Meet your meat, part 3

Lately I have reading and thinking about and cooking meat. I am re-reading Bill Buford's HEAT, an amazingly engaging and thoughtful book about food, cooking, and, well, meat. Just before that I whizzed through a small memoir by a chef who cooks for Italian billionaires on their $8M yacht for a summer. Both these books have strong connections with Italy so I am thinking about food and farming through something of an Italian lens.

It's common that I become reflective about meat in the Spring because that is when lambs are born, and most of those lambs are destined for the freezer. It is the time of year when people stop by the farm and light up at the sight of babies frolicking, only to drop their eyes and murmur some question about the sadness of it all.

It is the time of year when I contemplate what it means to eat and what it means to eat honorably.

Here is what I think is sad: I think it's sad that we've come to - actually been in for a quite a while - a time in our culture when it's rare we even think to purchase animals as the sum of their parts to use as food. Most of us rarely even roast a whole chicken. For us, in North America, our recipes call for ridiculous collections of breasts and thighs. We're used to it - it's how we cook, how we shop. "6-8 skinless, boneless thighs" the magazine says. "2 breasts, bone-in, skin removed."

What happened to buying a chicken, flattening it against your cutting board, and using all of its parts to make dinner? Did folks develop specific preferences for thighs and breasts and then supermarkets began supplying our dinners that way? Or did processors and groceries predict that they could make more money from "specialty cuts" priced as such and these specialty cuts evolved into the way we thought about chicken?

I don't know. But, a while back I volunteered in my son's Humanities class to help replicate the mummification process used by the Egyptians. My son's teacher is a gleefully creative man who looks forward to this process of decay each Spring. It helps to have a few grown-up types around to make sure the teams of 6th graders don't out-gross each other too much.

But, the first day revealed something surprising to me. We had a straightforward task: take a packaged supermarket guinea hen out of its shrinkwrap, rinse it, then pour salt in and over it, and seal it in a ziplock bag. Nothing to it.

Except these kids - these country kids, who live or have been on a farm of some type - were absolutely beside themselves at the thought of touching a raw supermarket hen. I mean, this is about as sanitized a piece of meat you're ever going to come in contact with, and keeping the squeals of both girls and boys down to a dull roar was by far the toughest part of the day.

These are 11 and 12 year olds. What do they think they've been eating? And where have they been while mom or dad has been frying up dinner? How can kids out here on this island of groovy little farms be so totally disconnected from the food they eat?

It's a little discouraging. There may be a food revolution out there, with micro farms like ours popping up across the land and an explosion in the vendors at farmers markets...but most kids still think their hamburger arrives in its bun essentially by magic.

This year, we expanded our non-supermarket food acquisition by purchasing both a quarter-side of beef and an entire pig with a couple other families. The challenge? Well, you have to cook a lot of different things - not just steaks and chops, because cows and pigs are not composed of steaks and chops. And when that delicious bacon is all used up, it's time to make sausage out of the ground.

But, this cow and this pig were raised by hand, in the open air, on pasture. They didn't get sick, because they didn't stand around in what we'll euphemistically call "muck," and they died quickly and well.

And all who went in on this deal agree: The best tasting beef and pork - ever. Ever. Somehow, too, it does feel more...honest. That our meat is all of one animal, rather than the choicest cuts of many combined. It somehow says, this is what nourishes us, all of you, we thank you. We do not pick the chops and turn the rest into dog food. Outside of North America, with the exception of Great Britain and Down Under, this is still the way many people approach their dinner. It is most definitely the way Italians and French, although the results are quite different, buy and cook just about everything. Buy or grow it whole, break it down, treat each piece with respect, and enjoy it.

Small food counts when its fresh green and luscious tomatoes. Definitely. But I think it counts - in every way you can imagine - even more if you eat meat.

Buono gusto.

Green company of the year

About a year ago, someone unknown with a bottomless sense of humor subscribed me to Forbes Magazine.  The reasons that this is incredibly ironic are many and go way back.  But, I must say, that each month the cover, on its direct route to the recycle bin, provides my family with much mirth.

We also enjoy the periodic Special Advertising Sections on how to choose which personal aircraft best suits your needs.  Because, really, who doesn't need help determining which Gulfstream is the right for them?

But, today is too good not to share.  

Really?  Wow.

Steve, I'm thinkin' it might be time to hang it up and just enjoy the dividend checks.

Not the solar and wind pioneers?  Not the urban gardeners?  No bone to the many, many companies developing ways to use our existing infrastructure to deliver renewable energy in a cost-effective way?  Exxonmobile as Green Company of the Year...

