Topsham,
Devon February 11, 1999
A gastro-philosophical question: Does the fact that a taste is forbidden
or illicit make it all the more appealing? Witness the Irish and their
romantic, misty-eyed love for that foulest of home distillations, poteen.
Similarly, I've spent days with Italian friends distilling grappa in
backgarden bathtubs and glorified stills made from primitive pressure-cookers,
and afterwards had to sample the poisonous stuff with them, me choking
from the raw, crude, throat-burning distillate while they waxed ever
more lyrical prior to passing out in a heady, but gloriously happy stupor.
I pondered this question today not about bootleg liquor but when, after
dropping Bella off at school, I strolled past our butcher's shop (which
perforce must remain nameless) and spotted a sight I had not seen in
some considerable months: neat bundles of ox-tail tied together with
string, proudly on display in the front window. Ox-tail, of course,
together with any form of beef-on-the-bone, has been off the menu --
literally illegal to sell or purchase in Britain -- since the hysteria
of the BSE crisis some two years ago, the so-called mad cow's disease
which has apparently crossed species to appear as a new and deadly form
of the disease in humans. This led to the ban on British beef across
Europe, the destruction in great measure of many farmer's livelihoods,
and a crisis in faith in our entire farming edifice, and indeed in the
very foods that we eat.
Since then, the situation has been put into perspective. Tragic as the
whole, sorry, mis-managed business has been, the numbers actually contracting
the disease have remained quite small, in the tens, I believe, not the
hundreds that doom-and-gloomers predicted would be the case. Considerable
controls have since been put in place, and British beef has subsequently
been deemed now to be as safe or safer than any in the world. Today,
the feeling of the man and woman in the High Street seems to be that
we ought to be able to be left to make such choices for ourselves. Nick
Brown, the Agricultural Minister, has recently declared that the likelihood
of catching the human form of BSE from British beef is less than the
chance of winning the National Lottery twice. Damn nigh impossible,
in other words. Yet, though there was talk of lifting the ban earlier
this month, that was scuppered just last week on the advice of the Chief
Medical Officer, Blair's nanny state seemingly set on protecting we
dumb innocents from ourselves no matter how miniscule the risk, while
at the same time refusing a moratorium on the introduction of commercial
cultivation of genetically modified crops into Britain, something which
most of us are at present far more worried about.
"It's still illegal to sell this," my butcher said cheerfully,
as he wrapped up the bundle of meat. "But the law's an ass. Enjoy
your ox-tail," he added with a wink, packing it away in a carrier
bag ("just in case anyone should see it").
Rarely has my appetite been more keenly whetted. With what bounce did
I stroll out of the shop, fuelled by an unexpected frisson of, yes,
almost naughty excitement, livening up my otherwise dull Tuesday morning
existence. With what joyous anticipation I planned our evening meal.
Next stop, to Richard's, the greengrocer, to purchase some red onions,
celery, organic carrots, and a large bunch of grapes. Once home, with
what intimate care I chopped the vegetables, fried them off in olive
oil and butter together with some cubes of Italian pancetta in
the heavy, cast-iron Dutch oven, trimmed the ox-tail of fat, seasoned
it in salt and freshly ground pepper, and seared it. I then added half
bottle of Manstree Seyval grape juice to the cooking pot. Manstree is
vineyard located across the Exe Valley from us which produces quite
outstanding English wines, high in fruity acidity, quenchingly bone
dry, utterly delicious. The subtleties of the wine, its ephemeral fragrance
and delicate fruit, however, would have been lost in the cooking pot,
but the sweet-sour character of the grape juice, together with fresh
grapes added towards the end of cooking, was just the thing, I thought,
to slow-braise the meat in, the sticky sweetness of grapes and juice
melding beautifully with the sticky, gooey richness of the ox-tail.
And so, to return to the question with which this essay began, the answer
is that yes, of course it does. When ox-tail was as common -- and as
cheap -- a cut of meat as you could find, we enjoyed it, but in truth
chose to eat it only rarely. Its very unavailability, however, has brought
it under the spotlight in the mind's eye, and caused us to reconsider
what we were missing. And indeed, I assure you that, unlike home-made
grappa or poteen, it is truly exceptional, quite simply one of the most
flavourful, delicious and undervalued of all meat cuts, bar none, ban
or no ban, truly a forgotten (and forbidden) flavour re-discovered.
I urge you to try it, if you can get your hands on any, that is.
Ox-tail
braised in grapes
We
first came across this unusual way of cooking ox-tail in Burgundy,
when, after tasting wines in a damp, dark cellar on a winter's morning,
we returned to the vigneron's house to enjoy this delicious and warming
feast, the ox-tail braised in wine (not juice) together with thick-skinned
Gamay grapes, this hearty feast accompanied by a rustic, deeply coloured
Beaujolais.
2
large red onions, peeled and chopped
4
legs of celery, coarsely chopped
2
cloves garlic, peeled, crushed and chopped
100
g. pancetta, cut into cubes (or use smoked dry cured bacon)
4
tablespoons olive oil
Knob
of butter 4-6 lbs ox-tail, trimmed of excess fat
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/2
bottle of dry grape juice or wine
Beef
or vegetable stock to moisten
6
organic carrots, peeled and thickly sliced
2
lbs fresh grapes
In a large Dutch oven, fry the red onions, garlic,
celery and pancetta or bacon in the olive oil and butter, then add
the trimmed ox-tail and brown over a brisk flame. Season generously
with salt and pepper, then add the grape juice, bring to a bare simmer,
and leave to cook for 2-3 hours, until the meat is tender and nearly
falling off the bones. Moisten with additional stock or juice if necessary.
Skim off excess fat, then add the sliced carrots and the fresh grapes
and leave to simmer for a further half hour or longer. Adjust seasoning
and serve at once.
Wine
suggestion: A
full-bodied cru Beaujolais such as Regnier or Moulin-a-Vent. Or, as
an unusual treat, try with a bottle of Amarone della Valpolicella,
the rich, velvety texture of this wine made from semi-dried grapes
complementing the gooey sweetness of the meat.