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“She had the sudden need to bake. To sink her fingers into warm dough, to smell yeast and create crusty rolls slathered with sweet butter. Or maybe a tart. Quiche with a flaky crust and filling of eggs, cheese and garlic and nuts.
Or a brisket. She was back in Texas now. Something falling-apart tender with tang and spice. Grilled potatoes that tasted like heaven.”
― Susan Mallery, Already Home

“I guide Delia through the slaw: green cabbage with fennel and green apple and a light dressing of rice wine vinegar, sugar, lime juice, canola oil, and caraway seeds. Kai makes the butternut squash with applesauce, nutmeg, grains of paradise, and cinnamon. I work on a light pasta salad that I have been playing with, orecchiette pasta with white beans, chopped celery, green peas, and feta in red wine vinaigrette with fresh oregano. The case gets filled, Kai takes off, the doors get opened, and we begin to serve customers. While Delia takes a phone order, I head into the kitchen and take the brisket out of the oven. It is mahogany brown and juicy, and perfumes the kitchen immediately, the scent wafting out into the store.
"What is that smell?" Delia says, eyes closing, inhaling deeply.
"That, is hope," I say.”
― Stacey Ballis, Good Enough to Eat

“This brisket must have taken you hours," Hudson says, sitting next to me.
"A brisket like this takes all night, son," Shawn says, not even looking at Hudson. All of the guards laugh.
"Then you'd better walk me through how to serve this before I embarrass myself further," Hudson says.
"Definitely," I say, passing the brisket to Shawn, at the head of the table.
"You didn't have to agree so quickly," Hudson says.
"You can do it a couple of ways. The white bread and the barbecue sauce plus the brisket make a nice sandwich, like Jace is doing," I say, pointing to the now silenced doubting Thomas. I continue, "Or you can just have the brisket with or without barbecue sauce and with or without the ranch beans and slaw, kind of blending in, like turkey, cranberries, and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving," I say.
"Isn't brisket supposed to be served with biscuits?" Hudson asks, serving himself some ranch beans.
The conversation at the table screeches to a halt. The guards and Warden Dale just shake their heads and continue talking and eating.
"I think from here on out, you just need to start actively censoring your thoughts and opinions. For your own safety," I say, laughing.”
― Liza Palmer, Nowhere But Home

“The first had been ordinary ground chuck, good and fatty, seasoned with salt and pepper- the most underrated beef seasoning there was- and smashed on the griddle.
The second was brisket. Toothsome, but leaner than chuck. If she went with that, she'd have to add some oil to the mix, maybe smoky olive oil, to give it some juice. For now, the buttered bun did some of the work for her and kept the playing field even.
But she would probably go with her third option: brisket, chuck, and short rib mixed. It wasn't as expensive as the pure brisket, but she thought it was far better. Then again, the fact that it wasn't as expensive was part of what made it a better option to her, so she wasn't entirely sure she trusted her own taste on this.”
― Beth Harbison, The Cookbook Club: A Novel of Food and Friendship

“My bubbe's holiday dinners were legendary, the tables overflowing with platters of brisket and tzimmes, stuffed cabbage and potato knishes, blintzes and kugel and fat loaves of challah. Ever since she died eight years ago, our holiday celebrations have splintered into quiet, nuclear affairs, and this year, with my parents in London, we aren't even getting together. But I miss her cooking, the way her tender brisket melted on the tongue, the way her stuffed cabbage hugged the fragrant beef filling tightly and always tasted both a little sweet and a little sour.”
― Dana Bate, The Girls' Guide to Love and Supper Clubs