Grilled Collards

I've been playing with a new trick that I'm not entirely pleased with yet, but which is coming along: grilled greens.  In tonight's case, it was collards.  It's pretty dang simple: take a big, leafy dark green veggie like kale, collards, bok choy, or chard, spray it with olive oil from a pump sprayer (or the good old Pam can) and toast the leaves briefly on the grill, until they wilt and develop little browned spots all over.  They take on a nice toasty, nutty, smoky flavor and make for a nice side salad with whatever else you're grilling.  It's also wicked quick - you can cook a whole head of collards while you're waiting for the grill to preheat for the main dish.

I think I toasted the collards a bit much tonight.  They were sort of crispy and crumbly, which was interesting but oddly reminiscent of eating sushi nori.  I'd probably dial back the time they spent on the grill to about 45 or so seconds, just enough to wilt and mark them.  And then I'd get off my lazy ass and cut out the central rib on each leaf, because while it's useful while flipping the leaves, it doesn't really soften much. 

They're quite tasty with nothing but olive oil and a sprinkling of flaky salt on them, but I might try a simple viniagrette sometime.  Give it a shot and let me know how it goes.

Department of Why Didn't I Think Of That: The Grill Comb

So I saw the Grill Comb on Uncrate and I think I have to own it:

No bamboo splinters in your kebabs.  No crushed tomatoes.  No spinning hunks of bell pepper.  No trying and failing to get hunks of meat meat off the skewer without sending them ping-ponging all over the table and/or dining room.  I like it.  They're reusable and made of stainless steel, so they should last a while.  Apparently they're $11 for a set of two, which is fairly silly, but why not?

Pollo Borracho Tacos

Chicken tacos are something I, as a general rule and practice, avoid when eating out.  They're just not...very good.  I don't know who thought that chalky, dry, white meat chicken dusted with some fajita spices made for a good taco filling...well, now that I say that, I don't think anybody thought it made a good taco filling.  It was just something for the unhealthily calorie-conscious to order while those who were serious about their tacos got down on some carnitas or barbacoa, like San Vicente El Taquero Celestial* intended.

Part of the problem is that chicken breast contains perhaps as much fat as a block of tofu, and when it's subjected to 4-600 degrees of dry, intense heat on a grill, it's insanely difficult to keep moist.   The other issue is that only rarely does anybody do anything interesting with the chicken.  Mostly, it's just indifferently sprinkled with chili powder.  So how to make a chicken taco something that stands proudly with carne asada and birria as something worth eating with gusto?

My answer to the question is....well, mine.  This is my goddamned recipe.  I thought of it, I've never found anything like it anywhere else, and I'm proud of it.  It's called pollo borracho, or drunken chicken.

First off, ditch the chicken breast.  When it comes to grilling, I'm a thigh man - chicken thighs, that is, boneless and skinless.  In fact, the chicken thigh is my favorite meat to grill.  Its robust flavor takes a marinade beautifully, but isn't so distinctive that it can't play well with the flavors of any cuisine.  They're not smooth - they've got plenty of little crevasses and tags and bits that get all crispy and browned.  And they're so moist that they come off the grill succulent and juicy, not stringy and mealy.

Then bathe those thighs in a potent adobo of beer, New Mexico red chile powder, and spices.  After marinating for a day or so, throw them on a hot grill and baste them with their own marinade, letting it cook down to a crusty, deeply browned glaze.  It's truly something special.  You'll never order chicken tacos at a restaurant again.

Charlie's Pollo Borracho Tacos

1.5lb boneless, skinless chicken thighs - about 5-8 thighs
1/2 cup beer - doesn't have to be anything fancy, but dark beer is great
1/3 cup oil
3 tablespoons red New Mexico chile powder (not chili powder, which is a mix of spices, but pure powdered chiles.  Substitute half and half powdered ancho and guajillo chiles if the New Mexico variety isn't available.)
1 tablespoon sherry vinegar or lime juice
1 teaspoon Kosher salt

1 teaspoon Mexican oregano, crushed (don't use Italian/Greek oregano, which is a different species)

1 teaspoon garlic powder

Pinch ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground Mexican cinnamon (canela)
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

To serve:
Corn tortillas, as many as desired
Salsa
Avocado wedges or guacamole
Shredded Cotija cheese
Chopped cilantro


Combine all ingredients besides chicken in a nonreactive bowl, whisking to combine.  Marinate chicken at least 8 hours or overnight.  Reserve marinade and, if desired, boil in saucepan for one minute to sterilize after chicken is removed. 

