F2F-Graze Anatomy

from FoRk to fork journeys in local food

Graze Anatomy

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GRAZE ANATOMY It’s grand up north. Charles Williams goes on tour to meet a baron of beef, a sultan of sausages, and a lot of happy animals who are outstanding in their field.

Words Charles Williams Photography Elinor James

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Graze Anatomy

It is a passion of mine

I can go out in the market with confidence knowing that we’re producing the best

orth Wales is bathed in spring sunshine, the gorse in dazzling bloom on the hills, where lambs gambol and cattle graze with studied concentration. We cross the River Dee as… good grief, is that a herd of bison?

It is. It’s alarmingly incongruous, as if we took a wrong turn at Llangollen and ended up in, I dunno, Wyoming. Actually, we’re still in Denbighshire. Specifically, the Rhug Estate near Corwen, home of the estimable Lord Newborough, organic farmer and purveyor of Welsh lamb to the world’s best chefs.

“I saw a herd of bison once and I thought, wow, they look fun,” says His Lordship. “I put some in a field by the main road in the hope that they’d slow down the traffic and everyone would turn into the farm shop. It was so successful it became an accident blackspot.”

The 8th Baron Newborough comes from a long line of adventurers, politicians, swashbucklers and war heroes. He’s wiry and laconic, and even in his sixties gives the impression that he’d be pretty handy with a sword, if required. Today he’s wearing the aristocrat uniform of a frayed blue shirt that’s retired from active service in the boardroom, and an £8.99 fleece.

“I was born and brought up as a farmer, but I never found farming very interesting, so I went off and did a lot of other things, much to my father’s horror,” he says. The ‘other things’ included protecting fisheries in Sierra Leone, running an air charter company, and building his own electronics firm.

When he eventually took over the family farm, he brought not only shrewd business skills, but also a sense of a big world outside Wales, and a passion for organic food.

“In the 90s there were so many food scares, and when I took over the farm in 1998 I made the decision to go organic,” he says. “It’s far more challenging than farming conventionally, because there are no quick fixes. It’s much more interesting.“ In the old days, almost all Rhug produce went to Waitrose.

Today they sell 65% of their produce direct to customers. He started with nine staff, and now provides jobs for 105 people.

“The farm is at least three or four times more productive than it ever was. With organic farming, you have to believe in it. It is a passion of mine. I can go out in the market with confidence knowing that we’re producing the best,” he says.

Accordingly, his organic lamb and beef is served at some of

the poshest tables in the world, including the Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong, the Burj al Arab in Dubai, and London’s Ritz, Connaught, Dorchester and Berkeley hotels. On the flip-side, Lord Newborough is just as proud that he’s supplying organic lamb and chicken to schools in the London borough of Tower Hamlets.

We go for a drive around the estate so photographer Elinor can do her thing. His Lordship rides chivalrously in the back, leaping out to open gates. The 70-strong herd of bison are even more otherworldly when you see them close up. It’s like bumping into Beyoncé in Asda.

Lord Newborough warns us to keep a close eye on his bovine counterpart, a massive shaggy bull that looks like it’s been constructed of about 19 densely-packed tons of muscle, bone, horn, leather and grudges.

“If he raises his tail, that means he’s about to charge,” says Lord N, blithely reaching out to stroke the bull, whose tail already looks more than half-mast to me and Elinor. It ends, predictably, with the three of us scampering to the car.

We drive on. The world’s most sought-after organic lambs are picturesquely arrayed in front of Rhug Hall, m’lord’s honey-coloured country pile which sits prettily across the lake.

In the next field, young Aberdeen Angus cattle are enjoying the spring pasture, while Lord Newborough enthuses about the joys of going organic, how all manner of clovers and hedgerow plants have emerged since the tyranny of pesticide and chemical fertiliser was overthrown, and how the animals’ grazing habits have changed, and they instinctively forage for the wild herbage which contain the minerals and nutrients their bodies naturally need.

