My Beef with Organics

Sebastian Hickey discovers that Organic beef harms the planet. If you’re keen to save the earth, it might be time to consider your options because it’s not as clear as you thought.

Most foodies dig the kudos of organic cuisine. Every time they set the table that’s another vote for sustainable farming. Save the world, one meal at a time. Right?

Not so simple.

In Ireland, to get an organic certification, Irish cattle farmers are forced to buy feed from abroad. “There are no GM [genetically modified] crops in Ireland,” advised Gillian Westbrook, Executive Researcher at the Irish Cattle & Sheep Farmers’ Association (ICSA), “but if a crop farmer tries to get certified as a ‘GM-free producer’, the procedure to get that certification is not available.”

If there’s no procedure available to certify a crop ‘GM-free’ then there’s definitely no way to label it ‘organic’. Consequently, organic beef producers have to shop elsewhere for the ‘organic’ grain to feed their cattle. This means that the cow in Leitrim that made your organic steak could have been fed on maize from Brazil. Now ask yourself, is it better to eat an organic steak from South America, or an organic steak from Ireland grown on South American grain? Think about it.

It’s not all bad news. Fortunately, there are at least two easy substitutes. Sway from the conventional route and go for a Conservation Grade beef or tap into the grain-free alternative.

Down in Clare, the Burren Beef & Lamb Producers Group Ltd. (BBLP) is a “grouping of like minded Burren farmers, established in march 2007, farming for conservation,” explains Ruairí Ó Conchúir, Finance and Operations Officer for the BurrenLIFE project, “We’re not organic, not conventional. We’re a grade that’s called Conservation Grade, a grade that’s well established in Europe, a well established grade in Britain, probably not even heard of in this country.” They uphold Ireland’s moral and legal obligation to protect the Burren and they do this using indigenous cattle.

Galloway and Shorthorn cattle have been grazing the rough limestone terrain for 6,000 years. Their persistent appetite has curbed the development of bullying scrub, preserving the eclectic fauna for which the Burren is so well known. In recent years, since men used central heating instead of firewood and since farmers modernised their farming activities, the upland, or winterage areas of the landscape have been left to overgrow. The Burren is being swallowed by wild brush.

By reverting to traditional farming techniques, feeding the cattle on wild grass and bolstering their herd on a locally sourced, heavily researched super-feed just before the calving months, the BBLP have optimised a sustainable farming strategy. No drugs, no hormones, no problem.

“[It is] beneficial for the farmer because it reduces their costs and it’s beneficial because it reduces environmental impact,” advises Ó Conchúir. The Burren is being tidied up the natural way, all the while fattening up a happy, healthy stock of cattle for their artisan beef trade.

Locally sourced, acutely administered feed means there’s hardly a hoof-print made on the environment, plus their traditional farming techniques expose the cattle to a unique array of fauna with which to flavour the meat. So well reputed was Ireland’s bygone Burren beef that literature dates to 1652 boasting its taste and succulence. These techniques have created some of the best meat in European history and now anyone in Ireland can try it at the push of a few keys.

Nevertheless, if you’re a stickler for the organic stamp, you’ll want to get in touch with Joe Condon of Omega Beef Direct, a Waterford based, family run farm where the diet of the cattle is 100% grass fed. His farming renaissance harkens back to Norman traditions, encouraging a farm where the cattle and the environment do the hard work. “The less I do,” he remarked with a smile, “the more successful I am.”

His cows have 20 acres per head, nearly 40 times the grazing range for intensively farmed cows. With that kind of space they can choose where they eat. Guided by cravings and nutritive intuition, they choose which of the 64 grass types to consume and which areas of parasitic infection to avoid. “The cows know where the parasites are but they don’t go there… They are naturally repulsed by it.” This kind of preventative mechanism, where good planning and fine conditions let the cows endure for themselves is a common trend in the organic movement. “The other type of farming is a lazy type of farming,” Condon advised, “You lose all the artisan skills. You could leave a problem develop right up to the danger point, and then get a burst of chemicals to solve it.”

Because of all the grass, Condon’s beef is thick with Omega oils, the essential fats normally linked to fish. It is butchered by an award-winning artisan in Lismore, blast frozen to maximise the retention of nutrients and sent in parcels to clients around Ireland.

