Why I Farm, Part III
~ This article first appeared in The Leader Vindicator newspaper. ~
You are reading the third installment of a series. Find previous articles in the blog home page.
Why I Farm, Part III
When I was first inspired with the idea to pursue a steak of life-changing repertoire, the quest seemed somewhat hopeless because taste is too subjective. I have since determined that there is a universal wholesomeness people can recognize and adhere to (this is why I didn’t need prepped to enjoy the orange; it was inherently delicious). As long as basic steak parameters for tenderness and consistency are respected, this baseline can be bolstered in a manner that is widely unexpected and appealing, thus elevating satisfaction.
There is little effort to produce steak that exceeds the established waterline. Beef production is too static; the business has become an equation of cattle + feed = steak. It occurs to me that, of the vast number of cattlemen I have encountered, very near zero know anything about the essence of steak. Producers are following an established method in an attempt to yield steaks that fit into a systemized grading report: Prime, Choice, Select and Standard. Beyond these limited criteria, steak is nothing.
If you’re thinking that beef grades are proof that people do understand beef quality, consider what it is that makes steak appealing. Is it just savory fat? Consistent texture? Reliable supply? No! If this were true, we’d get the same satisfaction eating peanut butter as we do a ribeye. There is something else entirely about steak that makes it so attractive.
It is within that ‘something else’ where the latent potential of steak resides.
Red wine, the drink fawned over by consumers and numerous publications for its rich complexity, contains only 46 more flavor compounds than does a grilled steak, which carries 340. Steak brandishes twenty-five different kinds of fat at our taste buds and, when not overcooked, yields juice loaded with umami, the flavor that extinguishes meat hunger.
When a steer’s diet is designed with the singular objective of yielding marbled steaks, most of this flavor potential is muted, leaving only a taste of “neutral cooked oil” to be detected, according to professional beef-taster Laurent Vernet. (The next time you eat a steak, slow down and carefully consider the flavor profiles you can detect. You’ll be surprised at what is, and what isn’t, tasted. Vernet’s scoring sheets subdivide fifty-eight characteristics into subcategories.)
It is this relatively tame, oily rendition of steak that is common across the country (and, increasingly, the world). That which is familiar is easily accepted. I can relate a good example of this axiom from direct experience.
When we began selling cuts of beef in 2005, our business experienced growth at a rather rapid pace because we offered a familiar product – grain-fattened beef – from a novel setting – a farm store. The business met people where they were comfortable, and today we enjoy a loyal following of supporters who are attracted to small batch, hand-raised, grain-fattened beef, which is far superior to commercially produced alternatives. I am thrilled that we are able to supply them with something they love.
Until 2012, the thought of any alternative beef style was blasphemy to my entrenched mind. It is my attraction to unadulterated flavors that tie specifically into a terrain, climate, and culture that finally overcame my resistance to change.
Each flavor marker residing in steak can be switched on or off by adjusting the complexity of the animal’s diet. Diet complexity can be equated with complexity in the environment in which the bovine spends its life. Remember from last week’s article that flavors are nutritional markers that form strong bonds with our ‘gut brain’, which translates as a powerful liking in our conscious mind. A grain diet, I realized, is not at all complex. What are we missing?
Grassfed beef opens the gateway to diet diversification for cattle. It also opens the door to a flavor minefield.
Mark Schatzker, in his book Steak, explains that the best steak he has ever eaten was grassfed. So was the worst. He describes bad grassfed beef as “an intimate glimpse of heartfelt ineptitude,” and I am certain he is correct. The first grassfed beef I sold to a customer was so bad the family couldn’t believe the results were accidental; they thought I scammed them. Alas, I made the mistake of assuming beef is beef, and as long as the steer on grass got bigger, he would taste good. Definitely not the case.
Excellent forage-reared beef must be understood as the work of a savant that encompasses water cycles, soil life, mineral cycles, vegetation, genetics, nutrition, growth curves, handling techniques, and more.
I have improved my abilities enough that they yield grassfed steak that is pretty darn okay. Grassfed beef customers have stopped me to explain that they had lost hope in grain-free beef until they tried ours. Furthermore, our grainfed customer base has shown keen curiosity in forage-only beef. I expect that the next ten years will hone our pasture environment enough to cross the line from ‘pretty good’ to steak that causes excitement.
It is here that I discover motivation to take on the day: A challenge so monstrous that it captures the imagination and inspires endurance, just to see what is on the other side.
How do I proceed into the unknown? Direction is discovered via a change in perspective. I’m creating a food that satisfies people by providing a sense of belonging.
Until next time.