Hmm.

This is the same Exxonmobile that spent nearly 20 years fighting the Valdez lawsuit until it finally settled for about 1/10th the amount the Feds originally directed it to pay...right?  That Exxon?  Just checking.

Huh.  

The irony just never ends.

This even tops the cover, a few months back, of why women managers are on the rise - complete with all-pink type and the cover "exec" holding instruments normally reserved for housecleaning.

What ceiling?

Clean Green Meat - You deserve it as much as they do

By now, most folks who are tuned in to this blog are interested or at least aware of the environmental and health consequences of the North American system of producing the hamburger or chicken nugget that appears on your plate or in your 40% post-consumer recycled take-away container. Today, I'd like to put down some ink on where our supermarket meat comes from, why - exactly - it's scary, and what our alternatives are.

CAFOs (confined animal feeding operations) are where the majority of your beef eventually comes from. These are the "feed lots" many of us in the west grew up with. I certainly did - one of my best friend's family ran one just outside of town. It was never pretty. And, now, the sad truth is, even beef labeled "grass-fed" and "all-natural" generally comes from cattle that spends their last weeks in a CAFO.

Why is this sad? Well, beyond the horrific environmental conditions, CAFOs are by definition unhealthy and unsanitary. While we North Americans routinely take our dose of lecture from our physician or local public service announcement on the grave consequences of neglecting to finish our next Amoxycillin prescription, the truth of the matter is that 70% of US antibiotics in production is given to cattle, not people. So, really, whether you complete 7 or 9 days of that sacred 10-day cycle has relatively miniscule impact on the grand antibiotic resistance horizon.

Take a minute: 7 out of 10 antibiotics in circulation are injected into or ingested by the food you eat...and this never shows up on any label.

Cattle in CAFOs stand around shoulder-to-shoulder, ankle-deep in their own waste. The prevalence of illness is why all animals are generally given routine medication for their duration there. When Michael Pollen wrote The Omnivore's Dilemma, only two industries would not allow him to witness their operations: CAFOs were uniformly one of them. I don't know about you, but all things being equal, I generally prefer a restaurant with cooks out in the open to one where the cooks are hidden behind solid walls.

Same principle.

Even if you have little empathy for livestock, eating store-bought meat can be disturbing. Once you understand the conditions of CAFOs, the news that only a tiny, tiny fraction of all "USDA-inspected" meat is, actually, inspected should trigger true alarm. In fact, just last year, a midwest meat processor was actually sued by the USDA for implementing a plan to test all its beef. Seems the USDA felt that if it allowed such wanton testing to go unchecked, why, consumers might demand it and that, alone, would constitute "undue burden" on the other meat packers.

No, I am not kidding. Google it.

Chickens fare little better in their well-documented factory housing. A layer "house" the size of my (very small) bathroom can hold over 70 hens according to the government and industry standards. They never see the light of day, never leave their cage, are slaughtered when their production begins to fall. "Free range" hens and their meat-destined counterparts are, mostly, raised by the same people who raise the mainstream versions. These businessfolk construct an additional building with a door on one end and a small patch of grass outside. They are allowed to keep the chickens indoors the first 5 weeks or so, by government guidelines...and by then the habits are formed. The door opens, but the patch of grass goes largely unused. They are factory eggs and factory breasts and thighs in all but name only. But you, dear consumer, pay premium prices to feel that your eggs come from a higher source and are healthier. Not, I'm sad to tell you, so.

So. Why bother? You might as well just forget the whole thing and go back to buying whatever's on sale, right? Well, you can't be blamed for feeling that way. But, here's a couple alternatives and ideas:

First: It's cliche (as will be most of what follows), but vote with your dollars. If all that's available to you is "grass-fed" beef and "free-range" eggs from the main brands, buy it. Yes, you are paying extra for something that at its heart is not that different, but you are still creating a market. You're sending a message. Every time a Safeway egg buyer or butcher has to take stock of what's selling and sees that it's the organic or free range or grass fed...the market opens up a little and space for that small, sustainable farm is born. You can help create the next truly grass-fed ranch, the next truly free-range chicken farm. So keep buying.

Second: Please find your farmers market. You are being bludgeoned on this site about the importance of frequenting your local market, but it's really no joke. We can't afford to sell at supermarket prices, we depend on you to find us and tell us you care that we hand-raise our animals, kill them ourselves humanely, and carry the meat in coolers to your neighborhood. Is it more expensive than United Grocers? Yup.