Preheat grill to high heat.  Grill chicken, turning every 60-75 seconds, basting with every turn, until juices run clear and chicken is sizzling and lightly charred in places.  Warm tortillas on grill for about 30 seconds, then cover or place in tortilla warmer.  Chop chicken into 1/2 inch dice, then serve at once with tortillas and garnishes.  Alternatively, makes spectacular tostadas.

* San Vicente (or Saint Vincent of Saragossa) is indeed the patron saint of taco makers.  

Sauce that 'Cue

A guy I know on a forum I frequent sent me an email that I hope he doesn't mind if I turn into a post.

Long-time listener, first time PM'er. As the OT-resident grill master, I need some assistance. Wife finally got tired of me complaining about the storebought BQ sauces tasting like HFCS-laden ass. Got any non-secret recipes you are comfortable sharing? More of a Memphis/K.C. style, but a good Carolina wouldn't be out of the question either. I'll hang up and listen. Thanks!!

I happen to agree that most BBQ sauces in the stores taste like HFCS-laden ass, and we don't need to patronize that crap.  So here's my thoughts on barbecue sauce. It's not so much a recipe as it is a starting point. Make it yours. I make it differently depending on what I'm slathering it on and how I'm feeling day by day.

My starting point is this: what does a barbecue sauce need to do? It needs to play nice with the smoky flavor of barbecue or grilled meat, it needs to cut fatty richness with acid or heat or both, it needs to be a little sweet so the acidity and heat don't overwhelm, and it needs a little local flair. I call my sauce "Charlie's Red Rock Barbecue Sauce" because it draws heavily on flavors and techniques from the Southwest. Maybe it's Denver-style barbecue sauce.

As with any recipe, you start by building a flavor base, and you do that by sauteing your aromatic ingredients in oil. In this case, it's sauteed onion, garlic, and fresh chiles if you're using them. If you're notdoing a Southwestern sauce, I still recommend adding some minced jalapenos to taste or at least a few dashes of Sriracha or Frank's Red Hot, because a good barbecue sauce needs a little bite.

The Flavor Base:

3tbsp vegetable oil

1 medium red onion, minced

5 cloves garlic, minced, passed through a garlic press, or grated on a microplane

2 tbsp tomato paste

Optional, for more Southwestern flava:

Fresh Chiles if You're Using Them - chopped hot Autumn Roast New Mexico Green Chiles, minced jalapeno or fresno chiles, or minced poblano chile (see thoughts on chiles)

1 canned chipotle chile in adobo, minced, plus a few teaspoons of the adobo sauce, if using.

Heat the oil over medium-low heat, until shimmering, in a saucepan. Add the onion and cook slowly until it's getting soft and translucent. Then add the garlic, tomato paste, chile paste, and chipotle with its adobo sauce. Stir until the mix gets intensely fragrant, around a minute or so. Then add....

The Sauce Base

1/2 cup drained diced canned tomatoes, preferably fire roasted - Muir Glen brand is the best. Save a tablespoon or two of the liquid and add that too.

1/4 cup ketchup

3 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

3-5 tbsp Spanish viniagre de Jerez (sherry vinegar) - try to find it. It's awesome, awesome stuff. In a pinch, cider vinegar will do, but sherry vinegar is the bomb diggity. Add more if you like your sauce with more acid, less if you like it sweeter.

1/4 cup orange juice
1/4 cup beer of your choice

2 tablespoons molasses
3 tablespoons dark brown sugar or honey

1/2 tsp black pepper

1 1/2 teaspoons fresh thyme (or 3/4 tsp dried)
1 bay leaf
1 tsp salt
1 tsp ground allspice
A dash of liquid smoke, if you wish, and if you're not using chipotles.

For a More Traditional Sauce

3 tbsp yellow, dijon, or coarse-ground mustard

For a Southwestern Sauce - don't add the mustard if you're doing this!

