So much for images of plump cattle grazing contentedly in a sea of waving grass, attended by devoted servants who massage them and pour them beer. (And where is all that pasture to begin with, given that Japan is so short of land?) It’s hard not to draw a parallel to mass-produced veal calves—the main difference being that a veal calf’s misery is over in five or six months, whereas Kobe cattle endure these conditions for three years. Japanese farmers, of course, don’t see it this way. Attempts to reach an official with Japan’s Kobe association failed. However, Kengo Kuba, an importer of Japanese meats into the United States, has spent time on farms in that country. He insists that the animals are well treated, “like family.” The beer and massage, he contends, relax the animals and make their meat more tender.
“My impression is that the farmers think this individual treatment is actually a good thing for the animal,” says Dr. Michael Appleby, animal-welfare adviser at the World Society for the Protection of Animals. “But cattle are herd animals—social animals—that require a certain amount of exercise and freedom of movement for their physical and emotional health.”
Nature—in the form of genetics—rather than nurture plays the most important role in the ineffable tenderness of the famous beef. Because of Buddhist and Shinto tenets, beef was not consumed in Japan until the Meiji Restoration, the reign that began in 1868 and signified a turning toward the West. Before then, Japanese cattle were draft animals, raised for strength and endurance, and this probably led to the development of the Wagyu’s signature trait—vast stores of intramuscular fat that could be called upon for bursts of energy and that also resulted in heavily marbled meat.
Blackmore’s Wagyu, like the Wagyu raised in the United States, lead lives that are strikingly different from those in Japan. For one thing, his cows are allowed to raise their own calves for ten months on open pasture. After the calves are weaned, they remain on pasture for six more months before they go into open-sided barns for up to 600 days to slowly gain weight on a blend of grains. As for the quality of this more humanely raised meat, Blackmore lists Thomas Keller, of The French Laundry and Per Se, among his regular American customers.
That confinement isn’t necessary to produce the holy grail of beef is clear when I visit a working Wagyu cattle farm owned by Henry Schmidek, a former professor of neurosurgery who has retired to 130 acres in Vermont. A herd of about 50 graze at the bot-tom of a field. Schmidek cups his hands, trilling, “Here, here, here,” and the squat, black animals trot clumsily toward us. For centuries, their progenitors were bred as workmates for humans, he notes, and today’s Wagyu are docile, even-tempered animals.
Like almost all American Wagyu, Schmidek’s cattle are not full-bloods. They were originally the result of impreg-nating Black Angus cows with Wagyu semen, resulting in a 50-50 cross; now he breeds each new generation to full-bloods, so the percentage of Wagyu continues to increase in his herd. On average, the meat costs less than half of what you’d pay for Japanese Kobe, but it still gets ratings that exceed the USDA’s top grade of “Prime,” which has a greater amount of marbling than cuts graded “Choice” and “Select.”
“American Wagyu is more appropriate to the eating style we have here,” said Shane Lindsay, the owner of Brand Advantage, a wholesaler of Wagyu and other meats. “You’re really not going to want a big slab of Kobe slapped on your plate.” And, it turns out, you’re not likely to get one, no matter how stratospheric the price or what the menu claims. Very little, if any, real Kobe reaches the U.S. According to Lindsay, none of the slaughterhouses permitted to export to this country is in Hyogo prefecture. The high-ticket meat often marketed here as Kobe probably comes from Wagyu cattle raised in other parts of Japan. But Lindsay, who lived in Japan for four years, says that the difference is imperceptible. “They are the same breed of cattle raised the same way.”
The evening I sampled Japanese Kobe, I also tucked into a slice of Wagyu from the States, garnished with, yes, a tiny pa-per facsimile of the Stars and Stripes. It had the same over-the-top, beefy flavor but lacked the melt-in-your-mouth sensuality and tenderness of Kobe. On the other hand, I could have polished off a nice, thick American Wagyu steak without a richness overdose. For my money, it was the better bargain. And anyway, after seeing Schmidek’s cattle moving freely across that pasture, Prime will do just fine, thanks. I’ve lost my taste for beef raised in a crate, Kobe or not Kobe.
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