Meat is Murder

 Le Petit Grignotage 

Christine

But the results can be delicious, can’t they? Morrissey may have been serious when he penned that moralistic dirge, but the rest of us carnivores won’t succumb to such reproaches. As far as I’m concerned, as long as the animals are raised and killed humanely (I’m no card-carrying PETA member, but my conscience—and taste buds--far prefer grass-fed, free-roaming livestock over confined, factory-farmed, chemical-engorged beasts), I will feast with delight. Even those Peruvians munching on cat flesh at their annual cat-eating festival get no incriminations from me (pigs are at least as intelligent as felines, and we consume 80 million tons of pork per year), as long as the critters are given a relatively painless end…

During my weekly meanderings at the Oxford Covered Market back when I was a young and vigorous college student, I remember the butcher shops would, come Fall, trot out the carcasses—-deer, pig, lamb, hare—-hamstrung to the rafters, gutted (but not skinned), lined up neatly outside their display windows for passersby to see (and smell). November weather was cold enough to keep the corpses frigid, and they would hang there for weeks. At the time, knowing very little about meat, I wondered why these butchers would leave fresh kill to ripen and rot out in the open air. Why not cut them up immediately, store them in airtight bags, and sell them the next day? My sentiments showed I was city-raised, a product of supermarket culture, where everything comes neatly packaged, sealed, and ready to cook. The butchers would have laughed me to scorn. These days, of course, I know better: hanging is an essential part of developing the flavor and texture of meat, and if done properly, results in moist, tender, flavorful cuts. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall explains in his most excellent tome The River Cottage Meat Book:

What happens to the meat during hanging is that natural enzymes begin to act on the fibers of the muscle meat, making them softer and more elastic, so that the meat becomes more relaxed and tender. Effectively this is the onset of the beginning of decay--but it's nothing to be alarmed about. Under carefully controlled conditions, actual putrefaction, of the kind that will taint the flavor of the meat, need not occur for weeks, or even months. The meat will also begin to lose moisture as it hangs. Paradoxically, this is a good thing when it comes to cooking. Wet, fresh, underhung meat carries too much water, which expands as the temperature rises during cooking, stretching the fibers of the meat and leaching out between them--especially when the meat contracts again after cooking and during carving. This means that wet meat actually ends up drier after cooking and vice versa.

This is why supermarket meat can be a great disappointment; not only is meat not dry-aged properly (because moisture loss means weight loss, and weight loss means profit loss), the worst is done to it: cuts are vacuum-packed and left to bathe in their own juices, giving the illusion of moistness, but ending up drier and more tasteless when cooked. If one can find a good butcher, one has found a treasure. He will understand such things, know where his meat comes from, and advise you as to cuts. (I was delighted when I discovered the local butcher shop down the street--only to find out it bulk-ordered its meat from a national meat distribution company.) If you're lucky enough to have found one of your own, ask for a well-aged leg of lamb (for the following recipe, of course; all of this rambling does serve a culinary point). If you're lucky, he'll pull out the carcass from the locker and carve the leg straight off the body, made to order, just as the British butcher did when I was preparing to cook for a party of ten one Easter. Lamb is so fatty and flavorful (particularly if it's grass-fed) that it practically cooks itself, and takes minimal preparation. Just be sure to leave the fell (outer, paperlike covering) on, as it helps to keep in moisture while roasting.

 

  Roast Leg of Lamb

One leg of lamb 

Olive oil 

5-6 large garlic cloves, sliced 

Several sprigs of rosemary and thyme 

Salt & pepper 

Wash and thoroughly dry lamb. Rub all over with olive oil. Cut slits in meat and insert sliced garlic. Season with rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper. Place the meat on a rack in a roasting pan, fat side up (this allows the meat to self-baste). Do not cover. Roast at 325 degrees twenty minutes for every pound if you like your meat rare. Remove from oven and set for fifteen minutes (meat will continue to cook). Carve and serve. 

Bon appetit!

Enjoy more from Christine at her blog, Laudem Gloriae.

Comments

[Father M.]

Christine,
If I could cook I'd make this. It is a tradition for priests to have lamb on Holy Thursdsy, by the way.

[Mr. Peperium]

Now I see. Now I understand. You see, I was raised in a house where aged meat was considered "mushy", so never made the acquaintance of properly hung beef and pork. Come to think of it, where we lived--a growing suburb at the tail-end of the post-war boom--that sort of thing probably wasn't to be had.

It's yet another example of how far we have drifted from what, for lack of a more precise phrase, I'll call the Big Realities of Life.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Hey, I take serious umbrage at that comment Mr. P. Ever since you met me, you've been more than well-acquainted with properly hung meat....

[Mr. Peperium]

You know, the open-ended comment that leads inevitably to the obvious joke should be shunned at all costs.

The actual intent of the comment, I learn from over the wire, is to inform me s well as our readers that I actually have been feasting on properly aged meat for most of my marriage.

And no, that is not intended as an open-ended comment that will lead inevitably to an obvious joke.

[Christine]

Mr. P,
Ha! (Yes, I would expect Mrs. P, obviously a splendid cook, to understand the intricacies of good meat.)

Fr. M,
I make this every Easter. Didn't know about the Holy Thursday tradition for priests, though it's beautiful and makes perfect sense...