1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander

1 teaspoon Mexican oregano - not regular Italian/Greek oregano!

Chile powder to taste, if you're using it (see Thoughts on Chiles)

Simmer everything together, covered, for an hour or so, adding a little orange juice or a splash of beer if it gets too cooked down. Let it cool, then puree the dickens out of it in a blender until it's smooth and saucy. Taste it. Nom! Too thick? Add water or orange juice. Need more acid because it's going on fatty pulled pork? Add more vinegar. Need more sweet? Add honey. Taste flat or like it needs something? Add salt. Should make 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 cups of sauce.

Thoughts on Chiles

Chiles are glorious in a barbecue sauce, because they add a ton of flavor, body, and character. They can add a ton of fruity, smoky, spicy notes and you can make it as hot or as mild as you like. You can use fresh chiles (like roasted NM green chiles, fresnos, jalapenos) and/or powdered chiles. Don't use chili powder, which is a mix of ground chile, garlic, onion, and oregano - use pure powdered chiles. My favorite spice shop, Savory Spice Shop, sells every chile powder under the sun, but you can also find most chile powders in Mexican markets or, at least out West and in areas with a big Hispanic population, in the supermarket. You can also toast whole dried chiles in a warm oven for a few minutes, seed them, then grind them into powder.

For your fresh chiles, I love hot Autumn Roast New Mexico Green Chiles, because they're glorious - sweet and grassy and earthy, with a slow, sweet burn. You could also throw in some minced jalapenos or fresnos (it'll be a little hotter, then) or a minced poblano (a forest green, dark, fresh chile that's mild but has a nice herbal flavor.)

What kind of chiles to use? Experiment. Ancho chiles have a sweet, fig-raisin flavor and very little heat, so they're a natural for sweet-savory barbecue sauce. New Mexico red chiles (the ripe, dried version of NM greens) have a brighter, sparkier flavor than anchos do, but still sweet and fruity - my favorite. Guajillos have an interesting piney, fresh, almost tart flavor that pairs excellently with pork. Cascabels are earthy and woody and quite spicy. Chiles de Arbol are woody and viciously hot. Habaneros are die-mother****er spicy, with a sweet tropical fruit flavor in the background. Chipotles have a strong bite and a pronounced smokiness - excellent if you want to make your sauce smoky without using liquid smoke, but should be used in moderation and paired with other chiles. My favorite version of the sauce uses autumn roast NM greens, a half teaspoon each of guajillo and ancho, and some chipotle. My sauce for pork leans heavily on guajillo, red NM chile powder, and cascabel. I wouldn't add more than two tablespoons total of chile powder, because then it starts over-thickening the sauce.

Lump Charcoal: Worth it or Not?

If you read most of the high-profile grilling cookbooks - Steven Raichlen's Barbecue! Bible and How to Grill, Weber's Way to Grill and Weber's Big Book of Grilling by Jaime Purviance, Adam Perry Lang's recent and interesting Charred and Scruffed - the author usually insists that one should really grill only over lump charcoal.

I've started to wonder if that's really useful advice.  I'm not going to lie: I questioned the advice because I'm cheap, and lump charcoal is expensive.  I'd rather get a giant bag of briquettes at Costco for $10 than a small 8.8lb bag of the lump stuff for about the same.  But does lump charcoal really improve flavor or the grilling process?

Over the past few months, I've grilled flatiron steaks and asparagus over three types of charcoal:,  Kingsford's Competition Briquettes (my good-value Costco score), Kingsford's blue-bag Original briquettes, and one over some Cowboy brand mesquite lump charcoal.  I grilled the steak first, then the vegetables, to test the longevity of the heat source.  I used the same quantity of charcoal each time and ignited it with a chimney starter.

The results were essentially identical in flavor; charcoal is charcoal, really, and any interesting volatiles that would lend a distinct mesquite flavor to the meat were burned off as it smoldered.  The mesquite sparked and crackled violently as I cooked, which could suggest that there were still pockets of sap and so forth, but it wasn't apparent in the flavor. 

