Slow and low

BRAISING IS NOT the glamour girl of the cooking world. A seared filet mignon or grilled duck breast screams sexy far more than a plate of braised oxtails. But when you're looking for depth of flavor, braising can't be beat.

This time of year, as the days shorten and the air turns crisp, a red-wine-braised lamb shank or long-cooked pot roast provide a level of lip-smacking satisfaction that makes it easy to brush aside any pining for the grill-a-thons of summer.

If you think all that flavor comes at a price, think again. The cheapest, lowliest cuts of meat are some of the ones most suited to the low temperatures and moist environment of braising.

"Those cuts have such great flavor," says Peter Rudolph, chef de cuisine at Navio at the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay. Because of the year-round chill in Half Moon Bay, his braised short ribs are a menu staple. "It's a great way to use tough pieces of meat," he says. Braised, the dark meat of a pork shoulder turns soft and irresistible, and short ribs collapse into strands of beefy goodness. All that's required to induce this transformation is time and the careful execution of a few basic techniques.

The word braise comes from the French "braise," referring to the act of cooking food in liquid in a closed vessel surrounded by embers or coal. "Second to cooking over live fire, it's the oldest cooking technique," says Molly Stevens, whose James Beard award- winning book "All about Braising: The Art of Uncomplicated Cooking" (W. W. Norton & Company, $35) has instantly become the authoritative text on the subject. The ideal cuts for long braising come from parts of the animal where the muscles have been most active, such as theshoulders and legs.

Collagen, a water-soluble type of connective tissue, builds up around these muscle fibers and requires wet heat near 200 degrees to break down.

Water boils at 212 degrees, so the simmering atmosphere of a braise turns tough meat tender, and transforms collagen into gelatin, which adds body to the braising liquid.

"The classic definition of a braise is browned meat, cooked gently under cover with a little bit of liquid," says Stevens. "I take out the 'after browning' part because some dishes don't get browned, like braised endive, or they're browned at the end of cooking. But, more often than not, one of the keys to a really good braise is browning."

Getting the sear

From at least the 17th century until well into the 20th, cooks and scientists falsely assumed that browning meat sealed in its natural juices. Modern food scientists have proved that browning does not lock in moisture. Instead, it creates a layer of flavor by caramelizing the sugars on the meat's surface. Browning is about taste, not juiciness.

"I always brown first," says Brian Beach, executive chef at Adagia in Berkeley, where his lamb shanks have been such a hit they've never left the menu.

"Browning is critical for meats like beef," says Charlie Hallowell, chef and co-owner of Pizzaiolo in Oakland's Temescal district, where he braises everything from oxtails to chicken legs. "The browning process ultimately enriches the braising liquid."

There are a number of ways to brown meat: on the stove, under the broiler, in the oven. But browning requires a watchful eye.

"A lot of people brown at too high a heat," says Stevens. "Sure it browns, but you scorch the bottom of the pan. You don't get a rich brown. It requires patience."

Stevens recommends a few tips for ideal browning: Make certain the surface of the food is dry, use a light film of fat, and don't crowd the pan. It's wise to cook in batches, if need be, so the meat acquires a nice sear instead of steaming. After browning, don't toss the tasty bits clinging to the pan. Remove most of the fat from the pan and pour in a cup of wine, scraping as the wine reduces. The caramelized proteins will dissolve, adding another layer of flavor.

The wet stuff

There's no fast rule about the amount of liquid required for a braise. Traditionally, less was more, and Stevens agrees. "I use a lot less liquid than some people," she says. "You have to monitor and make sure it doesn't evaporate. I like my braises moist but not submerged. You get a much more concentrated sauce."

Beach takes the opposite approach. "At the restaurant we need a lot of sauce," he says. "So I almost cover the meat with liquid." A combination of wine and stock produces the deepest flavor, and vegetables from carrots to fennel are often included to give their own essences, but Stevens is also fond of simplifying. One recipe of hers combines a fruity red wine with sausages and grapes. "It's great to just have wine as the liquid. You get this marvelous interplay from the fruit, the wine, and the fat in the sausages."

Strong and steady

A cover is a necessity for most long-cooked braises. It prevents the meat from drying out and guarantees a wet environment for the collagen's conversion into gelatin. But Lance Dean Velasquez, chef and owner of Bendean in Berkeley, takes it one step further. "I use parchment paper and foil under the lid," says. "Any evaporation is trapped and doesn't dilute the flavor of the braise itself." In addition to braised items like chuck roast and leg of lamb, he always serves a Mexican-influenced braised pork dish. In fall and winter it's chile verde finished with a tomatillo, jalapeo, and cilantro sauce.