Beefin': On the hunt for grass-fed meat

WHAT'S BEEF: From left to right, a grass-fed ribeye, a dry-aged ribeye and a traditional ribeye, all from Whole Foods / COOPER LEVEY-BAKER

I know you've been there: stuck in the supermarket, staring at all the competing food labels, trying to figure out what to buy. Is it more important to buy organic kale, or local kale? Should my salmon be caught in the wild, or raised on a farm? Which chickens are happier: cage-free or free-range?

Food labels are supposed to help savvy consumers make smarter decisions about what they're putting in their bodies, and what agricultural practices they're supporting, but they often leave buyers feeling paralyzed. Even something as simple as a steak can be misleading. There are Prime and Choice cuts, hormone-free and Naturally Raised cattle, and, in an emerging trend, grass-fed animals.

As is always the case when the USDA gets involved, the label only says so much: Cows whose meat will be labeled Grass Fed need only be given "continuous access to pasture during the growing season." Notice that word "access"? It's also in the much-derided definition given to free-range chickens, which must only be offered "access to the outside," per the USDA. The American Grassfed Association, an independent grass-fed certifying organization, argues that the USDA definition should be stricter, since it allows animals to be labeled Grass Fed when grass is "only a part of their diet."

Why grass-fed over grain-fed beef? There are health reasons -- grass-fed beef is higher in certain vitamins and healthy fats, lower in unhealthy fats and cholesterol, and cows fed on the diet are drastically lower in e. coli. But the real question for food lovers is: How does grass-fed beef compare to a luscious, well-marbled regular ol' grain-fed ribeye? For Suncoast consumers, it can be a challenge to find out.

I asked about grass-fed beef at the Publix I normally shop at, and was told the store only carries pre-packaged grass-fed ground beef, and, of course, they were out of it when I visited. The Butcher's Block on 17th Street doesn't carry grass-fed at all, while The Chop Shop in Bradenton only occasionally keeps some frozen New York strips. Fresh Market orders very limited quantities, but was either sold out altogether or down to secondary cuts when I called. Your only reliable grass-fed destination? Whole Foods, which carries a wide variety of grass-fed cuts from White Oak Pastures in Bluffton, Ga.

IT'S WHAT'S FOR DINNER: A close-up of the grass-fed ribeye / COOPER LEVEY-BAKER

Right out of the brown butcher paper, you can tell the difference between the grass-fed ribeye and the other two steaks I snagged (one choice and one dry-aged). The grass-fed meat is a dark purple-red, contusion-colored, compared to the bright pink of the regular cuts. The grass-fed steak also has a lot less visible fat, lacking the thick white veins so prevalent in the other ribeyes. The Whole Foods butcher gave me a couple tips when I told him my taste-test plans: The grass-fed steaks cook much quicker than the regular variety, and they're inedible when done past medium.

As a bloody-as-hell man, I was O.K. with that. I grilled all three steaks over a super-hot charcoal fire, four minutes on the first side, two on the second. The grass-fed steak was packed with flavor, offering a mushroom-esque earthiness the other two lacked, but the texture difference was noticeable. While the dry-aged steak melted in my mouth, the grass-fed one required more jawing — although it was still far from chewy.

For an up-close look at a local grass-fed system, I drove out to the Myakka City ranch managed by Jeff Scarbrough.

The Sunshine State is a surprisingly big player in the American cattle system, but the industry is mostly focused on birthing and raising calves rather than on slaughtering and selling the meat. It's one of the more insane food systems around: Suncoast ranchers breed and raise cows, but since there's no USDA-approved slaughterhouse nearby, they're forced to ship the animals all the way to the Midwest, where they are killed and processed. In theory, a cow raised just east of I-75 could travel all the way to Oklahoma before coming back to a Publix near you in that Styrofoam container. That means your meat is served with a serious expenditure of carbon and fossil fuels.

To bypass that system, Florida ranchers have begun selling their cattle directly to consumers, before they are killed. At Bradenton's Amazin' Grazin' Beef, for example, you buy a cow or part of a cow while it's alive, and then a butcher eventually provides you with the cuts served up as you like. This avoids the problem of USDA slaughterhouses because, officially, the farmer is merely raising the cow for you instead of selling you meat. That allows local slaughterhouses or meat men to butcher the cow, because it is for "personal consumption."

Scarbrough runs an Amazin' Grazin'-like co-op operation, but the majority of his 200-250 cows are destined for feedlots in Oklahoma or Texas. His animals are largely grass-fed, although he uses hay to complement their diet when the grass turns brown.

Myakka City rancher Jeff Scarbrough / COOPER LEVEY-BAKER

Scarbrough moves his cattle between two-acre plots each day, meaning the cows won't see the same field again for almost four weeks. That long stretch allows the grass to grow back between grazings, vital because Scarbrough hasn't used fertilizer in five years. A death in the family from Lou Gehrig's Disease made them rethink their agricultural habits, which included dumping 500-600 pounds of fertilizer per acre twice a year. Scarbrough says they were "poisoning" the ground.

Another priority for Scarbrough is finding cows that can thrive naturally in Florida. Enter Cracker cattle, the descendants of animals first brought to Florida by colonizing Spaniards. The cows were forced to learn how to survive in the state's swampy environment. The breed was almost extinct by the 1970s, when the state launched efforts to keep the bloodline alive.

They're significantly smaller than the famous Angus variety (say, 700 pounds instead of 1,200), but they're much better adapted to Florida, willing to eat our harsher varieties of grass and more resistant to parasites. Scarbrough shows me some Cracker cows grazing a small paddock, as well as some of the more traditional Black Baldies he raises. He's experimenting with different types, and has coined the term "Crangus" for one particular crossbreed.

According to Scarbrough, grass-fed aficionados elsewhere think Florida cows are "not worth spit," because of their gamier flavor, but he says people have just forgotten how to cook them. "You can't treat it the same way you treat grass-fed beef up north," where a wide variety of grass is easier to grow, he says. Cracker cows might not make great, juicy steaks, but their lean meat (which won't "stop your pipes") is perfect for slowly braised dishes, and "it makes great ground beef," Scarbrough says. He compares the Florida cattle to heritage poultry, which is more active than its mass-produced, domesticated siblings: "It's like wild game."

It's a flavor well worth seeking out.

Email me at eatnearsrq@gmail.com or hit me up on Twitter: @LeveyBaker.