In a word, “euuw” was my reaction
(“gross” wasn’t in the vernacular yet) when I was a kid and saw a tin of
Campbell’s oxtail soup on a grocer’s shelf. Behind the red and white label I
pictured a coiled-up tail, a cow tail really, for I’d never seen an ox never
mind its tail, still covered in brownish hide, the hairy tuft intact at the
end, floating in dark broth.
I must have been as fascinated as I
was repulsed, for I recall quietly asking my mom about this oxtail soup and how
it was made, and if it really had an oxtail inside. She explained that it
wasn’t made from oxtails any more, but beef bones and left it at that.
All of these memories surfaced last
week when we were staying at the Wickaninnish Inn plunked right on the beach at
Tofino. This is a newer, more uptown version of the old cedar-sided Wick Inn
that used to be on Long Beach until it was razed by fire in the mid-90s and was
converted to an interpretative centre for the park. The only thing the same is
the name, and a similar, spectacular view, for the McDiarmid family has branded
the place inside and out with quality, including the kitchen, where chef Andrew
Springett, who is leaving shortly, put the Wick on the culinary map.
Everything we ate there — the mango
mousses, the trademark seafood “potlatch” — was spectacular. But the one dish
that had me close to swooning was the oxtail soup. Consommé, to be exact, with
such a deeply meaty and rich, complex flavour that it seemed out-of-this-world
that it was carried in such a clear broth.
Each spoonful was restorative, in the
sense of the original meaning of the word “restaurant”, mainly because we’d
been out all day on Chesterman Beach, chasing the waves and the gulls, with
salt spray and spring rains chilling us to the bone.
When I ordered my oxtail soup, my
mother’s words echoed in my head, and so I asked our kind waiter to check and
see if really was made with an oxtail, for if there ever was a place that would
serve an such an authentic dish as this in B.C., this was it, or Sooke Harbour
House.
And it was. A genuine oxtail, fresh
from a ranch in High River, Alberta, south of Calgary, was at the heart of it
all.
As soon as we got home, I phoned the
Wick Inn and spoke with chef Tim Cuff, who is taking over from Andrew at the
end of April, to see what I could glean about the whole affair.
First, I was curious to know what the
oxtail lends to flavour that a beef tail doesn’t.
“It’s that subtle difference, like
the difference between a free-range chicken breast and a chicken breast that’s
been raised in a barn with 300,000 other ones. It’s how they are raised, so
it’s quality not quantity,” Tim says.
“And it’s definitely a free-roaming
animal. These people really look after their animals so it is organic in a
sense, in that they’re free to roam and eat grass, wildflowers and who knows
whatever else is out there — there could be wild sage and different things that
really intensify the flavour.”
As for the tail itself, Tim describes
it as about two and a half feet long, about four inches in diameter at the end
that’s attached to the animal, and tapering to a narrow tip — hardly anything
that would fit in a Campbell’s soup can. The central structure contains little
sections about two inches long.
I’m not sure if they are considered
vertebrae or not at that point on the animal, but they look like vertebrae,
made of bone and cartilage. As for the meat, it’s very lean, but contains a lot
of natural gelatins in the vertebrae-like sections that enrich the flavour.
Besides the gelatin and the ox’s
free-range diet, there’s the naturally “beefier” taste of the meat, plus the
movement of the tail itself, whipping around day and night, swishing away flies
and the like.
The movement of muscle in an animal’s
body sets off a chain of chemical reactions in the muscle tissue that enhances
the meaty flavour we all enjoy. The greater and more frequent the movement, the
greater the flavour, ergo the superior flavour of what are traditionally
considered secondary cuts, those tougher, cheaper cuts of meat, like those used
in stewing beef.
Other than the tail, the only other
part of an animal’s body that moves around more is the tongue — doesn’t that
make you want to pick up a tasty beef tongue and roast it? My husband, who was
raised in a Latvian/Polish family, laughs at we wispy, waspy Canadians who are
mortified at the thought.
I find it ironic that in pursuit of
“beefy” flavour we’re turning back to meats like ox and bison, which once were
preferred long before beef was. Beef during the Middle Ages was actually
considered crude and indigestible, while ox meat would be cooked with wine and
onions for a delicious dish. And those two timeless ingredients — wine and
onions — are also essential to the Wickaninnish consommé.
If you find yourself a nice oxtail,
here is Tim’s way to prepare it: Marinate your tail 24 hours in red wine with a
mirepoix
(finely diced onion, celery
and carrots), and garlic, thyme, sage and rosemary (toss in a few juniper
berries if you like). Remove the meat, dry it off and coat it in salt and
pepper and a bit of oil. Roast it in a 425 to 450-degree oven on a baking tray,
until it’s golden brown (caramelized).
While the meat is roasting, simmer
your marinade on the stovetop for 20 to 30 minutes or so. Once it boils, the
impurities from the bones and the blood will bubble up into a scum within about
five minutes. Scrape off the scum and discard it. Once the meat is roasted,
transfer it to a small roasting pan with a lid. Add the boiled-off marinade
with enough water to cover it. You can toss in some fresh tomatoes if you like.
Turn your oven down to 250-275, then stew it all gently, covered, for six or
eight hours, or at least until the meat falls off the bone. To make a consommé,
strain it carefully through double cheesecloth after it’s sat for about half an
hour.
If you can’t find an ox tail, bison
or beef is good, too.
Bon appetit
!
Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning
freelance writer who is scouting out the neighbourhood for good tails.