Food Fight

I recently read an article in the The Atlantic wherein the author, B. R. Myers, complains (amongst a raft of grievances relating to foodies, food writing, and food writers) about the overtly graphic writing in the food community. He takes particular issue with the descriptions of the slaughter of animals. Myers rambles a bit (throughout), but it seems his problem with this particular issue is that such writing highlights the manifestation of excess as expressed through the celebration of animal death. As evidence, he offers a quote from the writings of Vogue food critic Jeffery Steingarten about the twenty-minute slaughter of a pig destined for the dinner table; relating that it took four people to hold the animal down while it bled to death. That, I admit, sounds horrific. This, Myers then suggests, is the normal attitude of the modern gourmet, and he then goes on to support this by relating a Michael Pollan anecdote of witnessing, with a friend, the slaughter of a goat. As for Pollan's friend, ?the experience made him want to honor our goat by wasting as little of it as possible.? Meyer dismisses this as equating a trip to a abattoir with ?fun,? before moving on to an altogether separate beef with what he calls the ?foodie subculture.?

The author's point is not, as you might expect, that we should not eat meat, but rather that focusing on and drawing attention to the fact that meat comes from somewhere is automatically the the glorification of an animal's death, and therefore brutality manifest. In fact, according to Myers, reveling in animal torture has been a mainstay of the gourmand for centuries. He supports this assertion by quoting, as he calls it, ?a British dining manual of the time,? providing the passage: ?A true gastronome is as insensible to suffering as is a conqueror.? Myers cites neither author nor work, nor does he give time frame, other than a vague reference to the past few hundred years.

The quote is, in fact, originally from the works of nineteenth century English writer Abraham Hayward, something of a critic of all things, who penned it in an 1836 article which was later republished in 1852 in the compilation: The Art of Dining: or, Gastronomy and Gastronomers. Far from being a ?dining manual? of the times, it was, like most of Hayward's writing, a critique, and should be thus considered. This isn't a historically accurate, unbiased, information manual. It is rather the outspoken view of a man who, by most accounts, angered nearly everyone he ever met.



This next bit is pure speculation, but I'm guessing that Myers lifted the quote not directly from The Art of Dining but rather secondhand from Mark Caro's The Foie Gras Wars (2009), wherein it is a predominate quote. Perhaps this failure to understand the source lead to Myers' ?mistake? of referring to Hayward's work as a historical manual.

Obviously, This hyperbole (hyperbole being an argumentative method dismissed by Myers), supported by antiquated evidence, masks the true intention of the modern chefs and food writers whom he is attacking. Witnessing the slaughter of an animal you are going to eat is not a barbaric sacrifice ritual. Rather it is the deep acceptance of responsibility. This thing died for me; an animal, a living thing has died so that I can eat. I have a duty to respect that.

It really is that simple. The topic, when presented as Pollan, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall (at whom Myers also takes a swipe), and so many others do, is a not-so-gentle reminder that the meat you are eating comes at a high price, ethically speaking, and you better treat it that way. Thomas Keller mentions this in The French Laundry Cookbook. After receiving, at his request, a delivery of live rabbits which he painfully slaughters ? an experience he describes as ?terrible,? ? Keller states:

Because killing those rabbits had been such an awful experience, I would not squander them. I would use all my powers as a chef to ensure that those rabbits were beautiful. It?s very easy to go to a grocery store and buy meat, then accidentally overcook it and throw it away?Would that cook, I wonder, have let his attention stray from that loin had he killed the rabbit himself? No. Should a cook squander anything, ever??
Writers like Pollan and chefs like Fearnley-Whittingstall and Keller are fighting against the general perception that meat comes from the supermarket, wrapped in cellophane. Myer, in twisting this argument so that it looks like a glorification of a macabre spectacle is, frankly, producing irresponsible journalism.

The simple truth is that the majority of people are disconnected from the source of their food. Sure, anyone will tell you that the steak they are having for dinner comes from a cow, but ask any of them how it came from cow to plate, or how the cow was reared, or what part of the cow they are eating, and most couldn't tell you a thing.

Don't believe me?

Once, when describing to a patron what a beef cheek was like, I used the phrase ? a muscle that's been worked a lot? and she visibly blanched, halting my description with an upheld hand. ?It's a muscle?? ?All meat is muscle,? I replied, to which she muttered: ?I need a moment to come to terms with that.?

If it takes a bit of moral shock brought on by a bit of gory prose about the nature of animal rearing and slaughter (a la Pollan, etc) then so be it. This isn't a revelry in animal flesh as much as a general prod into awareness. Not enough people care where their food is coming from; perhaps such writing will shock a few.



Anyway, speaking of beef cheeks...

They are mussels which are worked constantly throughout the life of a cow. The beasts chew incessantly. All that work makes the cut very flavorful but quite tough ? exercise encourages the growth of connective tissue, and connective tissue makes meat chewy. The solution? Long, slow, gentle cooking to break down those tissues and make the meat tender and delicious.

It's just officially past summer here in OZ, but it still feels like summer. Braised and slow cooked meats are not typical summer foods, being rich and heavy by nature. It is for this reason that they are seldom served outside of the winter months. However, years ago, when I worked at one in a row of restaurants on a wharf, the neighboring establishment put braised lamb shanks on their summer menu. We laughed at this apparent folly, until a waiter, upon returning from reconnaissance, informed us that fully half of the patrons at our competitor's had ordered shanks. Comfort food is comfort food, regardless of the season.

Braised Beef Cheeks

This secondary cut is not something your butcher will probably have on hand; order ahead. They are satisfyingly sticky and very filling. One per person is a very generous meal.

2 beef cheeks, trimmed
2 carrots, peeled, rough chop
2 brown onions, peeled, quartered
2 sticks celery, rough chop
1 head garlic, cult in half horizontally
1 sprig rosemary
1 sprig thyme
2 bay leaves
white chicken stock (optional)

Preheat your oven to 160ºC. Heat a large, heavy-bottomed pot on high heat. When very hot, add a couple tablespoons of oil, liberally season the beef cheeks, and brown them on all sides in the pan. Remove from pan. Reduces the heat to medium and add the carrot, onion, celery, and garlic. Cook, stirring frequently, until the veggies have colored and smell deeply roasted and rich. Add the herbs, stir for one minute more, and then add about 1 cup of chicken stock or water. Simmer this, scraping any stuck bits from the bottom of the pot. Remove from heat.

Return the browned cheeks to the pot and add enough stock or water to just cover. Place a lid on the pot (or cover with foil) and transfer to the oven. Cook at 160ºC for 3-4 hours (possibly more), until the meat is very tender. You should be able to pull it apart with a fork, but it should not be completely falling apart. Remove from the oven and cool slightly.

Using a slotted spoon, remove the cheeks from the braise and set aside. Refrigerated, these will hold well for up to a week. Strain the remainder of the braise, discarding the solids (these veggies have given up all of their flavor). Put the liquid in a small pot and let it settle for 10 minutes. Once it has settled, skim any oil off the top and then bring it to a simmer over medium heat. Reduce the temperature to low and simmer, skimming often, until it reduces to about ¼ of the original volume and becomes a rich and sticky jus.

To serve, heat your oven to the highest setting. Place the cheeks on a baking paper-lined tray, season, and roast 5-10 minutes, until hot through. This method creates a crisp crust around a melting, sticky meat interior.

Serve with some mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, and a spoonful or two of hot jus spooned over the top.