Ómós Digest 116: Mutton Renaissance
By Cúán Greene
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Mutton Renaissance
I’m not sure that any gourmand would have requested the term ‘Mutton Renaissance’, not least those who grew up in the 60’s. Back then mutton depicted a tired, shrivelled piece of gristle. Meat in the form of tough shoe leather (an inevitable byproduct of a once thriving wool industry) somehow found itself boiled to an inch of its life and served upon the starving Irish plate. Now that’s a metaphor if there were any! As a result of this disenchantment with mutton, all my life, I’ve succumbed to believing mutton to be the inferior elder to lamb, a retired beast, unfit for our family table. However, as time has passed and in many ways our knowledge surrounding food customs and traditions has regressed, advancements in science have propelled us into establishing methods of manipulating foods once considered peasantry into ones of delicious discovery. And so, a select few of us today are aware of a secret those in the 60’s were not… When raised, aged and prepared correctly, mutton is meat that trumps lamb every day of the week, even on Sundays.
I first learned about the virtues of lamb mutton when speaking to Dan Cox, the chef and owner of Crocadon farm, a 150-acre farm and restaurant in Saltash in the U.K. A former winner of the Roux Scholarship in 2008, and former head chef of Simon Rogan’s 3 Michelin star L’Enclume and Fera, immediately demonstrates Dan’s pedigree. Armed with the know-how of growing, from years spent at L’Enclume (a restaurant with an enormous farm) paired with the disillusionment surrounding food waste that one attains from working in high-end city restaurants (like, but not specifically Fera), Dan made the decision to set up shop on an old farm located near Saltash, a short distance from Plymouth.
Although I’d admired Crocadon from afar, it was fascinating to hear Dan speak of his land and his love for farming. His passion for livestock acted as an immediate indicator of his knowledge as he dropped terms like foot rot, fly strike and prolapsed vagina in reference to his herd of heritage sheep, which quickly made me realise this was someone who knew a lot more about farming than I did. I suppose that is what 10 intensive years of passion-driven, soil-centric farming will do to you, especially when you are also the person cooking and serving that product. But those rather graphic images soon made way for palatable ones, with Dan enthusiastically describing the meat he procures from his largely healthy herd, labelling it as the ‘wagyu’ of sheep. He likened the fat marbling to the finest of aged beef but spoke about the flavour with what could only be described as a childlike pride and glee — albeit a carnivorous one. That conversation struck a chord with me and compelled me to source pasture-raised aged mutton. However, there was one issue… Since the days of our ancestors, the role of sheep has shifted. Modern society no longer places value on wool. Sheep were once primarily raised to produce wool for a thriving local fabric and textile industry, along with milk to produce cheese, butter and yoghurt, and their meat was regarded simply as a bonus for poor families. However, the international wool market collapsed in the late 1980s due to improvements in the quality of synthetic garments, such as micro-fleece jackets, and a massive oversupply internationally. Today, the cost of shearing a sheep is about ten times the value of the fleece. With a sprawling population, sheep converted into livestock raised for meat, with our palates favouring lamb. As a result, wool is now classified as agricultural waste and for decades, there has been no requirement for mutton.
Almost by a miraculous stroke of luck, last week while visiting Scotland, I experienced the best-tasting plate of meat I have ever eaten. The location was Inver Restaurant & Rooms, northwest of Glasgow, known for its passion in celebrating local Scottish produce. And as for the meat? It was indeed the finest of mutton raised on the banks of Loch Lomond.
“Older animals naturally have more flavour as their muscles have worked more over time and they have developed more intramuscular fat (marbling).” - Local butcher.
So often high-end restaurants, the main course is as far from the main event as one could ask for. A banal cut of meat, aimed at satisfying a primal requirement for protein, its mediocrity hidden by useless lukewarm garnishes, that so often offer little. In this instance, however, as soon as the meat passed my lips, time immediately slowed down. The plate was an education in meat cookery, 6 lamb preparations hailing from a single animal, raised on a farm I was told was situated on the marshy banks of Loch Lomond. This was not a demonstration of skill for the sake of it, but an education in resourcefulness. In fact, the ability to break down and find a cooking method suitable for each piece, made this the exact kind of skill lacking in so many restaurants. A nugget of grilled loin, a slice of golden roast back fat, a chunk of mutton sausage, a piece of belly. As you made your way through the plate, each bite offered new flavours and textures. This was an appreciation of mutton, heightened by a light sauce, grilled cabbages and a single roasted nub of potato. The fat lent itself to flavours akin to Iberico ham fat or excellent charcuterie. It’s a flavour I often describe as ‘kicky’ although that is very unscientific. It describes a slight pepperiness in the back of your throat, a result of mature fat, accompanied by meaty umami and a base layer of salt. Truly addictive and utterly transformative. I was in awe. The rare sensation of jealousy/contempt/ admiration washed over me like a wave. It’s what one feels when one experiences pure and utter perfection. A feeling I crave but rarely experience. A dish I’d travel for.
