Old Cows Are the Newest Thing in Texas Beef

Most American steaks come from young cattle. HeartBrand, in Harwood, is trying to create a market for cuts from more mature animals.


By Daniel Vaughn, Texas Monthly

May 9, 2019


In 2006, Ronald Beeman and his son Jordan saw an opportunity to market a Japanese breed of cattle to American consumers. They bought the HeartBrand beef company and commenced expanding their herd of Akaushi cattle, a specific breed of Wagyu that’s rare in the United States. HeartBrand, headquartered in Harwood, Texas, has about 15,000 head of cattle, but that’s still not enough to meet demand. After successfully creating a market for a new breed of cattle, they’re setting their sights on another new frontier in American beef: Old cows.


Most cattle don’t get past the age of two. American beef comes mostly from steers and heifers slaughtered between 18 and 24 months old. Young cattle are prized for their tenderness and mild flavor. The more highly marbled—meaning the more white dots of fat within the lean, red meat—the better. The Beemans’ interest in the Akaushi breed stems from its genetic penchant for excellent marbling. Those traits are passed down from their herd of 3,000 full-blooded Akaushi cows, who birth calves each year until the cows are about nine years old. At that point, the cows are done calving and enter the commodity beef market through auctions. The nickname for these cattle is “burger cows” because they generally become cheap ground beef. But the Beemans are trying something new.


“We call it the ten-year-old program,” Jordan Beeman told me. (The program is so new they haven’t had a chance to come up with a clever name.) Last June, HeartBrand slaughtered its first ten-year-old cow. It had been fed on grain for a full 300 days prior. “They eat thirty pounds [of feed] a day, and they don’t gain much weight,” Beeman said. “Their conversion rates are horrible.” He was referring to the cow’s ability to efficiently convert grain into body mass, but that’s not the only reason for the grain diet. It’s also to add fat back into the animal and temper the gaminess that can come with nine years of eating primarily grass.


These old cows were being treated like catfish that are purged in fresh water to eliminate the flavor of what they’ve been eating their whole life. The Beemans know their audience, and Americans are used to a beef flavor that isn’t fully developed. It’s from young cattle, barely older than veal, and it’s far milder than older, mature cattle. We prefer that mellow taste for the same reason that we eat lamb instead of mutton and cabrito instead of goat. In the U.S., animals raised for meat are harvested just as they reach a size that’s profitable. Feeding livestock beyond that is simply not rewarded by the marketplace. HeartBrand is playing the long game with this new program. The nine-year-old cow is already a sunk cost for the company. It’s not factored into overall profitability. HeartBrand is, in effect, converting an entire animal from commodity ground beef into desirable steaks—and maybe even meat that could fetch a premium price.


Austin Simmons was impressed with the product. The chef at TRIS in the Woodlands received a portion of that first ten-year-old cow last year, as did a couple other chefs in Miami and Chicago. Simmons had been infatuated with old beef after watching the documentary Steak Revolution in 2015. In the film, French beef connoisseur Franck Ribière traveled the world in search of his favorite steak. He loved the grain-fed American beef served at Peter Luger Steak House in Brooklyn and the Wagyu steak from Japan, but his favorite came from an old steer served at El Capricho in León, Spain. The film was compelling enough that Simmons convinced Beeman to produce a mature line of Akaushi cattle.


Simmons invited me to TRIS last month to sample a taste from a few cuts left from a dinner he’d recently hosted. It’s not on his menu, since he doesn’t yet have enough to serve to the masses, and I wasn’t charged for my meal. The beef came from the third cow ever to come out of HeartBrand’s ten-year-old program.


I didn’t get a look at the raw meat, but I could see the lines of fat within the cross section of the well-marbled ribeye. When I took the first bite, I was surprised at what wasn’t there. The meat didn’t have the minerally flavor in the lean portions or gaminess in the fat that I expected from an older cow. Even the chunks of fat lining the top of the sirloin were mild in flavor. The meat seemed denser, especially in the strip, than even dry-aged beef (which loses moisture through the aging process), but it wasn’t tough. It was more like a concentrated beefy flavor. The aftertaste was reminiscent of olive oil. I focused so much of my attention on evaluating the beef—ticking off my internal checklist of the negative characteristics it didn’t end up having—I almost forgot to simply enjoy eating this uniquely delicious steak.


Simmons said there are some tricks to getting the most out of these older cuts. He adds very little salt before cooking so that the flavor of the beef isn’t masked. “The harder you cook this, the tenser it gets,” he said. “Once it gets past medium, the ten-year-old [beef] is not tender.” He prefers to cook thinner cuts and to quickly give them a hard sear in cast-iron. There’s just enough moisture left in the steaks to keep them from tasting dry. A few slices of dry-aged, two-year-old HeartBrand beef on the same platter felt almost soggy in my mouth by comparison. Apparently it didn’t take me long to take to the old beef.


Food writer Jordan Mackay was convinced during a trip to Spain that the pinnacle of beef consumption isn’t young, tender beef. He visited El Capricho to eat a steak for lunch. “I took one bite and it was one of the most delicious tasting bites of beef I’ve ever had,” he said. That was from a 22-year-old steer. He returned to the U.S. thinking that Spain might boast the best steak in the world. The experience prompted him to pursue a book about steak that eventually became Franklin Steak, which he co-authored with Austin pitmaster Aaron Franklin. In the book, he argues for...


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