Where to Meat Locally

Byline: Melissa Muller Daka

December 19, 2009

As a child in a breezy Sicilian cliff-side village, I had a room with an unforgettable view. My balcony window framed layers upon layers of flowing countryside hills. Staring out at the terrain, I previewed the mandarin oranges, prickly pears, olives and tomatoes that we later used as ingredients in our meals. That view would make a perfect postcard for the locavore food movement now taking off in the United States today.

Although the view’s intensity waxed and waned depending on the season, one aspect of the landscape remained constant: the daily arrival of the stooped old herdsman and his shepherd dog from behind a flock of wooly-backed sheep, and the tinkling of their bells as they paraded by. Now my days in Sicily are limited to fleeting vacations, as I live full-time in New York, where my view is of a closed-in courtyard, and the tinkling of sheep’s bells has been replaced by the honking of car horns. I can only dream of that timeless Mediterranean view.

But with a rise in availability of “local” pasture-raised livestock, I have started to feel as if I’m hearing the delicate ringing of those bells from my apartment window, especially when the intense tang of the lamb on my dinner plate now recalls the taste of the meat I used to get from my Sicilian cousin Filippo, the butcher. The bells have never been ringing so close to my home in the Big Apple.

Over the last decade, a handful of chefs cooking at so-called farm-to-table restaurants introduced New Yorkers to the delights of eating local meats, vegetables, cheeses and delicacies. Eateries such as Blue Hill, Savoy and Gramercy Tavern made a name for themselves by offering the cream of the crop from the farmers’ market on their menus. But those local bites, albeit succulent, came at a steep price and were geared to an elite clientele.

Thanks to the growth of the greenmarkets and the introduction of community-sponsored agriculture—a program which fosters participants to become minor shareholders in local farms in return for a weekly bag of seasonal produce—legions of urban dwellers are eating more locally grown fruits and vegetables.

The availability of meat from local farmers remained limited until farmers’ markets introduced such meat into the city, where it is sold directly to the public. Now, two butchers, Dickson’s Farm Stand Meats in Chelsea Market and The Meat Hook in Brooklyn, offer meat exclusively from local farmers. Not only is the meat more economical than the locally produced meat offered at farmer’s markets, but it is sold fresh, not frozen.

Dickson’s Farm Stand Meats is run by 30-year-old Jake Dickson, who is usually clad in a spotless butcher coat and a vintage shirt and tie. New York State-raised pork, beef, lamb and poultry are sold at the white-tiled shop, which has quickly become a fixture among Chelsea Market’s gourmet shops.

I was hooked after tasting the full gamut of Dickson’s local delicacies. Making meatballs with the shop’s ground beef or lamb is a culinary delight.  Like the meat from Sicily, its flavor is prominent and it remains moist. It’s not the first time I’ve cooked with meat from pasture-raised animals, but this local meat is far superior. Dickson is adamant that his local meat tastes better because of the breed of the animals, their diet and their humane lifestyle. But just how local is local?

In the vernacular of the locavore, when referring to fruits and vegetables “local” means food that travels no more than 100 miles from farm to fork. Food that travels in excess of 100 miles is considered “regional,“ not local. Local food is considered eco-friendly because it leaves a smaller carbon footprint. When it comes to meat, however, the word “local” takes on new meaning. Even livestock that is raised within a 100-mile radius must detour to the slaughterhouse and butcher before arriving in the city. Hence, there is no fixed mileage count for meats to be considered “local.”  Dickson’s “local” meat travels no more than 400 miles from farm to fork.

All of Dickson’s lamb and beef comes from upstate New York farms, such as Stony Brook Farm, located nearly 200 miles outside of the city on the outskirts of a quaint town called Schoharie. Stony Brook is run by 36-year-old Bob Comis and his wife. Disgusted by the stomach-churning practices of the industrial farm industry, Comis became a vegan; five years ago, he and his wife moved to the Schoharie Valley, where they humanely raise their own animals.

