MY FIRST OCONOMOWOC
BRISKET STACK SANDWICH

Yesterday was all about the brisket.

Today was about turning that brisket into a sandwich worthy of putting on the menu.

Like every recipe we've tested so far, this one answered a few questions...and created several more.

The first surprise had nothing to do with the beef.

It was the bun.

Finding an oversized brioche bun turned out to be much harder than I expected. Apparently, the world isn't full of bakeries making rolls designed to hold a generous eight ounces of brisket. So for this test, I made my own. A typical brioche bun measures about 4 inches in diameter. I needed something more—somewhere in the 5 to 5.5 inch range.

Were they perfect?

Not even close.

But they were exactly what I needed to evaluate the sandwich. When G&C BBQ Co. opens, I fully expect to work with a professional baker to develop a custom bun. For now, homemade was good enough to answer the question that mattered:

Will a brioche bun actually work?

TEST #02 / BUILDING THE FIRST VERSION

Before assembling the sandwich, I needed to answer another question.

How thick should the brisket be sliced?

My original plan was to compare 1/16-inch slices with 1/8-inch slices.

Then I tasted the very first 1/16-inch slice coming off the slicer.

Decision made.

It was tender, delicate, and practically melted in my mouth. There was no reason to continue the experiment. Sometimes testing proves your hypothesis wrong. Sometimes it tells you you've already found the answer.

One thing the brisket did teach me was just how much product disappears during production.

After all that trimming and cooking, the brisket yielded enough meat for only sixteen 8-ounce sandwiches.

Sixteen.

That's it.

On one hand, that made me appreciate just how generous an eight-ounce portion really is. On the other hand, I couldn't help but wonder how many briskets we'd be roasting if this sandwich ever becomes one of our best sellers.

That's a good problem to have.

The slicing process itself was another learning experience.

Anyone who's ever used a commercial meat slicer knows exactly what I'm talking about. They're incredibly satisfying to use, but they create little bits of brisket everywhere. Tiny pieces collect on the slicer, scatter across the cutting board, and somehow end up in places that seem to defy the laws of physics.

Rather than treating those flavorful little pieces as waste, I gathered every one of them and divided them evenly among the sixteen portions. They may not make for perfect presentation on the slicer, but they're every bit as delicious as the slices themselves.

Next came the au jus.

After cooking, I chilled it overnight so the fat could solidify into a layer on top. Once removed, what remained was rich, deeply beefy, and remarkably clean.

That wasn't an accident.

I want this sandwich to be known for its flavor—not for leaving grease running down your arm.

TEST #02 / WARMING THE BRISKET IN AU JUS

To keep this first test focused, I assembled the sandwich only two ways.

The first version included a thin slice of American cheese on the bottom bun. My thinking was simple: perhaps the cheese would create a barrier that would help keep the bun from getting soggy. Both versions received a generous layer of Dijon aioli on the top bun.

The second version skipped the cheese entirely. Instead, I spread the same Dijon aioli and finished it with nothing more than a very light sprinkle of kosher salt.

For reheating, I diluted the chilled au jus with an equal amount of water, brought it to a gentle simmer, placed the sliced brisket into a wire strainer, and submerged it just long enough to warm the meat without overcooking it.

Then it was finally time to eat.

And, more importantly, to take notes.

The American cheese was the first thing to go.

The sandwich tasted great, but the cheese contributed almost nothing. It didn't improve the flavor, didn't noticeably improve the texture, and ultimately didn't earn its place.

The Dijon aioli, on the other hand, was exactly what I hoped it would be.

Its subtle tang and richness complemented the brisket without competing with it. Instead of covering up the beef, it made the beef taste even more like itself.

One tiny surprise came from an ingredient almost too small to notice.

A light sprinkle of kosher salt on top of the Dijon aioli elevated the entire sandwich. Not enough to make it taste salty—just enough to wake everything up. Sometimes the smallest adjustments create the biggest improvements.

The reheating process also taught me something.

Diluting the au jus worked perfectly well for warming the brisket, but I suspect it also washed away a little more flavor than necessary. Next time, I'll skip the added water and warm the meat in full-strength jus instead. I think it'll leave even more beef flavor behind in every bite.

Finally, there was the sogginess test.

The cheese experiment turned out to be unnecessary.

The brioche bun held up beautifully.

After one minute...perfect.
Three minutes...still perfect.
Five minutes...no problem.

Even after ten minutes, the bun was holding together far better than I expected.

Eventually, after intentionally leaving part of the sandwich sitting on the plate much longer than anyone reasonably would, the bottom bun finally began to soften.

Honestly?

By that point, anyone sitting in our dining room would have finished the sandwich long before the bun became an issue.

So I don't think sogginess is something I'll lose sleep over.

This test eliminated one ingredient, confirmed another, improved the reheating process, answered questions about slicing thickness, and gave me confidence that the bun can stand up to eight ounces of brisket.

Not bad for one afternoon in the test kitchen.

The best part of building a menu this way is that every experiment narrows the possibilities.

One less question.
One more answer.

And one step closer to serving the kind of sandwich that deserves to be called The Oconomowoc Brisket Stack.