Day three at The Butcher Shop had me pacing
like a cattle dog behind a fence.
Time had come at last to head out in the kill truck and slaughter five bison on site. On the way to the farm with Robert as my driver, he filled me in on the nature of the beasts- about a year and a half to two years old, Bison tend to grow half as fast as beef cattle. Ready to go when they are good and ready, they eat grasses all spring and summer and then are felled at the prime of their weight gain period. Not regulated like American cows, or even counted as meat according to the USDA (!), there are no rules governing the processing for the most part. One can bring a bison to the butcher, make dinner of it and the UDSA never gets involved. One has full control of their animal from birth to death- that is a good feeling, knowing you have treated your dinner to the kind of feed and environment that you precisely want. Food for thought if you ever go into a partnership with someone over a bison for the freezer.
Robert kindly went over the basics of the kill and butchering process with me so that I had few surprises. I slipped on very fashionable boots that were by a brand called Muck, which I thought was appropriate, even if they clashed with my new hot pink skull and crossbones purse I left in the truck. Many jokes have been made about the parking of the truck near five honeybee hives and the near-swarming we stirred up on arrival, but I will let the guys in the shop harrass Robert over that one themselves.
The rancher had five head in a trailer and he wore one huge-assed sidearm. He was more than anxious to help out with the killing if needed. When Troy and Brian pulled in with the second vehicle, he looked at the .22 long rifle and was convinced that he was going to be the backup man. I think his cannon was a 30/30, and not only would he have helped dispatch the bison, but parts of the trailer, the attached half ton pickup and parts of the barn a half mile off. Troy was a gentleman and thanked the man graciously for being at the ready in case his .22 couldn’t get the job done.
You’ve all heard the expression “shooting fish in a barrel” before. I gotta tell you, having Troy take care of these bison was just as easy, even with what most perceive as a peashooter. With five beasts staring right at you, head on, its kind of like an embarrassment if you miss. Swiftly, quickly and without fanfare or assistance from Dirty Harry, five bison were immediately felled and it was over. No horrid noises associated like I had imagined, it was over lickety-split and work began.
With two trucks that bear booms and winches, the animals were pulled from the trailer to the ground for the start of the process. Troy moved from carcass to carcass, incising the neck and cutting the great vessels and trachea. The blood flowing from the wounds into the dust was actually a far bit less than I had imagined. I guess being in the OR and having the sole duty of stopping things from bleeding as fast as possible skews one’s perspective as to blood volume lost. I did not get queasy whatsoever. I actually wanted to jump into the action and get messy as hell.
Both teams of guys started to work and gracefully skinned and removed the heads of the bison, which are reserved for usage in pet food made by the shop. Skinning and de-hoofing of the legs lead to skinning of the belly up to the point of the shoulder joints. The carcass was then split through the sternum with a saw that would make Dr. De Bakey wet himself with excitement. Once split from the front, the beast was hoisted to position for de-hiding between the two trucks.
With one truck chained to the ankle hides, the other truck was hooked to the tendons and bones of the hind legs. A flick of a switch, a little cross tension by the ankle end’s truck and the boom lifted the carcass skyward while the hide was pulled off in one piece, still anchored low to the second truck. It was a pretty smooth process if one has the equipment, but hand de-hiding is still the skill to have when its just one truck.
As I stood shooting pictures of the process, the resident Queensland Heeler came sniffing about the site. With primal urges being awakened from a hundred or so years back when Purina was not an option, the pooch sniffed at the hide a few times. Giving in to nature, an attempt was made to tug and run with the loot, but he was called off by the ranch hand and made to retreat to his ATV’s cargo rack.
Grateful for years of surgery and the knowledge of organ procurement, I really appreciated the technique of gutting these animals and how clean the process really was. I gotta say, there was a whole lot less whining and bitching from the guys in possession of the knives at the kill as compared to an operating room full of surgeons, but the manure aroma in the air was remarkably similar. With fast hands and lots of practice, I watched Brian, Troy and Robert clean those beasts out tidily. Heart, lungs and liver were saved for pet food, but not before a fast slash was made to check the livers for the possibility of parasitic invasion.
Again the saw came out, and the suspended carcass was divided in half lengthwise through the tail and down to the neck. The initial quartering of the half was done right then, as opposed to in the cutting room, I assume because entire halves of beef must be inspected before fabrication, whereas bison are not subject to the same regulations. With a nice rinse off with a cool hose, bone dust and stray dirt is removed before loading into the truck.
Once it was quartered, the prize was revealed. After all the dance, the work, the sweat and mess, the whole point became apparent to me. I was staring eye to eye with a rib eye. Dinner. Of the most delicious kind. Lean, as it was the first one in line, ruby red and as fresh as it was ever gonna be, it was all I could to to stop myself from grabbing a lighter and my pocket knife to make myself an amuse bouche right there on site.
This whole exercise was about gaining appreciation for
what I choose to put in my mouth.
Lots of press and publicity over that catchphrase “Farm To Table” has saturated the web, airwaves and print media, but it usually grinds to a halt at the farmers market stall. Face it, we all want to do the right thing by ourselves, our farmers, our animals… we ask the proper questions about the diet and conditions our food is raised in, we appear to care about the finishing of animals and their health. We pay top dollar but we never really know, do we? If the unexamined life is not worth living, what better way to do our animals and diners justice than by getting your hands elbow deep into a warm, freshly killed bison?
Since posting about this on Facebook, I have been rather surprised at the replies of folks who have never dined on bison meat. Before I spent time in Montana, I was not a red meat eater, but soon learned enough about that quality of the meat to prefer it over beef. I will spare you the lecture. Go do your own research. I can honestly say that I will gladly pay top dollar for bison, Kobe and Waygu meats, even pork done Waygu style because it makes more sense to me to have food as close to the way it was a few generations ago, before we fucked it all up. In medicine, our mantra is, “The enemy of Good is Better”. I gotta point out a glaring similarity in regards to our dinner…
For a Picasa Web Album of tidied up images from the expereince,
please click HERE.