Lump charcoal required a slightly different and more mindful grilling approach, I noticed. The lump charcoal burned hot but lost heat quickly, and the asparagus took longer to cook.  The sear on the steak's surface, however, was excellent, as the amount of heat the lump charcoal was throwing off was truly impressive.  It required more frequent turning, however, and as smaller pieces of charcoal burned out, hot spots developed across the grill surface.   In contrast, the briquettes threw off a lot less heat throughout the process, but their heat delivery was uniform and long-lasting; I could even grill peaches for dessert later. There were no hotspots.  It took notably longer to grill a steak over the Kingsford Originals, and I could hold my hand over the fire a full second longer, so they were burning much cooler than the lump charcoal or the Competition variety.

Lump charcoal is purer than the Kingsford Original briquettes, which are pressed from a variety of miscellaneous woods and are amended with saltpeter, sawdust, mineral carbon, and other additives.  The Original briquettes smoke more than lump charcoal on ignition and can still throw off some smoke as you grill - this can result in off, acrid flavors.  The Kingsford Competition Briquette uses only wood char and starch, and so they burn just about as clearly as the lump charcoal I used.  They didn't smoke a bit once they were red-hot.  The Originals also left a substantial heap of white ash after they were fully combusted, whereas the Competitions and lump charcoal left substantially less.

My verdict?  Lump charcoal delivers clean, high heat, but it's less predictable and uniform than briquettes.  For some, that added challenge will be fun, and its high heat can be very useful.  It doesn't add much flavor, so don't let that make your decision. For everyday grilling, the Kingsford Competition briquette delivers predictable, uniform, and very high heat, sell for cheaper, and last longer, and they're my pick over lump charcoal.  The Kingsford Original will do in a pinch, but it's cool burning and occasional smoking aren't ideal - so if you don't use lump charcoal, step up to a less amended briquette like Competition, Stubb's, or Trader Joe's, which burn cleaner.

Flatiron Steak

The flatiron steak is a somewhat newfangled cut, once ground into burger, that I've gotten quite fond of.  It's got the beefy flavor of a flank steak, as it's cut from the flavorful chuck, but it's more affordable on a per-pound and generally smaller and thinner.

It's also easier to grill.  Typically they're about a pound or so, so they're easy to work with.  Ideally, it should be uniform in thickness, but I've run into some that taper a bit towards one end - it probably depends on the butcher.  And they run about $6.99-7.99 a pound.

Typically, I marinate these guys for a few hours, but last night I decided to experiment, and rubbed one down with a simple rub of salt, garlic powder, red chile powder from New Mexico, pepper, and just a bit of sugar.  I'm not sure I'd recommend the results over a good marinade, as the flavor wasn't as deep or as interesting - but hey, that's what grilling without remorse is all about.  Check out my entry on marinades for my marinating strategy.  I also sprayed it with a bit of olive oil to promote browning, which I think is a great idea regardless of what you're grilling.  Also, I always use a sharp knife to crosshatch the smooth surface of the meat a bit, as a rougher surface produces more flavorful browned, crispy bits.

Once I had a nice hot two-level fire set up - with all the coals on one half of the grill, the other half clear so you can move the steak off the heat if necessary - I tossed it on. As I said in my first entry, I tend to be a flipper, not a waiter.  A lot of folks will insist that a steak should only be flipped once, but I think that results in an overcooked surface by time the center is done.  It also risks burning the rub.  So I generally flip once every 60-75 seconds.  That's enough time to get good grill marks and searing going, but not enough time for even high heat to burn your steak.  Here we are after the first flip:

Immediately after the a flip, I always apply a thin spray of olive oil (or slop on a baste made with the marinade paste and some beer, wine, or juice) to the hot side I've just exposed.  Basting cools down the very hot meat a bit, adds flavor, and cooks down as you grill, concentrating lots of flavor into a crusty bark on the surface.  After 7-8 flips, you should be approaching medium-rare and the surface will be crispy and deeply browned. See how the crosshatched areas got all browned and yummy?

Like a flank steak, flatirons aren't that great as a big hunk of meat - thin slicing on the bias makes each bite more tender.  Wait about 5-10 minutes to slice for the meat to rest and the juices to redistribute throughout the meat, slice thinly, and serve.  Last night, we just had a simple arugula salad with grapefruit and some chimichurri sauce to finish.

