Category Archives: Buffalo

Buffalo Jerky

This post was originally published on December 3, 2010.  Re-posted today for Eat Alberta.  I chose buffalo jerky for this year’s Eat Alberta tasting board because of the significant role that similar preparations played in the history of this province.  Please read The Story of the Buffalo for more information.

Strips of bison jerkyJerky is my nominee for best representation of southern Alberta by a single food preparation.  This is partly because of its historical connection to the buffalo hunt and ranching, but also because it takes advantage of the arid landscape.  In dry regions jerky can safely be made on hot days, when the temperature is around 30°C, simply by leaving the sliced meat to hang outside.[1]

What Meat to Use.  Buffalo can be purchased at most farmers’ markets in Edmonton.  My preferred producers are First Nature Farms and Thundering Ground at the Strathcona Market, and Medicine Man at the City Centre Market.  

You should use a very lean cut of meat from the hip (butcher-speak for the hind leg).  The cuts from the hip are the inside round, eye of round, outside round, and sirloin tip.  I find that sirloin tip is the most commonly available.

Clean and Slice the Meat.  Silverskin, the lustrous sheet of connective tissue that surrounds individual muscles, is the enemy of tender jerky, so remove as much as you can.  Slice the lean meat across the grain into strips about 1/8″ thick.  It goes without saying that this task is best performed with a commercial meat slicer.  Whether you’re using a knife or a fancy slicer, you’ll get more even, consistent slices if the meat is partially frozen.

Lightly Cure the Meat.   It’s worth noting that the dried-meat made by Plains Indians before European contact was not salted.  Modern jerky is always salted before drying as it helps protect the surface of the meat from pathogens during the drying process.

I’ve included a very basic recipe below.  I think the evergreen flavours of juniper, rosemary, and Labrador tea go especially well with buffalo. Cover the mixture and keep it in the fridge for 24-48 hours.

Basic Jerky Cure

  • 100% lean buffalo meat, cut into 1/8″ slices
  • 2% kosher salt
  • 1% minced garlic
  • 0.5% crushed juniper
  • 0.5% chopped rosemary
  • 0.2% fresh cracked black pepper

Drying Techniques.  To make jerky properly, it’s important that you don’t cook the meat.  I’ve tried the completely passive jerky technique here in Edmonton, but my meat molded before it dried (it was an overcast day, and only about 20°C: I should have known better…) For consistent results, I’ve since used a heat source like a low oven, a food dehydrator, or a barbecue.  The barbecue is good because you can introduce a bit of smoke using this simple technique.  The Plains Indians and Métis often use smoke to flavour their dried meat. Traditionally a hole was dug and a low fire kindled within. Scaffolding was erected over the hole, and strips of meat were hung until dry (crude drawing at right…)[2] At first I was skeptical about whether I would be able to smoke the meat on my barbecue and maintain a low enough temperature, but with the hood propped open about a foot I was able to keep the temperature just under 40°C while letting the smoke linger around the meat.

Strictly speaking, the jerky isn’t done until the meat is completely dry and very hard and brittle. At this point there is no moisture for microbes, and the meat can be kept safely at room temperature.  That being said, if you can pull the meat just, just before it is entirely brittle, you’ll find that the flesh is luxurious and smooth and chewy.

Buffalo jerky

 

References

1. Ruhlman, Michael. Charcuterie. ©2005 WW Norton and Company Inc, New York, NY. Page 65. He elaborates on jerky’s connection to ranching, and its usefulness as a preservation technique, on his blog, in this post.
2. This set-up, and other interesting information on frontier life on the prairies, is from: Thomas, Dorine. Rubaboo. ©1981 Pemmican Publications, Winnipeg, MB.

Buffalo Liver Dumplings

Grinding buffalo liver on an old hand-cranked grinderLiver’s robust flavour is perfect in dumplings, that humble but satisfying dish that was once made with left-over bread, milk, and eggs.  I was able to pick up some buffalo liver from First Nature Farms last week.

First I cut the liver into pieces and seared them on high heat. I set the liver aside, sweated onions in the same pan, then deglazed with vinegar and water.

