Instructions: Proust had his Madeleine, that famous little tea cake, to awaken memories of times past. I have my brisket sandwich.

When I left Baltimore for sleep-away camp for the first time, my mother decided that her skinny 10-year-old needed a substantial lunch for the long train ride. En route to the B & O Station, we stopped at Nates and Leons Delicatessen on North Avenue. Mother double-parked, and I waited in the car while she dashed in and reappeared swiftly, bearing a brown paper bag.

In it, wrapped in butchers paper, was a hefty sandwich of tender, succulent, slightly fat, brisket on crusty, freshly sliced caraway rye. The juices from the still-warm meat moistened the bread, releasing its irresistible aromas and flavors. My sandwich and I were the envy, if not of all the other girls, surely of all the counselors.

That brisket was a classic: no tomatoes, no chili sauce, no nonsense. What the great French gourmand Curnonsky said about food applies, however cross-culturally, to this dish: "Cuisine is when foods taste like themselves."

So, how could I, with such an unforgettable example of excellence in my sensory memory bank, have prepared brisket with onion soup mix and cranberry sauce, the way I did in the seventies?

It happened like this: a new friend invited us for a holiday lunch. She was a busy woman who kept a strictly kosher house, and entertained a lot, which, in those days, meant that she cooked a lot. She served us her special, easy-to-make brisket. You didnt need a recipe.

All you needed was a three pound (more or less) piece of brisket, a packet of kosher, meat-based or pareve onion soup mix, and a one pound can of whole-berry cranberry sauce. And all you did was put a large piece of foil in a roasting pan, place the brisket on the foil, combine the sauce and the mix, and pour them over the meat.

Then you wrapped it all up, and put it in the oven at 350 F (175 C) until done. You could make it a day or two ahead, which made it easier to slice, and then reheat it in its gravy.

Besides being quick and easy, this allowed kosher cooks to feel part of the mainstream. It was an adaptation of one of the most popular dishes of the day, pot roast in foil with onion soup mix and condensed cream of mushroom soup. With the dairy ingredient replaced, it became suitable for the kosher kitchen.

Well, that was then, this is now. (We wore funny clothes and hairstyles back then, too.) Now, if Im going to cook a brisket, I want the first bite of it to take me back to a time when only sailors wore bell bottoms and you could buy simple perfection at the deli.

So, I make my brisket today according to a recipe my friend Gail published in her temple cookbook as "The Worlds Best Brisket." No false modesty, there. And again, its not so much a recipe as a method.

She seasons a four-pound brisket and browns it in a heavy pot without adding fat or oil. Then she removes the meat, adds five or six sliced large onions to the pot, and stirs them in the drippings. She puts the meat back in the pot, covers it tightly, and cooks it over low heat until its fork tender, about two to two-and-a-half hours.

While the brisket cooks, your house will smell maddeningly delicious. When you lift the lid, you will find the meat surrounded by abundant, rich, oniony gravy, even though you put no liquid in the pot. Slice the meat and reheat it in the gravy. If you make it ahead, store the meat and juices separately for easy de-fatting.

My only change to this is the addition of a few large carrots cut in thirds. and my favorite accompaniment to the brisket is kasha (buckwheat groats); its nutty flavor is a great foil for the meat and gravy. And the next day: sandwiches on
rye!

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