Having tasted a striploin from both camps, I can tell you the flavours are bovine. Even when raw, the steaks smell of roast beef. There is significant marbling, a rich hue, a velvet texture and low water content. After a sizzling broil and a two-minute rest, the steaks are tender, warm and triumphant. They taste like they’ve been marinated in a deep Bordeaux, rich, mellow and suave. When you put down your fork, you’ll understand what the fuss was about.

Ordering is simple. To get in touch with your beefy heritage, contact info@burrenlife.com. For a grain free organic alternative, email info@omegabeefdirect.ie. Don’t be afraid of the price tag either. At €15-18 per kilo, it’s actually cheaper than the shops, and that includes delivery.

Artisan food is back in vogue. It’s sustainable, healthy and progressively more affordable. Let’s hope it’s indicative of a wider gastro-renaissance.

Like Joe Condon says, “If you go out to your front lawn, there’s munching going on. Everything is being eaten all the time. Right here. Right now… Eating is what it’s all about.”

Easy Breadmaking - Dummy's Guide to the White Loaf

Want to make a loaf of bread, but you don't know how? You're probably scared. Have no fear. In 20 minutes you'll be ready to bake. Put on your apron. Wash your hands. It's time for the Dummy's Guide to the White Loaf.

Let's make this really easy.  Make sure you've got a weighing scales and one big bowl.   When you add liquid, you should know that 1ml of water (or milk) weighs 1g.  So when you're asked to add hot water, you can pour it straight from the kettle into the bowl.  You just need to look at the weighing scales to see how much water you've added.  Sweet.

One more thing, lots of people think that when you knead bread you are trying to get air into the dough.  Wrong.  If that's what you thought, make sure you follow the kneading instructions carefully.

Shopping

1kg Strong White flour. The Strong means there's extra protein. You'll find it in a decent supermarket. While you're there, pick up some fast-action yeast. It's cheap and lasts ages. And some milk and some unsalted butter.

Mixing

1. Get your biggest bowl and put it on a weighing scale.  Add 700g of that Strong white flour, 5g of salt and 7g of the yeast.
2. Chop up 50g of the butter into little bits and sprinkle on top.
3. Boil the kettle.  Pour 220ml of hot water on top.
4. Before you stir, add 250ml cold milk.
5. Stir it up.  Squidgy.  Once you've combined all the stuff properly it'll feel like play-dough.  If it's too crumbly, add a dollop of milk.  If it's too squidgy, add a dollop of flour (less than a handful).
   

Kneading

You've already done the hard work.  Kneading is easy.  You just have to know what's going on.  What you're trying to do is stretch the dough like an elastic band.  If you imagine bread made up of loads of tiny strands it might help.  Imagine that if you stretch these strands, they become more elastic.  Elasticity is the key.  It's what allows the dough to grow.

So, now you know the secret, here's how to make it work.  Slap the dough onto a floury surface.  Holding one part of the dough close to you with one palm, stretch it lengthways away from you with the other.  At first it will rip easily when you do this.  No problem.  Now roll the dough back up into a ball, turn it 90 degrees and repeat.

When is it done?  After 10 minutes it's ready.  Look at the way the dough stretches.  If the texture (the clumping of strands and hairy looking nature) looks like the inside of a loaf of freshly cooked bread, then it's good to go.

Waiting

Put the dough into a big bowl.  Wrap it in a Big plastic bag, inflate it with air and tie it off.  Wait for an hour and a half, or until it rises to twice it's size.  Now punch it down.  Shape into a log.  Put it on a greased baking tin (use a dribble of oil and smudge it around).  Wrap this in a Big plastic bag, inflate it with air and tie it off.

Wait 30 mins.

Baking

While you're waiting, pre-heat the oven to a medium heat (around 180 degrees).  Slice the dough with a sharp knife, once, down its length, really shallow, like a paper cut.  Bake for 25 mins and then transfer the dough from the baking dish to the oven grill.  Bake for another 25 mins.  Knock on the bottom of the bread.  Does it sound hollow?  Really hollow?  Then it's ready.  If not, bake for another 10 mins and repeat the test.

Voila!

To impress... Put some sliced garlic, dried oregano and dried basil in at the start.  Just before it goes in the oven, brush it with milk and sprinkle with sesame and onion seeds.

Omega Beef Direct - The Virtual Farmer’s Market

What is it you're eating?  Sebastian Hickey discusses a meaty alternative to the supermarket lucky dip.