For moisture and body, I added leftover bread heels soaked in milk. I used eggs to bind the mixture, dried bread to tune the consistency, and finsihed with salt, pepper, and thyme.

The ingredients were then forced through the hand-cranked meat grinder above, at left, which used to belong to my grandmother. This was the first time I’ve used it. It has a plate on it that redefines what I consider a “coarse grind.” You can see in the photo that it doesn’t even have holes like a typical die, but rather annular slits. It was perfect for the dumplings.

Once ground, I shaped the paste into balls. They can be poached, but I prefer frying them in a pan. I ate them with broth. Buffalo broth, of course.

Buffalo liver dumpling in broth

A Weird Digression on Bison Milk

Working with buffalo liver and milk got me asking questions. What does buffalo milk taste like? My understanding is that bison are related more closely to dairy cows than to the dairy buffalo of Europe, so I would wager that their milk is similar to our household milk in fat, protein, lactose, et c. How difficult would it be to milk a buffalo?

Buffalo Tongue

A simple variation on the brine and boil theme.

The rule of thumb for brining hams is a half day per pound of meat. Tongues seem to take a week for the brine to penetrate, even if they only weigh two pounds. This could be because the meat is dense and fine-textured, but that’s only a theory.

As is easy to imagine, the tongue is a highly exercised muscle. It contains lots of connective tissue that moist heat dissolves into delicious, succulent gelatin. As such tongues are almost always boiled.

I had just made some good buffalo stock, so I decided to braise this particular tongue. I didn’t expect braising to affect the tongue much differently than boiling; I just figured it would result in some very rich, gelatinous stock to play around with.

Peeling a buffalo tongueI say that I braised the tongue, but I guess I should mention that I didn’t sear the meat beforehand because there is a layer of “skin” on the tongue that is practically inedible, even after extensive cooking. In the most obvious sign that there is a God in heaven and that He wants us to eat tongue, the skin easily peels away from the cooked flesh. There’s no point in searing the tongue, as the caramelized exterior will eventually be removed.

Tongue can be eaten in any number of ways, but my favourite is sliced thin and served cold. The tongue is nature’s cold-cut.  As I said, cooked, it has lots of gelatin, and a surprising amount of fat at the base, where it connects to the bottom the mouth and throat. Unlike other fatty cuts like pork shoulder or beef shortribs, which have coarse textures, tongue has a very fine, homogeneous texture that lends itself to slicing. It’s great on sandwiches.

I made a simple tasting plate for my sliced tongue. Remember those cylinders of marrow I extracted from the soaked buffalo bones? They were poached and sliced to make little medallions of marrow. Seasoned with coarse salt, they are perfect for spreading on toast, and an ideal accompaniment to buffalo tongue and relish.

Charcuterie plate: toast, buffalo tongue, relish, and buffalo bone marrow

Pemmican

When I first decided to make pemmican, I thought the process would be simple: make jerky, pound jerky, render fat, combine. In practice, there were a couple hiccups, but the results were surprising.

In the finest pemmican, the dried meat was pounded until it became a powder. I started grinding pieces of jerky with a mortar and pestle. It worked, but I realized it would take days to process a useful quantity of meat. I eventually found a rock and a solid piece of earth, wrapped the jerky in cloth and pounded it out. You could probably blitz the meat in a food processor and obtain similar results.

With my meat powder made, I ran into a problem:

Buffalo Fat

Removing the marrow from buffalo bonesBuffalo fat is almost an oxymoron. The animal is very lean, and there is certainly nothing like the fatback on a pig. To complicate the matter, buffalo is dry-aged, a process that claims what little fat cap there is to protect the meat. It is therefore extremely hard to obtain raw buffalo fat in the quantity required for pemmican.

I had actually come across the solution to this problem ages ago, without realizing it. “The Plains Indians used to crack and boil bones to make grease.” It was right there in my notes, but I didn’t recognize “grease” as “edible fat.”

I had a bag of marrow bones (that is, leg bones cut into two or three inch lengths). To separate the marrow from the bones cleanly, I emptied the bag into a bucket of cold water. After a few hours of soaking I was able to push the cylinders of marrow out of the bones (photo above). Soaking bones in cold salted water, replacing the water as it clouds, is a common way to purge the marrow of blood. I don’t have a clear idea why the process makes the marrow slide out of the bones so easily, but it does.

