San Francisco Magazine
February 2009
Language says a lot about our attitude toward food. For instance, when we use foreign words to render gross things palatable, like saying “escargot” to make a garden pest sound like an appetizer. Euphemistically calling pigs’ feet “trotters” suggests a prim squeamishness, a refusal to grapple with where our food comes from. But more troubling still is the confusion of the terms bison and buffalo, an etymological remnant of American cultural imperialism.
There’s no such thing as American buffalo. The famously roaming animal is in fact a bison, and not related to any species of buffalo which are indigenous to Asia and Africa. Bison, a meat animal related to cattle, migrated to North America thousands of years ago across a strip of land that once joined Siberia to Alaska, and eventually settled in the vast, arid prairies of the Midwest.
It’s not clear how bison came to be called buffalo, although a popular theory holds that they were renamed by white settlers because of their resemblance to the European animals. Their history, however, is well known. There were once millions of the shaggy, enor-mous creatures, which the Plains Indians hunted not just for their meat, but also for their hides, horns, bones, and even hair. Bison served as a spiritual connection to the land, and they were so culturally important that their slaughter during the late 18th century decimated both the animal and the native people.
In recent years, though, bison have slowly started to return. Small ranchers are, for reasons both environmental and romantic, increasingly interested in grass-fed bison. The meat I bought recently from Prather Ranch, raised in Southern Oregon was a revelation: intensely sweet, with subtle herbal and gamy notes that lent it complexity. When cooked rare to medium-rare, bison loin is tender and juicy, needing only a few minutes in a hot pan and a minute or two to rest (it will dry out if cooked any longer). I was skeptical of how it would braise, given its low fat content, but the short ribs that I prepared sim-ply—a little onion and carrot, red wine, water, and herbs—were delicious and densely meaty, with a succulent texture. I threw a few marrowbones in the pot while they were cooking, which enriched the broth and made a tasty snack when the short ribs were done.
Because of its sweetness, bison shines in raw preparations. Jonnatan Leiva, the chef at Jack Falstaff, began using bison earlier this year in a classic tartare. Interestingly, he found that it sold better when he called it by its correct name. “The word buffalo deters people,” says Leiva. “They think of Dances with Wolves, like they’re eating some big, hairy animal.” Once guests became willing to try the renamed meat, they loved its flavor. “It’s going to be on the menu for a while,” Leiva says.
A few hundred years ago, our country’s bison herds could have been saved if they were simply left alone, but that’s no longer an option. Raising bison for food may be the road to their salvation, but the path remains fraught. These are not, and will never be, fully domesticated animals. There’s significant variation in their meat’s fat content, color, texture, and flavor. Cooks raised in the age of industrial foods to think that cuts of meat should be consistent, like office supplies, might find this variation offputting. Bison are also expensive to raise on grass, sometimes taking years to reach a slaughter weight of 800–1,000 pounds, and their temperament, while largely pleasant, is not entirely predictable. “Everything will go smoothly,” says one bison farmer, “if you remember that they’re dangerous and wild. Bison can bust open a trailer like a soda can.”
In this more-locavore-than-thou era, it seems counterintuitive—and possibly treasonous—to advocate buying meat from Oregon. But as we look toward the future of our food supply, bison may be an exception to the rule that local is always better. Creating demand could be the first step toward a fundamentally better meat source. Bison, which can subsist on native grasses, do less harm to the environment than cattle. Their meat is lower in fat and calories, and higher in iron. Just as important, this is a chance to bring back a culturally significant American ingredient. Maybe we can start small: Call bison by its true name.
