Archive for the ‘Dining’ Category
Whey-fed Pork: the whole story
Let’s start at the beginning.
Once upon a time a farm was a family pursuit. A cow or two provided milk, cream, and cheese. Chickens scuttled about, pecking larvae from cow patties and fertilizing the ground. Pigs snacked on grass, weeds, and nuts, but got fat on whey, the thin liquid that drains from curds when milk is separated to make cheese. This circular model of farming, where every living component has a natural function and life takes care of life, is what the Glasbern farm is all about. And chef Stephen Browning prizes the home-grown products, especially the beautifully marbled pork.
But this is not about the meat. You could say it’s about cow patties drawn into the soil by dung beetles, amazing insects that roll wads of dung into balls that they maneuver with their little legs to a safe spot to bury and eat and nest. Without dung beetles making the cow patties disappear Jason would be knee deep in doo-doo. Instead the pasture becomes ever more fertile, generating grasses for the dairy cows, which then provide for the chickens and the beetles and the soil and the pigs. For restaurant diners the benefit is milk and cream rich in omega-3s.
But this is not about the cream either, although it is certainly true that cream purchased in plastic-coated cartons will offer far fewer health benefits than that offered up by grass-fed cows. Richer even than the cream is the natural cycle of life and death and regeneration, the animals providing for each other, the insects caring for the soil, the power of photosynthesis. Curds and cow patties are simply a part of the process. Berkshire pigs nuzzle gardeners and cultivate the soil by rooting out weeds. Soon, when the Glasbern farm begins making cheese from the milk of the Devon cows, the pigs will happily snack on whey. Chickens pick out slugs and larvae, and dogs function as friends and sentries. It just so happens that Berkshires that have a balanced diet of whey and weeds and nuts and seeds (rather than the bakery or other commercial waste that factory farm hogs might consume) become tender, juicy, and healthful pork. How could it be otherwise?
We like to think that happy animals make tastier food—maybe this is true and maybe it isn’t. What is true is that in our modern world food and guilt have become twisted together. Consume a commercial egg and you feel the onus of the chicken’s unhappy caged life; consume a piece of a corn-fed cow which had been injected with antibiotics to counteract problems that would not have occurred had it been eating grass as a ruminant should and you feel not just remorse but worry too. The fullness of gastronomic delight comes from knowing that the pig, the cow, the dung beetle, the grass, and all of the other partners in the process are deeply respected, and that the chef has a profound appreciation for the life he transforms into dinner.
This is about life, energy, and a natural cooperative. It’s about human and environmental health.
It’s about time.
Meet Chef Stephen Browning
Browning does broccoli.
Last week chef Stephen Browning attended a seminar; he was the lone chef in a roomful of rangers. The farmers, herdsmen, butchers, slaughterhouse owners—and Stephen—learned about marketing their grass-fed meats, which is not as simple as it might seem. The demand is there—consumers are learning that when cattle graze on grass their meat contains more healthful lipids and antioxidants than their mass-produced counterparts—but slaughterhouses are often not equipped to give the meat the special treatment it requires. The beef grown and served at the inn is slaughtered at an off-site USDA approved abattoir, then delivered right to the Glasbern’s own butcher to be cut, trimmed, and shaped to Browning’s specifications. “Well, what did you learn?” I asked him. “That we’re doing it right,” he replied. “The Glasbern now has a cutting room, a butcher, and a cooler. People can buy our meats right from the source.”
Browning came to the inn a couple of months ago from Flatbush Farm, a Brooklyn restaurant known for farm-to-table eating. What lured him to the Glasbern was the opportunity to cook with the livestock that graze on the hill above the restaurant, to hand pick herbs, to get up close and personal with greens and broccoli and beans. When he’s not in the kitchen you might find him tasting sheep sorrel or purslane that grow wild on the property, or foraging for chanterelle and chicken-of-the-woods mushrooms. Cooking is an adventure to Stephen Browning. As his passion for different kinds of food preparation meanders, he learns new sets of skills. Besides whipping up wonderful meals with freshly harvested real food, Browning cures meats, he smokes meats, he cans vegetables. He uses the whole cow. This, he tells me, is not the usual way in the chef business.
Now that you have a cutting room, fresh herbs, a farmer who grows your vegetables, and a forest to forage in, is there anything left on your wish list? I asked Browning. He thought for a moment, and replied, “I’d like a smokehouse.” Then he added, “and I’d like to do some gardening.”
That one, Stephen, I can help you with. I just happen to know of a garden bed full of garlic mustard (which makes good pesto!) and sheep sorrel. A chef who experiments with edible weeds and a time-strapped gardener—sounds like a match made in heaven to me!