These marrow cylinders can be rendered as if they were pure fat scraps: throw them into a pot with a touch of water and place over very low heat. I soaked my marrow extensively to draw out as much blood as I could, as I thought the blood might somehow taint the fat. I retrospect, I’m not sure this was necessary. After rendering for a few hours, I had beautiful fat with a layer of what looked like curdled blood on top. The blood that I was unable to purge had separated cleanly, and it didn’t seem to affect the fat in any way.

I strained out the non-fat components because a) they look gross, and b) they increase the rate of spoilage of the fat.

The next step was to combine the meat powder with the fat in roughly equal parts. Simple enough, though there is an important nuance: the fat must be just, just melted (ie. not too hot). If the fat is too hot, it will cook the meat powder and make it hard and gritty.

My reasons for making pemmican were quasi-academic, and truthfully I wasn’t expecting the dish to give a pleasurable eating experience. Of course the flavours of the jerky, smoke and juniper in my case, dominate. Salt is not traditional at all, as it wasn’t harvested by the Plains Indians, but by seasoning the meat and fat before cooling, this pemmican was actually damn tasty. The texture was strange, though not unpleasant. It was a bit like a rillette that you don’t have to chew.

This is a preparation that you could toy with. For instance: what if the jerky were simply pulled apart and mixed with the marrow fat, so that there was still a characteristic jerky chew? Dried saskatoons would definitely allow you to play with texture.

A puck of pemmican

The Story of the Buffalo

How is it possible to feel nostalgia for a world I never knew?

-Ernesto Geuvara, in The Motorcycle Diaries

Eating the Buffalo

The poster-beast for the nose-to-tail movement is the pig, and I have devoted the last few years of my life to learning some of the near-countless preparations of that animal. I’ve cured hocks, bellies, and hams, stuffed intestines (“casings”), boiled trotters, skin, and bones to make stock, rendered fatback to make lard, made black pudding with pig’s blood, and tried my hand at making headcheese.

For some reason I only recently related the bison meat at the market to the buffalo I learned about in history class. Only recently did I recall a teacher telling us that the Plains Indians used every part of the buffalo. As a child, it sounded gross, but now it’s a revelation.

Buffalo jerky!Given my interest in charcuterie, my favourite buffalo preparations involve the preservation of the meat. The Plains Indians dried the bulk of the meat near a campfire to make what was essentially jerky. This is a hugely underused preparation, well-suited to our landscape. (My cracked palms and chapped lips can testify to how dry Alberta is.)

While jerky was common in the southern plains, the Indians of the northern plains developed pemmican. I think every Canadian child hears about pemmican in school, though few have seen or tasted it. My memories of pemmican from elementary school are these: first, it sustained the voyageurs; second, it was made of meat and berries, which seemed a very strange combination to me at the time. (Meat and fruit has since become one of my favourite pairings: pork and apple, rabbit and prune, duck and cherry…)

At its heart pemmican is actually dried meat and fat. On the plains the meat was almost always bison, but venison and, in the north, moose, were also used. Dried meat is “shelf-stable,” but pemmican is more than a way to preserve the meat: it is an easily portable meal high in energy and protein. Dried strips of meat were pounded very fine and then mixed with rendered buffalo fat, which supplied needed calories and fat-soluble vitamins. That’s pemmican: dried meat powder in fat, roughly equal parts by weight.[1] Sometimes dried saskatoons were added to the mix, though this increased the rate of spoilage.

Most often pemmican was eaten as is. Occasionally it was seared, or served in water or broth, at which point it was called “rubaboo.” I have seen occasional reference to pemmican in outdoorsman circles, where the term is sometimes used to sell energy bars and trail food. Otherwise pemmican is considered a historical curiosity.

Other parts of the buffalo were cooked fresh, notably the kidneys, liver, and tongue. The blood was used in soup.

The Plains Indians’ use of the buffalo went far beyond food. Bones were cracked and boiled to get grease, which was used as fuel for fire. The hides from spring and summer hunts (when the fur was relatively thin), were made into leather and became tipi covers, bags, clothing, and, later in history, saddles. Hides taken during the winter hunts became the robes and gloves that made surviving the prairie winter possible.