Among other breeds, Comis raises Icelandic sheep, a centuries-old breed that he says “has not been ‘improved’ by the introduction of genetics from other breeds.” While he claims that many other breeds produce meat just as good, the Icelandic sheep are stronger and take care of their offspring. Bob’s sheep—which are fenced into the largest open areas around the grassiest parts of the pasture and rotated—are grass-fed, meaning their diet consists of fresh grass and hay, which contains nutrient rich clover and alfalfa.

Less than 20 miles from his farm, Bob has found a slaughterhouse that handles the sheep gently to reduce the animal’s suffering. “If the sheep I raise are treated poorly at the slaughterhouse, then I have failed in my effort to raise sheep according to the highest welfare standards,” says Bob. Interestingly, meat sold at the greenmarket travels a greater distance than when sold at Dickson’s, because after going to the slaughterhouse, the meat is sent to the butcher, then back to the farm and then to the greenmarket. Comis’ meat is delivered directly to Jake Dickson’s store from the slaughterhouse.

According to Jo Robinson, author of “Pasture Perfect,” a book about the benefits of grass-fed livestock, the difference between meat from pasture-raised animals and mainstream meat is “like night and day.” Supermarket meat tends to come from industrial meat-producing factory farms, where animals are kept in prison-like pens with little room to move.

Beyond the living conditions, the difference between such factory farm and pasture-raised animals lies in the diet. Most beef found in American grocery stores and eateries comes from livestock raised in factories, where they are injected with hormones and fed corn and other grains in order to fatten them up quickly. Since cattle are ruminants, meaning their three-tiered stomachs are built to digest grass, a grain-rich diet can be harmful. In most cases, the animals require antibiotics to stay alive until they are slaughtered.

Pasture raised animals are almost exclusively grass-fed, although some are fed grain for the last weeks of their lives in order to boost the marble or fat that collects in their meat. This more natural diet requires little to no use of antibiotics. Grass-fed animals are not only healthier, but according to Robinson, “their meat is significantly more nutritious for humans than feed-lot meat, containing higher levels of vitamins and antioxidants.”

However, Robinson does not make a distinction between the nutritional value or taste of grass-fed meat that is raised locally and that which comes from father distances. “It’s about how they are raised and what they are fed, not just the fact that they are closer to you,” says Robinson, adding, “Surely, I tasted grass-fed meat that I didn’t like.”

Riccardo Buitoni, chef and owner of Nolita’s Emporio, serves a N.Y. strip steak on his menu that comes from a breed of cow called Piedmontese, which has evolved in the Alpine regions of Italy since the Stone Age. This is the only breed that has a documented genetic tenderness that produces “uniquely lean and tender” meat.

Raised on a farm in Montana, the meat reminds Riccardo of the meat from his native Italy, and he says it “downright tastes better.” While many of the items on the rest of Riccardo’s menu are locally produced, the meat is not. At home, Riccardo and his wife espouse a local food diet. In the restaurant, he incorporates this personal philosophy “whenever possible” saying, “Italian food tastes best when local fresh ingredients are used.” However, he justifies purchasing the Piedmontese beef because of its unique texture and flavor and closeness to the “real Italian taste.”

Locavores choose local food over other food in order to lower the impact on the environment, boost the local economy, and simply because local food is often fresher and tastier. Locavores, like the famed Michael Pollan, author of Omnivore’s Dilemma, continue to speak out about the damaging effects that livestock factory farms have on the environment. Livestock are responsible for a high percentage of worldwide greenhouse gas emissions. While some environmentalists promote vegetarianism in order to reduce such emissions, others like Pollan support eating locally raised pasture-fed animals rather than giving up meat altogether.

Brent Young, a butcher at Brooklyn’s newly-opened The Meat Hook, says that the environmental justification for eating locally raised animals is “a selling point.” While he acknowledges the “smaller carbon footprint” of eating local meat, Young believes “it really comes down to the [meat's] superior taste.” His response to the environmental impact of the meat industry is to “eat less meat,” an ironic statement, coming from a butcher.

The idea of eating less meat harkens back to my Sicilian roots. In Sicily and other Mediterranean cultures, meat is not usually the main dish. Rather, it serves as an ingredient in other dishes, and is usually eaten only on special occasions. My cousin, Filippo, the butcher, sums it up succinctly, saying, in his deep Sicilian dialect, “With a little meat, you can feed a feast.”