Transparency.  That’s what it’s all about these days.  Give us the info on the pack, and none of that e-code cryptography.  We want to know where it comes from, how it was made, who got abused and who got rich.  Culinary consciousness.

That’s why people still buy from the butcher.  But even then, do you know how the cow was slaughtered or how it was fed for its last three days?  Do you know if it was kept on concrete instead of grass, or fed local or foreign grain?  Was it hung after it was slaughtered?  Which breed of cow are you eating?  Is that a good breed?  Was it a dairy cow before it got old?  The answers to these questions effect the price of the meat and the environmental impact, but most of all, they effect quality.  So how do you find out?

Solution

Forget research.  You don’t want more drudgery.  If you did, you’d already be buying the good stuff.  So what’s the alternative?  Easy peasy.  Buy direct.

Consumers have been trading with booksellers, retailers, pharmaceutical companies and opticians over the web for years.  It’s handier, more personal, and often much, much cheaper than dealing with a layman salesperson on the shop floor.  Why not take this model to the butcher?

Omega Beef Direct, among a few Irish cattle farmers, offer this kind of service, sort of like a virtual Farmer’s Market.  Visit the site, call the guy on the phone, ask your questions.  Once you’re happy, place an order online.

How does it work?

Omega Beef Direct use Organic Galloway cows, an old, old Celtic breed, and they feed them on grass.  Yep.  Grass.  No silage, no grain, no medicine.  They’ve got 20 acres per cow, forty times the usual terrain, so they’re pretty relaxed.  They’re slaughtered one at a time at a local abattoir run by an award winning artisan butcher, blast frozen at -60°C, and boxed up for delivery.

In a 5kg box, you’ve got these beautiful, thickly cut sirloins, wonderfully marbled strip loins, prime cut burgers and more.  Knowing the cows are free range, imagining their happy jaws chewing highland grasses, there is something soulful about cutting into an organic steak that the supermarket alternative doesn’t provide.  It’s a rich table top delight, and good for conversation.

Joe Condon (left), owner of Omega Beef Direct, told me that “the emergence of organic farming as a business could be seen as a type of retirement farming.”  He’s right.  Lots of farmers will find it hard to see the minimum input, sparse herding of grass fed cattle farming as anything more than a eco-political alternative.  It’s up to the visionaries and the consumers to set about a change in perspective.

With the internet and the e-grocery revolution, the infrastructure for direct farmer-to-consumer trade has opened up a gulf of opportunity for a new kind of meat trade.  UCD are sympathetically researching a new kind of meat verification to trace and test organic meats.  With the right backing that could lead to better producer certification, and in the end, a more reliable foundation for the future of producer-consumer relations.  I call it the informeation revolution, but that’s because I enjoy puns.  Whatever you call it, it’s a good idea.  Get on the meat wagon.

Gourmet Tourism - Waterford Harvest Festival Forum

On Sep 13, I attended a forum on the future of Waterford as a Gourmet Tourist destination.  Lead by Donal Lehane of Slow Food Ireland, there was a discussion on the mechanisms for change and the real potential for opportunity in the region.

Myself, some journalists, and representatives from local and national tourist councils perched ourselves among copper exhibits, stucco idioms and hanging vellum, in the Waterford Treasures, scribbling notes.  The following opinions, among others, were expressed.

The Issues
Waterford food is missing a voice.  The farmers, the politicians and the independent thinkers, they’re working like tectonic plates.  They need direction, and it’s not going to surface through abrasion.  Policy is antiquated.  Local authorities are wedded to heritage, and the scrimping needs revision.  For example, parking in the city costs twice the price, putting a sign up for your farm costs €2,500, and you can’t cook a burger without a fridge.

Additionally, Waterford has lost its pride.  Did you know the scallops from the region are among the top three in the world?  But the French fish them and market them for bulk.  And why don’t hotels serve Blaa for breakfast?  It’s all indicative of a downcast position.

The Cure
So what does that mean for Waterford?  It means leadership.  Policy makers, producers and visionaries in communication, under direction, and settled on a common goal. Policy needs to change, producers need to ally, and the end user, joe public, needs the apparatus to help him understand the vision.  That means data, support and marketing.  If I come to Waterford, I need to know where to go, how to get there and what I’ll find when I arrive.