The Buffalo Hunt

In the nineteenth century the buffalo herds were crippled by disease and over-hunting. Once the Plains Indians obtained horses (first brought to North America by the Spanish), buffalo could be hunted by individuals, instead of the traditional group methods based on herding. While the Europeans’ trading routes were established largely around the beaver, the buffalo became an important resource to feed the employees of the Hudson’s Bay and Northwest Companies. There was a good living to be made provisioning the trading posts with pemmican or fresh meat, and many natives began hunting for trade instead of subsistence. As further incentive to hunt, buffalo robes were popular in eastern Canada and the United States as sleigh throws, and in the latter half of the 1800s the hides were made into industrial drive belts.[2]

To aggravate the situation, the American government was fighting a war against several groups of Plains Indians and, recognizing the natives’ dependence on the buffalo, openly encouraged over-hunting. In 1875, for example, when the Texas legislature considered a bill to save the last of the Texan buffalo, General Philip Sheridan, commander of the US Army in the plains region, dissuaded them, saying:

[The buffalo hunters] are destroying the Indian’s commissary, and it is a well-known fact that an army losing its base of supplies is placed at a great disadvantage. Send them powder and lead, if you will; for the sake of lasting peace, let them kill, skin, and sell until the buffaloes are exterminated. Then your prairies can be covered with speckled cattle and the festive cowboy, who follows the hunter as a second forerunner of an advanced civilization.[3]

While there was no direct elimination policy in Canada, the Canadian plains lost most of their herds, as the buffalo migrated across what is now the border. Also, American buffalo hunters regularly crossed the forty ninth parallel into southern Alberta. So too did traders in moonshine, who exchanged illegal whisky for buffalo robes. These groups (in part) necessitated the creation of the North West Mounted Police, and their post at the confluence of the Elbow and Bow rivers, Fort Calgary.[4]

The End of the Plains Indians’ Way of Life[5]

By the time the Canadian government came to sign treaties with the Indians of the North West, the buffalo population had been decimated: it was clear that their traditional way of life could no longer support them. When it came time to bargain, the Indians demanded to be given the opportunity to farm. Treaties 1, 2, 4, 6, and 7 each contain clauses that were intended to help the Plains Indians become farmers. (The reserves in the Edmonton area, such as the Enoch Cree reserve, are part of Treaty 6. The reserves of Calgary and southern Alberta, like the Tsuu T’ina (Sarcee), are part of Treaty 7.) These clauses promised certain livestock and farming tools, like plows, but no formal instruction on farming. The Indians were expected to rely on the local missionaries for farming knowledge.

There were serious logistical problems in the distribution of the promised provisions, especially in the Treaty 6 area. The natives could not settle their chosen reserves until the government had surveyed the land, and they were not eligible to receive their equipment until they had started cultivation.

To help the Indians, model farms called “home farms” were set up in areas 4 and 6. They were intended to teach the natives how to farm, and the resulting crops would help feed them until they were self-sufficient. This plan, too, eventually failed. Most of the first government-appointed instructors were from Ontario and knew nothing of the Plains Indians or farming on the prairies. There was also confusion as to who owned the farms’ produce, some teachers thinking that they had the right to sell to outside communities. The home farms were abandoned in 1884.

More failures came when Hayter Reed was appointed the Indian Commissioner of the North West. Part of enticing settlers to the west was a promised market for crops. Reed came under pressure from white settlers who resented the support given to the natives who were potentially competing in the same markets.

Reed believed that civilizations move in an irresistible, linear progression. He also believed that groups should move through each of the stages of civilization in order. Therefore the Plains Indians, who had recently been hunters and gatherers, should not move directly to the modern farming being practiced in Europe, but should first be “yeoman farmers.” They shouldn’t, therefore, have access to mechanized farming equipment, like tractors or threshers: they should be subsistence farmers that only produce food for their families, not for the larger market.

The failure of the Canadian government to provide agricultural assistance, promised by the treaties, was a major factor in the development of poverty and social depravity on Indian reserves.