Hello, World

Isn't that what you're supposed to put on a new website?  Hello, world?  In any case, it's sincere.  Hi, Earth.  Pull a chair up.  Stick your toes in the grass.  Want a beer?  It's a sultry-hot Friday the Thirteenth in Denver, Colorado, the July sun ​dipping towards the crest of the Mt. Evans massif.   In my sheltered backyard, it's cooling just a bit, but by the grill, it's still hot as Hell - just the way I like it. I've got my version of a Paloma on my work table: grapefruit juice mixed with clean, dry Brazilian cachaça rather than the traditional tequila.  That's just enough to take the edge off the heat radiating off the heap of charcoal under the grate.  

The grate's hot as hell by now, so it's time to throw on the steak.  It's a mysterious cut from my favorite meat market called the Pedro Steak.  It's got the texture of a flank steak, but it's L-shaped, and as thin as a skirt steak but not as chewy. I doused it in a puree of garlic, Sriracha sauce, bitter orange juice, and olive oil a few hours ago, then dressed it with a bit of salt and pepper while the charcoal was getting hot.  It lets out a hiss like a steam valve as it hits the grill.   I've also got some fresh zucchini, halved and oiled and sprinkled with pepper.  Nothing fancy, just good.
​
I'm an active griller; I've got no patience for waiting nor for received wisdom.  As such, I flip my steaks often, every minute or so, dousing them with a simple baste of oil and orange juice as I do.  I find this, more so than the time-honored method of only flipping meat once, encourages the development of a deep, caramelized, browned crust on the surface while managing the migration of heat towards the core of the steak.   The baste, too, keeps the surface of the meat from drying and toughening as the rest of the steak cooks.  

I love this, you see.  Cooking is one of the joys of my life, and cooking over a live fire is one of the purest and most immediate expressions of that craft.  Done well, grilling is almost transcendent, both primal and refined.   I've only been grilling a couple of years, but I suspect that I will continue learning something new every time I fire up the grill for decades to come.   And that's what motivated me to start this blog, world - to pass on what I've learned about this old art, and to learn from you in turn.   So thanks for checking it out, world.   Looking forward to more.
​Expect daily updates! 

​Cuban Palomilla Steaks: 

• 1lb skirt steak, flatiron steak, or thin-sliced sirloin, no more than 1/2 inch thick

Marinade​

• 1/4 cup olive oil

• 1/4 cup bitter orange or lime juice

• 1 shallot or 1/2 small red onion

• 8 cloves garlic

• 1 tsp sugar

• 1 tsp Sriracha chile sauce or crushed red pepper flakes

Baste

• 1/4 cup olive oil

• 3 tablespoons lime or bitter orange juice

Puree all marinade ingredients in blender until smooth.  Pour over steaks in flat pan or ziploc bag.  Marinate at least 30 minutes up to two hours.  Remove steaks from marinade and, using paper towels, pat steaks dry so no marinade remains.  Salt and pepper generously. Arrange coals for high heat, or preheat gas grill to high.  Allow grill grate to preheat, then ​grill, turning every minute or so for a total of 6-8 minutes until browned and nicely crusty.  Baste the hot side of the meat after every flip.  Allow the meat to rest 5 minutes before slicing thinly and serving.   Optionally, makes badass steak sandwiches on a ciabatta or telera roll.

Chimichurri Needs To Be In Your Life

On your steak, on your burger, on your fish, on a piece of crusty French bread....doesn't really matter.  But you need to make it, often, and put it on everything.  For real.  

​Oh, what, you need convincing?  

​Well, okay.  

​ Chimichurri is Argentina's gift to the culinary world.  Though its origins are not recorded with any rigor, it closely resembles the pestos of Italy, and the concept may have arrived in South America with Italian immigrants.   Its use as a dressing for grilled meat originates with the gauchos and frontiersmen of the Pampas.  Chimichurri is the classic condiment served at a traditional Argentinian asado -  a day-long barbecue party of heroically gluttonous excess, where titanic primal cuts of beef are slowly spit-roasted next to a howling wood-fueled bonfire. 

