The cows bred for steak here are treated like royalty.
They are fed well. They are kept comfortable. Nobody shouts at them. No loud rock music. No banging doors. No unnecessary stress. In short, a life many cows can only dream of. And when the hour finally comes, they are not made aware that they are about to be slaughtered. It all happens with great dignity. Humanely, if there is a thing like that for cows.
I imagine the butchers pause afterwards, remove their caps and observe a minute of silence, and perhaps, of sorrow.
But man must eat. And man must eat cow.
So they engage in what is called conscientious butchering. The animal is carefully and skillfully skinned, cleaned and prepared. The beef is then aged under carefully controlled conditions, allowing connective tissue to break down naturally while excess moisture evaporates. This, I gather, is where tenderness is born.
And so when you visit The Local Grill at Nairobi’s Village Market, as I did last weekend, and stare at the menu with its parade of cuts and cooking styles, you find yourself thinking, these cows died a good, dignified death. Which somehow makes you feel less of a savage.
The ambience deserves mention. It has a matte finish and, my favourite feature, long, big windows overlooking the courtyard. I ordered a whisky. Lady ordered some cocktail or other and narrated how, at the age of eight, she was once chased by a cow in the village. She stumbled, fell, got up, cried, and kept running. And the cow kept charging. Great vengeful tale as you wait for steak.
You would think such an experience would turn someone into a vegetarian. Not her.
She later cut through the rump while I worked through the sirloin. The meat was excellent. Of course it is. It is, in the end, the most honest transaction in the city: a life taken seriously, a meal eaten the same way. You leave convinced that great steak is not made in a kitchen. It is made long before that.