But most of all, people need to cheer up.  If Waterford is a foodie heaven, and I believe it can be, the locals need to be educated.  Waterford needs branding, for tourists and locals.  There has to be pride, or it will seem disingenuous.

What’s next?
Get the image.  Get the backing.  Get the punters.

Why not set up an annual food panel?  Let’s call it Waterfood 2010.  Brand it.  Use it.  Celebrate it.  Show us that Waterford has taste.  It comes down to that old adage, ‘learn to love yourself.’

If the disparate powers of Waterford can isolate a common goal and drive toward it, there's no stopping them.  From my exposure to the dejected mindset, it seems like the project needs more heart, more vision and more funding.  But that's okay.  It's just the beginning.

Waterford: Ireland’s Wine Mecca?

Where is the booziest place in the world?  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  But where in Ireland?  I’m not certain, but after talking with Eamon McEneany, during the Waterford Harvest Festival, I had basis for a fine conclusion.

“Waterford was the wine capital of Ireland all through the middle ages,” boasted McEneany, Director of the Waterford Treasures, “and wine has been imported into Ireland since the 1430s.”  According to a Norman chronicler ‘you would scarcely think that the wine was not cultivated here as it is so plentiful.’

“Only 5 ports in Ireland had licence to import wine,” explained McEneany, “Waterford city council had the distinction of being the only city council in Ireland with the authority to take one of the barrels for themselves (Ed - The tax on wine was two barrels… one barrel from before the mast and one barrel from behind).    So the mayors of Waterford were always drunk.”

Wine & War
Edward I (the bad guy in Braveheart ) used Waterford as a way of taxing goods to pay for his war against the Scots.  Great administrator.  From Waterford he received wheat, barley, fish, meat and wine.  In about 1302, in Skinburness, his troops were in mutiny over the quality of the rations of red wine.

Furious at the failings of his ineffectual son, Edward I ordered an inquiry.  It turns out that white wine (unfashionable) had been dyed red with blackberries and fruit juice by the merchants in Waterford.  A right bunch of chancers, and no mistake.

Scam Artists
Only a few years later, in 1372, they tried to pull another one, this time with greater success.  Waterford had been feuding with New Ross over control of the wine trade for generations.  In order to rally final victory during an inquiry of King Edward III, they presented their charter outlining precedent for control.  What Edward didn’t know, as records had been muddied, was that Waterford actually didn’t have a charter, not a legal one.  They had it sketched up, got in some art, stuck in a few dates and crossed their fingers.  Unfortunately Edward III got sick and died before there was a chance to have it recognised, so the greedy thinkers went back to their dens.

A few years later they presented a new charter, this apparently from John’s reign.  Knowing the English wouldn't be able to verify it, they added in lies about New Ross, and sniggered as they popped it in the letterbox.  Suffice to say, it worked.  New Ross, more or less, lost their trading rights.

Wine Pirates & the Trojan Piss-Up
At that time wine started coming from Spain, so it was time for the O'Driscoll pirates to get involved.  In 1413, three ships from Waterford had been captured and were being held at Baltimore.  The sneaky Waterford mayor, Simon Wickham, told the O’Driscolls he was ‘coming to dance and make merry’ with them at Christmas.  They thought he was coming to pay the black rent, so their guard was down.  He brought stupid amounts of booze, everyone got tanked, and in the morning - during a shoddy hangover, I imagine - the O’Driscolls found themselves captured in their own castle.  Oops.

Whether or not Waterford is the boozy Mecca, I don’t know, but it certainly has a grand collection of crafty winos in its rack.  Thankfully, such a marriage of sly politics and drunkenness wouldn’t again be seen in Irish politics...

There Once was a Happy Gosling

If you've made an ethical choice never to eat foie gras, now’s your chance. There's a farm in Spain so ethical you could eat your dinner off it, and their foie gras is award winningly tasty.

Foie Gras
Ordinarily, foie gras is made from the swollen, pale livers of force-fed fowl. After 4 months the bird is caged and fed maize by a pump 2-5 times per day. It takes several weeks before the bird is ready. Studies have shown that mortality rises 3% during this period, but the ethical findings are still murky.