Healthy soil is critical
Well ever since this meal, I’ve gone down the rabbit hole of mutton, in order to put right the theory that old sheep are bad-tasting sheep. Great-tasting meat begins with good farming. They go hand in hand, and much like great crops require healthy soil, healthy livestock depends on nutritious pasture.
“If you´ve got poor soil, you´ve got poor plants and poor animals. We just let the plants grow because the top third is where all the nutrition is. The soil health is increased, the plant health is increased, and then the animal health has increased. Leading to increased flavour and nutrition for us.” — Dan Cox
Older animal > Intramuscular fat
Typical classification of sheep meat:
Spring Lamb Age | 3-6 months old
Autumn Lamb Age | up to 1 year old
Hogget Age | Widely accepted as a sheep older than 1 year and under 2 years
Mutton Age | 2 years
Cull Yew | Now, as far as breeding, the Sheep 101 states that most ewes (female sheep) are at their most productive between 3 and 6 years old. After they reach 7 years, their reproductive abilities begin to decline. But, given great care and good nutrition, some ewes can birth lambs up to 10 years old! Often overlooked and sometimes seen as a lesser product, Cull ewe or Cull yaw refers to the fact that these were lamb-producing animals who have for whatever reason stopped producing.
"If you want world class meat, you need an animal that has walked around for a large part of its life, this builds a flavour that you cannot achieve in a younger animal." — Matt Chatfield, Pipers Farm.
There’s a prevailing view that the best meat comes from lamb. Meat from lamb has been considered superior to meat from older sheep because it is thought to be healthier and more tender. The same theory has existed for cows. However, let’s consider the example of Basque beef, typically of the Rubia Gallega breed and the famous Txuleton/Chuleton cut (a rib steak) from former dairy cows that are finished (fattened up for slaughter) in the Basque area. The meat tastes ‘beefy’ rather than buttery.
If we take this classification above, sheep become mutton after two years. However, that’s not old enough to render it delicious. As sheep age, they develop more myoglobin (a protein that stores oxygen) in their muscles resulting in redder and more flavourful meat. Living a full life, they build serious intramuscular fat as they pass through each winter. Intramuscular fat is not the fat your granny leaves on the side of the plate (which is also delicious), but the kind of dispersed fat we regard as marbling, traditionally lauded in prime cuts of beef for its flavour-boosting qualities. Dan ages his sheep for 5-9 years.
“At one point, I had twelve different breeds of sheep and did a lot of cross-breeding. And it was the older, more heritage and rare breeds that tasted better and did much better outside, too. We just have everybody outside all winter, which also leads to more intense marbling and more fat cover on the meat as well. The meat no longer tastes like that lamb that everybody knows, it's more similar to beef or to venison. It becomes something truly exceptional. We are always going to try and find the best possible version of a product. Sometimes that can take years.” — Dan Cox
Dry-ageing
So now we know that great-tasting meat requires great soil health. We have also discovered that older animals provide greater amounts of fat which equates to more flavour. However there is one final key factor that differentiates this kind of mutton from the mutton eaten out of necessity in the past. It’s dry-ageing.
People recognise dry-ageing as a process that makes meat more flavoursome. The concept is also applied to fish. But I wonder if people know what is happening at large?
While lamb is typically relatively fresh, young, sheep meat, the fat cover available on mutton means they can be hung for longer (6-8 weeks). This extra long hanging time softens the texture of the meat, developing the flavour as moisture is lost from the meat.
“The beauty of having our own flock is we take them when they’re ready. Our aim is to achieve the highest fat class of 5, all assimilated on pure pasture. Controlling the temperature and humidity precisely allows us to dry-age our sheep for 6-8 weeks, giving incredible taste and tenderness.” — Dan Cox.
Dry-ageing involves dehydrating meat in a controlled environment. Over a certain number of weeks or months, it draws out more flavour and improves texture. When the decomposition of meat is controlled (the process of dry-ageing), it breaks down the collagen in the meat that is holding together the muscle fibres. This collagen is responsible for tenderising the meat. Once the beef has undergone this process, you will have a portion of protein that is extremely tender. This way, you end up with meat that’s tender and full of flavour. Contrary to popular belief, there is no mould in the dry-ageing process, only enzymes to break down the connective tissue, loss of water to concentrate flavour and oxidation to add new flavours.
I’ve been propelled into learning more about local mutton and wool. Over the next couple of weeks, as I build up my knowledge around the topic, meeting and collaborating with people in the industry, I hope to share with you all an article with my findings. See you soon!
Cúán.