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Food and Drink

A tale of the tail of the ox
glendabyline

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.