The Patería de Sousa dispels this ethical uncertainty. Founded in 1812, it is a family-run pâté shop, 100km north of Seville in the Badajoz province of Western Spain. Their goose liver confit is made in collaboration with free-range geese; the artisan’s job is to provide a home alluring enough so they’ll stick around. In 2006, it was awarded the Coup de Coeur for innovation by the influential Paris International Food Show in France. Not only was the pâté superlative but the geese were said to force-feed themselves. That confused me so I decided to look for myself.

El Pueblo
The beautiful pueblo of Fuente de Cantos – home to the proprietor Eduardo Sousa – could not have been more provincial. White houses on white streets so bright you could catch a tan in the shade. It was sleepy, rustic and humble. The patería was tiny, like the deli of an elf, and difficult to find. Eduardo met me for a coffee in the neighbouring taverna and asked if I would like to see the geese.

Garden of Eden
On the way to the farm, 20km out of town, Eduardo told me that if a goose can avoid predators she can live until she is 70 years old, ‘como una persona’, like a person. She has to be wily, of course, but if kept well and fed like a queen, she has better odds. While wandering the paddocks of Eduardo Sousa, I had the feeling that a goose here could live forever. He had engineered a Garden of Eden. Not only was the menu rich and delectable but the surroundings were ambitious with ingenious design. He had just planted new saplings to protect the earthen nests (geese lay their eggs on the ground) to provide shade from the hot fingers of the summer sun and to hinder the observation of soaring predators. Why build a farmhouse when you can plant trees? He keeps a rig of pipes and sprinklers on the hill to douse the heat from the gaggle with an atomised mist. ‘It is important,’ he tells me, ‘for the animals to feel comfortable or else they do not eat. If they do not eat, then perhaps they will fly away before winter.’ It seemed a sensible rule of thumb, but looking at the happy, babbling gaggle, I doubted they’d raise a wing. In answer to my gaze he smiled and told me, ‘you can see they eat a lot.’

No one would blame them. He keeps fig, olive, chestnut and oak trees, all with delicious fruits for fattening geese. When asked why his foie gras looks and tastes so fine, he answers that ‘it is the work of nature.’ Indeed, the paddocks are laced with sprouting wild pepper and other sapid shrubs. The delectable seeds from the lupin bush, a local, yellow flowering shrub, dye their livers luminous yellow, not unlike the colouring that arises with force-fed maize. With olives, pepper, figs, chestnuts, lupin, and more, it is evident why the flavours deserve commendation. Nevertheless, the question remained; how does it work?

The Happy Method
The eggs are laid in the earth and the mothers sit upon them, safeguarded by the honking gaggle. Only the smartest and toughest survive naturally. Of the 50 eggs per mother goose, around 20 hatch in spring. Four months later, ordinarily, foie gras geese are force-fed and then killed. Eduardo’s geese have more time. They are what are known as ‘resident’ geese. Migration in geese, despite popular myth, is predominantly a learned behaviour, though a weak migratory instinct tugs if habitual conditions are not satisfied. Goslings, consequently, must be taught to migrate by their parents.
I have seen them, their wings are not clipped, yet Eduardo’s geese, treated to the best, no longer migrate. In fact, immigration is more likely. During an interview with a French news channel, a gaggle passing over the farm heard the honks of the geese below. They looped back and landed, not as visitors, but as fresh neighbours. Fresh genes.


Immigration or no, all geese need fat for the chill, so they start eating 9 months in advance. By the time they reach their second winter, their livers have swollen to twice their normal size, engorged with two years of flavour. No force-feeding, no discomfort, no drugs.
180g goes for €95 but stocks are finite. If you want a taste, place the order in November for receipt in the New Year.

Gimme, gimme, gimme!
While you are waiting, gather the gourmands and order a bottle of Rivera del Duero Gran Reserva. When Eduardo Sousa’s award winning foie gras arrives, cut it thick and sear with a hot pan. Season, relax and prepare yourselves. This is pâté from a man who has swallows nesting in his farmhouse, from a man who is greeted by waddling geese like a playful father, from a man for whom the idea of force-feeding is ‘an insult to history’. Think about that. Then take a bite and prepare yourself for the romance of food, for the savoury marriage of ethics and flavour. This is nature’s testament. It could mean a revolution. Treasure it, dwell on it, and then, when it is over, tell your friends.

To place an order with the Patería de Sousa or to enquire about his farming school, email Eduardo Sousa at 924500750@telefonica.net or visit www.ibergour.es