The ingredients are simple - parsley, oregano, garlic, red chile flakes, olive oil, and vinegar - with most takes on the theme incorporating fresh herbs.  A simpler and less flavorful version, chimichurri seca,  is prepared with dry herbs and spices.Of course, variations exist - I've seen recipes that include paprika and others that incorporate anchovies, tomatoes, and red pepper.  But the simple, soulful original is the best. 

And damn, is it good.  On a smoky, peppery, freshly grilled steak, it's a revelation. The one-two punch of fresh herbal flavors and the bite of vinegar accent the flavor of good beef while cutting  its richness and heaviness, making it light on the palate and in the belly.   It turns up the music in much the same way that a squeeze of lime enlivens a carnitas taco, or a bit of vinegar brings together the flavors of a gazpacho.  Its spark works the same magic on burgers, pulled pork, grilled chicken, and even hot dogs or a strong fish like mackerel or salmon.  And it's diametrically opposed to the sludgy sweetness of a bottled steak sauce. 

​ If you've got a lot to make, go ahead and use a food processor, but a good chef's knife is all you really need.  A lot of recipes seem to advocate that you process chimichurri into a sauce, almost like a thin pesto or a viniagrette, but I think it works best with the ingredients merely minced, with the loose texture and distinct components characteristic of a relish or salsa.   But it'd be good if it were processed to sauce, too.  And one could amend it or modify it to their liking - replace the oregano with mint if you're serving over lamb, replace some or all of the parsley with cilantro, throw in some green onions, add a dose of mild, warmly flavored paprika....this is a starting point, nothing more.  
First, mince the following finely:

• 1 1/2 packed cups flat-leaf Italian parsley

• 1/2 cup fresh oregano

In a bowl, mix the minced herbs with:

• 1 cup good, peppery olive oil

• 1/2 cup vinegar - I prefer the sweetness and nuttiness of sherry vinegar, but red wine vinegar will also do.

• 4 cloves garlic, grated with a microplane or similar fine zester/grater

• 1/2 teaspoon chile flakes, hot paprika, or chile powder - I've used everything from Turkish Aleppo chiles to standard crushed chile flakes and even Sriracha sauce in a pinch.  The grassy flavor of a microplaned jalapeno chile would work well here too, I imagine. You're not looking for much spice here, just the zip that a little piquancy provides.  

Stir it up good.  Adjust vinegar content until it's nice and tangy.  Add more chile flakes if you want.  Add more garlic if you're not planning on making out with anybody.  No, really, it's that simple, guys.  Chop, grate, dump, stir.   Then put it on meat.  Put it on more meat.  Enjoy life just that little bit more.​

Marinating: Steak Edition

​
On a whim, as my little present to myself, I bought a Weber kettle grill a couple of years ago.  My dad has always been a Weber man, and we were planning to grill hot dogs and burgers for two dozen, and so...why not?   It was a hundred bucks.

I surprised myself by falling in love with the damn thing, and with what  intense heat and smoky charcoal do to food.   And so I started, as a scientist will, experimenting with techniques - direct and indirect cooking, coal distribution, rubs and marinades.   Marinades, especially.  At my friend Dan's spice emporium, Savory Spice Shop,  I had access to not only every spice known to humankind, but also his merry crew of  food geeks.   So I set about figuring out the classic Grilling 101 final exam: turning out a flavorful, juicy marinated steak.  Of course, you can make a perfectly good steak with nothing but salt and pepper, but I love the complexity and richness marinating adds to a steak.
My first marinated flank steak was an unmitigated disaster; the idea was fajitas, so I figured I'd go with a chile lime deal and winged it.   I juiced four limes, added some red chile powder and cumin and coriander, marinated the steak for 24 hours, then grilled it.   Lime juice, I reasoned, would tenderize the steak, and lime juice is also yummy.  Yes? 

No.  One's griller instincts sometimes steer you wrong.  The steak was wretched.  The surface was mushy.   The flavor of lime was overpowering and completely blew away anything else I put in the marinade.   No beef flavor was to be found.  It was just a mushy wad of burned muscle soaked in lime juice.   Major fail, as the internet people say.  In consultation with my coworkers,  a few cookbooks, and the internet, I began formulating an alternate hypothesis.  I learned a few things and immediately felt like a dumbass for winging it.  A dozen or so steaks later, I hit on a pretty good marinade formula.  

