As I grow older, I have learned that the secret to growing the best food and preparing it for the table is a willingness not to cut corners. This is increasingly a luxury only available to the wealthy or the small producer.
About 25 years ago I was raising a steer in the barnyard to feed my brood of four ravenous children and the project was not going well. After 16 months I had poured the contents of a silo through this animal and it still didn’t look finished. I called my friend Neil who ran the local abattoir and asked if he would drop by and give me a professional opinion whether it was ready.
“What kind of animal is it?” he asked.
“A Simmental,” I replied.
“Are you sick of the sight of it?”
“What?... yes. I am definitely sick of the sight of it.”
“Then it’s ready. That’s how you tell with a Simmental.”
About six months later, after the family had chewed through a big chunk of that steer, I mentioned to Neil that I had been reduced to making stew out of everything but the very best cuts. And my eldest daughter had just announced she was vegetarian. What was I doing wrong? He gave me the best advice I have ever had on the subject of raising beef for your own table.
“It all comes down to genetics and groceries,” he said. “The feedlots love Simmentals and the other exotics and hybrids because they grow fast on a big frame but you pretty much have to feed them with a front-end loader to keep up with that frame. If you’re growing one for your freezer you should go back to one of the old British breeds – a Hereford, Shorthorn or Angus. It’s a little slower and they don’t cut out as efficiently, but the eating is always a lot better.”
My next animal was a 4-H project, and we found a Shorthorn that my son named Decaff. Under the supervision of the beef club leader Decaff fluffed up nicely. It was one of those rare years when the summer rains kept coming and the pasture remained lush into September. So Decaff ended up being grass-finished. When we finally sat down to our first prime rib roast dinner we were joined by a friend of mine, a brand management guru who jets around the world. After several bites of the roast, he raised his glass and announced:
“I have eaten Kobe beef in Kobe, Japan. This is every bit as good.”
And why wouldn’t it be? Three people took a close interest in one animal for the better part of a year. We didn’t feed it beer, massage rice wine into its hide or make it listen to classical music. But we did take an old bloodline known for natural marbling, give it lots of groceries and let it live out its life on a lush pasture. Then we took it to Neil who hung the carcass for 14 days (which is not an option available in any commercial system I am aware of). The end-result may still not measure up to the exacting standards of Kobe, Wagyu, Matsusaka or a vintage 2000 French côte de boeuf, but it involves the same thinking that gave us those enchantments at the dinner table. And it probably costs about the same if we dared to keep track of our time.
Since the kids have moved on, we aren’t eating that much beef and I have not fattened one for several seasons. So now I have to scan the supermarket meat counter with the general public. I notice we all stare at the packaged cuts with same furrowed brow. I presume the others are sharing my ‘moment of doubt’ that comes with every beef purchase I make today. I know from past experience that this may not turn out well. It could be mouth-watering or it could be a rubber boot. It’s always a roll of the dice unless I turn to the Angus Identity Preserved options, which are always a safer bet but considerably more expensive.
I guessed wrong again over the holidays with my choice of an AAA rib roast and received a number of complaints from family members who have been spoiled rotten by backyard beef with none of the corners shaved off. I explained the problem and promptly received pledges toward the cost of another Shorthorn.
I will be back in the beef business this spring.