Where's The Beef?
The Maritimes is the place you go for seafood: Lobster, clams, mussels, haddock, scallops atlantic salmon, hot smoked salmon, cold smoked salmon, par excellence. I could go on, but the list is endless. As of last summer, to my dismay, I found that I have acquired a slight allergy to lobster. I won't go into anaphalactic shock or anything, but I am overcome by sneezing accompanied by red and itching eyes. However, all is not lost, as I have found that an antihistamine will counter any ill effects, so now I can munch on lobster to my heart's content.
That being the case, the Maritimes is not the place to expect really good beef. Oh, it has improved dramatically over the eight years (egad, have I lived here almost a decade? I guess so. Amazing how time flies when you are having fun)but, it is just not the same. My mouth still waters when I think of a slab of juice medium rare prime rib of beef at the Granary in Saskatoon.
Consequently, Dan and I don't eat a lot of beef. I suppose that is a good thing in many ways, but now and again.... and Dan barbecues a steak far better than I do. Dear Dan, the love of my life, has expressed a desire for a pot roast. With that, I decided to try my luck at a local farm vendor who comes to Amherst every Friday. This gentleman sells his own beef, under thirty months of age, and grass fed. He came highly recommended by Betsy and Will, and his prices were very competitive. Now that I have fridays off, I can actually cross paths with him when I do the weekly grocery shopping.
So off I went to the local Kent Building Supplies parking lot where he sold his goods. So, I said to the guy, "What do you have in the way of pot roasts?"
"hmm, he pondered for a moment, "Briskets, blade, rump.."
"Brisket?" quoth I, my eyes lighting up. I'd only seen one brisket since I moved out here was about 7 years ago and it was pretty ugly. "How about some Brisket?"
The man looked at me suspiciously. Apparently, Brisket is an unusual request, "You realize it comes from the front?"
"Yes, I do," said I.
And he still looked at me in disbelief and hesitation. I wondered whether I had to give him a secret handshake or something. Then it struck me: he was afraid that I didn't know how to cook it, and that I would come back the next week and complain that it was tough.
"I know how to cook it, really I do." I said.
His gaze softened a bit. Then I hit him with me coup de gras: "You come highly recommended by the only other person in town who knows how to cook a brisket."
"Betsy, " he said with a grin.
"Yup" said I. I was struck by the similarity of getting into a 1920's speak easy; going to a place, knocking on the door, and saying "Betsy sent me."
All his hesitation melted away, and we shared techniques of braising "Less tender" cuts of meat. In the end, I bought two briskets, a rump roast and a chuck, for a very reasonable price.
I am looking forward to doing business with this man again.
That being the case, the Maritimes is not the place to expect really good beef. Oh, it has improved dramatically over the eight years (egad, have I lived here almost a decade? I guess so. Amazing how time flies when you are having fun)but, it is just not the same. My mouth still waters when I think of a slab of juice medium rare prime rib of beef at the Granary in Saskatoon.
Consequently, Dan and I don't eat a lot of beef. I suppose that is a good thing in many ways, but now and again.... and Dan barbecues a steak far better than I do. Dear Dan, the love of my life, has expressed a desire for a pot roast. With that, I decided to try my luck at a local farm vendor who comes to Amherst every Friday. This gentleman sells his own beef, under thirty months of age, and grass fed. He came highly recommended by Betsy and Will, and his prices were very competitive. Now that I have fridays off, I can actually cross paths with him when I do the weekly grocery shopping.
So off I went to the local Kent Building Supplies parking lot where he sold his goods. So, I said to the guy, "What do you have in the way of pot roasts?"
"hmm, he pondered for a moment, "Briskets, blade, rump.."
"Brisket?" quoth I, my eyes lighting up. I'd only seen one brisket since I moved out here was about 7 years ago and it was pretty ugly. "How about some Brisket?"
The man looked at me suspiciously. Apparently, Brisket is an unusual request, "You realize it comes from the front?"
"Yes, I do," said I.
And he still looked at me in disbelief and hesitation. I wondered whether I had to give him a secret handshake or something. Then it struck me: he was afraid that I didn't know how to cook it, and that I would come back the next week and complain that it was tough.
"I know how to cook it, really I do." I said.
His gaze softened a bit. Then I hit him with me coup de gras: "You come highly recommended by the only other person in town who knows how to cook a brisket."
"Betsy, " he said with a grin.
"Yup" said I. I was struck by the similarity of getting into a 1920's speak easy; going to a place, knocking on the door, and saying "Betsy sent me."
All his hesitation melted away, and we shared techniques of braising "Less tender" cuts of meat. In the end, I bought two briskets, a rump roast and a chuck, for a very reasonable price.
I am looking forward to doing business with this man again.