My basic marinade formula is a quarter cup each of oil and and minced aromatics, with 2-3 tablespoons of  beer and an optional 2 tablespoons of soy or fish sauce. All of these should come together in a paste, not a liquid.  Flavoring a piece of meat doesn't require a gallon of marinade - why not concentrate all the flavors right there on the surface?  I grind this in my big, badass cast iron mortar and pestle - one could also use a small food processor or blender-  and it comes out like baby food.   (Protip: do not feed to babies.)  Add the beer as necessary to loosen up the paste.​

Apparently, marinades really only affect the first few millimeters of a steak - so yes, the lime juice tenderized the crap out of the surface of the meat,  but it did nothing to the interior.   So forget about tenderizing the meat; you've got to accomplish that other ways.  No, now you're just trying to flavor it as deeply as possible. 


To flavor it, you need oil.   Oil transfers flavors exceptionally well, because many things that produce strong flavors are oils themselves or otherwise dissolve well in oil.  So if you want your marinade to transfer the flavor of your chiles or garlic or pepper or rosemary or what have you, it should primarily incorporate oil, with other liquids playing a supporting role.  
Beer is a fantastic partner for your oil as a liquid base. Its flavor is complimentary to many savory ingredients, not particularly sweet, just slightly acidic, and has a bit of body to it.  I typically keep some cans of cheap beer like PBR around for this purpose, but whatever you're drinking is fine.  You could also use wine as your liquid base.   You could also use citrus or other fruit juice, tomato juice, and vinegar.  However, remember my disaster and consider how long you're marinating your steak: the more acidic your marinade, the shorter your marinating time needs to be.
  
​To flavor the oil that flavors the meat, you need lots and lots of aromatics.   I couldn't  even taste the cumin and chile in my first marinade, because I used about a teaspoon of each.  No, use a ton.   Garlic? 4-6 big cloves.  Shallots?  1-2.   I've used two tablespoons of chile powder in marinades before.    Go big on the aromatics - again, you're just flavoring the surface, so flavor the surface! If they're whole ingredients, they should all be minced fine, to make the pureeing easier.    I find that aromatics with big, deep flavors work best - delicate, subtle flavors tend to get lost on the grill, especially herbs but also many spices.   A very functional marinade could be made with only garlic, chiles, oil, and soy sauce - more ephemeral flavors can be introduced with a sauce, relish, or rub you add just before or following cooking.  

You also need salt.   Brining ain't just for turkeys anymore.  Salting a piece of meat first draws water out, initially toughening it, but it unwinds proteins and creates microscopic gaps and spaces in the meat. Eventually, osmotic pressure draws that salty meat juice, and other marinade ingredients, back into the meat.  My salt component in the marinade is usually soy sauce, fish sauce, or salt added to the wine/beer/citrus juice and dissolved.   Soy sauce and fish sauce have the bonus of containing a ton of glutamates, which boost umami flavor and richness, but they have a strong flavor, so only a few tablespoons of these are necessary. 

After marinating, I stab the hell out of the meat with a sharp fork - more surface area for the marinade to penetrate, see?  After that I salt the meat directly, with a little kosher salt, and spread the paste all over the both sides with a spatula.  The flavors are so intense that the marinating time isn't very long - a couple hours will do it, though unlike with an overly acidic marinade, all day won't necessarily hurt.  
When it comes time to grill, scrape the paste off - it's already done its duty, and it just turns to crusty charred bits on the grill.  A rub could be introduced at this time, if you want to incorporate more delicate flavors.  Cumin, coriander, cinnamon, and paprika, especially, benefit from a little direct heat, so consider deploying a followup rub.   

I find that the results are truly, deeply flavorful - you can taste spices and herbs clearly even after grilling, and the salt punches up the flavor of the meat very well.  It doesn't damage the meat or overpower it like large amounts of acid or salad dressing can, and it's amenable to any cuisine's favorite flavors.  And it's pretty darn quick and easy, too - you can get good flavor in only an hour of marinating.