Raise an Ox for Meat

OUR WRITER PHILIPP KOHLHÖFER CLUBBED TOGETHER WITH SEVEN OF HIS FRIENDS TO BUY AN OX, HELP REAR IT, AND THEN EAT IT. ALL OF IT.

Everyone else had a cowboy hat on, and there was me in my horned helmet. Everyone else had toy pistols – and I had a proper meat cleaver, glinting menacingly. My horns ponged a bit, cut from a cow’s head as they were. In short: I was 11 and had the best costume out of all the other children. My grandad Otto was a butcher with four shops; he slaughtered 45 pigs a week and several larger animals besides. Looking back, I suppose you might well have expected me to buy a cow at some point – or rather: an ox.

45 kilos of meat

The laundry basket was indeed too small. That one ox produced 45 kilos of meat – per person (there were eight of us). We were shareholders of a kind, each having paid 250 euros of investment capital. We guaranteed the farmer that we would purchase the animal, and in return, the farmer agreed to raise that animal. Each one of us got an eighth of everything: that meant an eighth of the filet steak, of course, but also an eighth of the tail, of the cheek, of the chuck and brisket, of the short ribs – even of the very bones themselves.

Where's the blood?

Why did I do it? It’s about respect. I think supermarkets lack respect for me when they try and sell meat that looks like it came out of a sterile micro-electronics facility rather than an abattoir. Where’s the blood, the cartilage, and the other things that connect the words “steak” and “animal”? 500g of minced meat for €1.50? That’s just as indecent as pretending that animals consist of breasts and sirloins and no more before packing the rest off to Africa and selling it so cheaply that local farmers can’t compete.

Good meat tastes so much better that it’s bordering on gross negligence to eat the bad stuff. We’re talking about meat that stays the same size in the pan as it was on the chopping board because it didn’t get pumped up to twice its volume with retained water. We’re talking about meat that is good enough not to need marinating. What is more, buying a package of cuts makes you more creative. How many people actually know what to do with chuck steak (braise it) or hindshank (goulash is good)?

Animals like albums

Once my somewhat overloaded laundry basket was finally packed into the boot, each piece carefully wrapped up in freezer bags while my hands were covered in blood, my first thought was: I don’t even know where to start. My second thought was: whatever am I going to do with all of this meat? And what is “plate” again? I’d neither heard of it nor eaten it, let alone cooked it. I ended up doing both. Basically, an animal is like an album: between the hit singles, there’s usually plenty of other good music if you’re willing to listen to it.

No names, please

My daughter and I often went to see the farmer on the North Sea coast. We saw the ox, had a chat with him even – but we didn’t give him a name. I made no secret about what was going to happen to him. She came with me to the abattoir and helped me heft all of the meat into the boot. While she did, we talked about food. And maybe that’s why I’ve never caught her playing with food. Well, at least that’s what I like to tell myself.

Slaughtering days

Let’s be honest about it: sharing and trading meat is neither new nor rebellious. Almost two million years ago, our earliest ancestors were out there hunting waterbucks together; later, the Neanderthals pursued mammoths; much later, villages came together for slaughtering days. So I’m off to the North Sea coast again with a few friends. Perhaps my daughter would like to come – dressed as a Viking even. At least we’ve got a meat cleaver at home again now.