Nobody Called Them Cheap
Nobody in my house said “cheap cuts.” That was a store word, a butcher’s label. At our table, they were just dinner.
My mom made chicken legs and thighs stretch across a pot of fricassee, heavy with rice and vegetables. Oxtail was a staple, long before chefs started charging twenty-something a bowl for it. She’d braise it until the bones slipped clean, and we’d spoon that glossy sauce over potatoes or rice and beans, not wasting a drop.
My dad brought home top round or bottom round — the lean, tough cuts. He’d hand it to the butcher to run through the jacquard, and that was steak in our house. Thin, chewy, seasoned right, and gone before you knew it.
The First Filet I Saw
When I finally saw an eight-ounce filet, plump and perfect on a white plate, I couldn’t help but laugh. This was steak? To me, it looked like a sample.
I grew up measuring steak by the pan, by the pile. We never thought of our food as less than. It was full of flavor, it filled us up, and it taught us to cook.
What Stuck With Me
Even now, I still reach for the cuts people leave behind. Chicken thighs over boneless breasts. Chuck roast over pricey ribeye. Pork shoulder over tenderloin.
Because cheap cuts of meat aren’t cheap. They’re forgiving. They reward patience. They taste like home.
The Lesson Cheap Cuts Taught Me
Here’s what those cuts drilled into me: good food isn’t about money. It’s about time, technique, and love.
So the next time you see oxtail or a tough-looking roast in the case, don’t walk past it. Pick it up. Give it hours. Give it seasoning. Give it your attention.
Because at the end of the day, filet may be fancy — but cheap cuts taught me flavor.
Keep the Conversation Going
If this is the kind of cooking you believe in too, come hang out with me on Instagram @mrchefalexishernandez — where I share the how and why behind the dishes we actually crave.
