegetables, and noodles. Friday: kimchi nabe again, because sometimes you need the heat that only fermented cabbage and chili can provide. The apartment was a steam bath. The windows were fogged. The food was warm. January requires warmth the way summer requires cold, and hot pot is the warmest food I know — not just in temperature but in spirit, the communal pot, the shared broth, the act of cooking together at the table.

Brian's resolution ended. Day twenty-three. He came home from a work event with beer on his breath and the particular guilty shuffle of a man who has broken a promise and knows it. I said nothing. The nothing was enormous — it filled the room, it occupied the space between us, it was louder than anything I could have said. He went to bed. I made miso soup in the dark kitchen. The ritual held. The resolution did not. The ritual is more reliable than the resolution. The ritual asks nothing of Brian. The ritual asks everything of me. I prefer the things that ask everything of me because at least I know they will be done.

I called Ken. He is making miso soup every morning now — the recipe I taught him over the phone. He said, "The dashi is getting better." He did not say he misses Fumiko. He said the dashi is getting better. Nakamura grief: measured in the quality of broth, expressed in the improvement of technique, never named, always present, carried in the body the way a fish carries the ocean — invisibly, essentially, as the medium in which it lives.

After a week of communal pots and fogged windows, I wanted something that would cook itself — something I could set in the morning and come back to without negotiation, without checking, without anyone else’s resolve involved. These slow-cooker Asian short ribs are that: soy, ginger, garlic, low heat, time. The broth they make is not dashi, but it carries the same patient logic — that warmth built slowly is the warmest kind, and that some things are better left undisturbed until they’re ready.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 8 hrs | Total Time: 8 hrs 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

3 lbs bone-in beef short ribs
1/3 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup brown sugar, packed
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon sesame oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 green onions, sliced (for garnish)
1 teaspoon sesame seeds (for garnish)
Steamed white rice, for serving

Instructions

Make the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, brown sugar, rice vinegar, sesame oil, garlic, ginger, and red pepper flakes until the sugar dissolves.
Arrange the ribs. Place short ribs in the slow cooker in a single layer, bone-side down if possible. Pour the sauce evenly over the ribs.
Cook low and slow. Cover and cook on LOW for 7—8 hours, or on HIGH for 4—5 hours, until the meat is fork-tender and pulling away from the bone.
Skim and reduce. Carefully transfer ribs to a serving platter. Skim excess fat from the braising liquid. If you prefer a thicker sauce, pour the liquid into a small saucepan and simmer over medium-high heat for 8—10 minutes until slightly reduced.
Serve. Spoon sauce over ribs and garnish with sliced green onions and sesame seeds. Serve over steamed white rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Slow-Cooker Asian Short Ribs — When the Broth Holds What Words Cannot