Third: Join a buyers club or find a local butcher that works with area sustainable farmers. They're out there. If you're in the NW, try www.thunderinghooves.net or www.meatshopoftacoma.com. You can buy hand-raised lamb, clumsily but carefully wrapped, from us or talk to farmers at your local market - they'll likely know someone.

We reached a milestone this week. We have a storage locker full of our own lamb, we have several cuts of grass-fed bison, raised in eastern Washington, and we've just contracted to share about a quarter of a Canadian-raised steer with friends of ours. We will basically buy no store-bought red meat during 2009. And we're aiming to begin meat chickens this summer. I swear, there is something amazing about going through the local supermarket and totally bypassing the meat section. It's empowering.

If you're not fortunate enough to be able to take advantage of the above, here's a couple suggestions: Ask for beef that has been, at a minimum, "pasture finished." This means it spent its last several weeks on grass and ensures an almost null ecoli risk. And if your "pasture-raised" beef isn't "pasture-finished," ask why. You might make your supermarket butcher a little uncomfortable (I did), but they'll probably investigate - and that will get back to the livestock producer. Believe it or not, a lot of those guys are still small operations.

Don't let labels that shout "all vegetarian diet" substitute for grass; this is a misnomer in the cattle and free-range chicken and egg front - cattle fed grain only must live on drugs because their systems can't tolerate grain; chickens are omnivores, not vegetarians. An "all-vegetarian diet" means either someone is lying or these chickens are not being allowed to live a natural life.

And, finally, allow yourself to become connected with your food once more. Growing veggies and herbs in pots on the porch is a great start - but there is something deeply perverse about pretending that your meat never lived. We are the only culture in the world to insist on this. Meat = animal. It has always been so. Loving animals doesn't mean you can't eat meat or that you have to fantasize that steaks grow on trees.

It does, however, demand that you respect the animal that helped create your dinner. Loving animals does, I think, mean that you want their journey into your life to mean something, that consuming them should be a healthful privilege and not a risky business. You don't have to be an animal rights activist to know instinctively that all beings have a right to enjoy their time on earth, no matter how brief - and that as omnivores, we have a responsibility to ensure that the animal's life justifies its end.

The good news? It's easier than you think, and you can email me here for advice or suggestions.

Bon appetit-

Two steps forward, one back

I did something today I haven't done in probably two years - and thought, quite honestly, that I'd never have to do again. I bought eggs at the supermarket. Brand-name eggs from a poultry operation that isn't local, but does claim to be humane and organic. I know these labels are treated vaguely in the law, totally unenforced, are manipulated by an open door at one end of the standard long hen prison, a patch of grass - are, at the end of the day, just this side of meaningless.

But, I needed eggs. Or, more precisely, I wanted eggs. And my hens are 100% on strike until it warms up. Most of them won't even venture out of their now extremely ripe coop. They peep and chirp and squeal; they fly in my face and try to dive into the giant trash can where their feed is stored. They hate the feel of snow on their feet, are pretty much coming to hate each other and are just all-around cranky as hell and not one bit interested in sharing anything of any value, like an egg.

So, I stood in front of the egg case, which of course, this being our beloved Thriftway, means in front of 25 different egg selections. And most people must surely behold this refrigerated shrine to Choice a wondrous or at least precious thing. But, I was just sad. I have plenty of projects under construction and even more abandoned or yet-started dreams, but eggs are my success story. Our farm offers up the best, very best, eggs there are. So buying eggs is a special kind of failure for me. Because I know that it's not just me buying eggs - by the time I buy eggs, there's a lot of other folks in the neighborhood who've been walking and driving by...and seeing none, go to the store and buy eggs. That makes me sad.

Sometimes I wish I had a driveway sign for all these nuanced occasions. Today, it would say "We'll be back!"

On the other hand, just three years, one day, and 8 hours after we moved in, we (Mark) are (is) putting the handles on our kitchen cabinets! It would be frankly tough to overstate the thrill of this occasion. Handles, schmandles you might be saying, but these particular handles were chosen through tortuous decision-making nearly four years ago, have taken up exquisitely-precious shelf and drawer space, and, truly, are the jewelry that sparkle up a kitchen. Not to mention that they also make opening drawers and doors easier. I am not giddy on this front yet, however, because we could only get through about 60% today...and anyone with a home knows the danger this portends.

And, in the midst of this unprecedented winter chill, another small victory. I may have bought eggs today, but I did not buy lemons. At last, my spidery lemon tree has kicked into gear for real, offering up luscious sweet Meyer lemons and throwing a show of flowers so thick and brilliant, I can finally hope for my own supply of winter citrus, ready for the picking whenever food or drink commands.

Two steps forward, one step back.