Conservation

By 1900 there were fewer than 1000 buffalo left in North America. There were twenty three buffalo in Yellowstone National Park, and several others on private ranches.[6] Most, however, were in the Canadian wild, notably in the northern parklands, where there was a distinct subspecies, separate from the plains bison, called the wood bison. Wood bison are larger, have shorter coats, live in smaller groups, and do not have the pronounced migratory patterns of the plains bison.

To protect the remaining animals, buffalo ranges were formed and stocked with animals from private herds. In 1906 the Canadian government purchased buffalo from a Montana rancher, and a year later founded Buffalo National Park near Wainright, AB. Interestingly, before being brought to their home in Buffalo National Park, which hadn’t been completely fenced off, the buffalo were kept in Elk Island National Park, just east of Edmonton. In rounding up the herd so that it could be shipped to Wainright, some animals allegedly eluded capture, stayed in the park, and founded Elk Island’s modern herd of plains bison.[8]

Woodbuffalo National Park was established in 1922 to preserve the wood bison. In 1926 thousands of buffalo were transferred from Wainright to Woodbuffalo, resulting in the hybridization of the Woodbuffalo animals and a huge loss in genetic diversity. The Wainright herd also introduced tuberculosis and brucellosis to Woodbuffalo. It was thought that the wood bison subspecies had been lost, but in 1957 an isolated herd of pure wood bison was discovered in Woodbuffalo National Park. Some animals from this herd were transferred to the northwest shore of Great Slave Lake, where the MacKenzie Bison Sanctuary was formed. There is now a Bison-Free Management Area between Woodbuffalo National Park and the MacKenzie Bison Sanctuary to protect the pure herd from hybridization and disease. The area is monitored in the winter months and, as a final measure of security, hunting buffalo is permitted in the area.[7] Other pure wood bison were sent to Elk Island National Park.

With the loss of genetic diversity during conservation, many buffalo herds are now prone to leg problems.[9]

Meat Market

The 1990s saw the growth of a market for buffalo meat. To my mind, consumers are a bit confused about what they’re buying. Lots of people complain that buffalo tastes too strong, or too “gamy.”
Any distinctive, wild, “game” flavours come from an animal’s diet more so than any inherent characteristic of the meat. While some buffalo are raised on native grasses, others graze on a uniform diet of commercial forage and are grain-finished, just like cattle. I have had some flavourful buffalo (notably from First Nature Farms), but I’m not sure I would describe it as gamy…

At any rate, groups like the Bison Producers of Canada shy away from the topic of taste, and sell their product as the healthy red meat alternative, as it has significantly less fat than beef, and is a good source of iron and other nutrients.[10]

Conclusion

My goal in writing this history is not to arrive at a moral decision on buffalo meat. The mandate of the local-food movement is to know more about where our food comes from. While we often talk about the life and slaughter of specific animals on specific farms, this post was an attempt to consider an animal from a broader perspective – to wonder not just what bison meat is the most ethically or sustainably raised, but rather why it is we raise and eat buffalo in the first place. Reconciling the past and present is becoming a theme on Button Soup.

References

1. Euler, John. Pemmican! ©195-? Government of Canada, Department of Indian Affairs. Page 8.

2. Marsh, James H. The Canadian Encyclopedia, Second Edition. Vol I. ©1988 Hurtig Publishers Ltd. Edmonton, Alberta. Page 295.

3. Patent, Dorothy Hinshaw. The Buffalo and the Indians: A Shared Destiny. ©2006 Clarion Books. New York, New York. Page 56-57.

4. The Canadian Encyclopedia, Second Edition. Page 315.

5. Ray, Arthur J. An Illustrated History of Canada’s Native People, Third Edition. ©2010 Key Porter Books, Toronto, ON. All my information on the natives’ transition from hunting to farming is from the chapter called (appropriately) “From Hunting to Farming.”

6. The Buffalo and the Indians: A Shared Destiny. Page 59.

7. All of this information on conservation efforts in Canada is from the “Bison” article in The Canadian Encyclopedia, Second Edition. Page 233.

8. I say “allegedly” because of this cheeky Parks Canada publication.

9. From the Slow Food website, specifically the Ark of Taste article on The Great Plains Bison.

10. From the Bison Producers of Canada website, specifically their comparative nutritional information.