Back at the Rhug Estate Farm Shop and Bistro, we put the meat to the test. It’s rather thrilling to be able to buy the same meat that’s served by the world’s top chefs, in a roadside shop in Wales (albeit one that looks less farm-shoppy and more the food hall of a high-end department store).

Their top seller is the bison burger, which sells quicker than they can produce it. Lord Newborough is sometimes berated by tourists who’ve driven all the way from Birmingham to try one (top tip: the bison is good, but the lamb burger is even better).

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We say our farewells and head north into the hills, cutting crosscountry through the folds of Denbighshire and Conwy, on roads that look bigger on the map than they turn out to be in reality.

It’s not a place to be in a hurry. Somewhere in these hills, a man called Eifion Howatson makes his own chorizo and salami from pigs he raises on his smallholding. (We’d have called in, but Eifion is looking after his grandchildren today, which rightly takes priority.)

At length we join a valley that slashes down towards Conwy, home of a thumping great castle and another famous local monument, Edwards of Conwy, which recently won the UK title of Butcher’s Shop of the Year.

In the labyrinthine back rooms, men are breaking down carcasses. It’d be quite sinister if it wasn’t so sparklingly clean and everyone so cheerful – none more so than the company’s founder, Ieuan Edwards.

A farmer’s son from the Conwy valley, Ieuan set up his own butchers at the age of 20. His premium sausages now appear on supermarket shelves throughout Wales, and they’re spreading eastwards into England, making the leap from regional brand to national super-sausage. They’re also all the rage in Kuala Lumpur, bizarrely.

Despite all the sharp knives lying around, I ask Ieuan if his sausages have dropped in quality on their journey from butcher’s banger to global domination. He laughs (thankfully).

“There are certain values you have to maintain,” he says.

“When we began 30-odd years ago, we only put in shoulder pork, nothing else, and it’s the same today. Just because we make more of them doesn’t mean to say we make them poorer. In fact, I think they’re better than ever because we’ve got more in-depth understanding of the sausage process.”

Another rude question: you’ve got enough (sausages) on your plate. Why bother keeping a shop?

“Because I’m a butcher, aren’t I?” says Ieuan. “Unfortunately I have to wear this thing [indicates tie] rather than my apron a lot of the time, but I still love coming down here.”

Ieuan recently refurbished the shop in a way that, interestingly, doesn’t go down the route of hiding the fact that meat comes from… well, dead animals. There are lots of arty design flourishes, but behind the meat counter is a cabinet displaying whole lamb carcasses and great hunks of beef.

Ieuan is closing the gap between animal and consumer, not widening it. He invites people to custom-cure their own Christmas hams. He runs wine-and-food nights. As we chat in the shop, he’s interrupted constantly by customers and passers-by, bantering in Welsh and English. Everyone knows him, and he knows them.

Ieuan the town butcher, who just happens to run a multinational sausage empire, but still provides locals with top-quality meat.

Last stop of the day is Bodnant Welsh Food. It’s set beautifully, near the famous National Trust gardens, in a neat cluster of 18th-century farm buildings that have been lavishly converted into a B&B, cookery school, restaurant, tea rooms, wine cellar and excellent farm shop. Elinor and I carry out an exhaustive study of Welsh cider, watch the sun set over the River Conwy, fight over who’s having the bigger room, I lose, and we withdraw for the night.

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Graze Anatomy

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Ieuan is closing the gap between animal and consumer, not widening it.

He invites people to custom-cure their own Christmas hams.

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Another perfect day dawns. We snaffle a Full Welsh at the Bodnant tea room, then it’s onward to Anglesey, the island that was once the breadbasket of Wales, the last stronghold of the druids, and what tabloids used to call WILLS & KATE’S SECRET LOVE NEST. Since the 1960s, it’s also been the home of Michael and Rosalind Hooton, who moved here to grow potatoes and cereals on a farm by the Menai Strait. They started selling asparagus from their back door; then sons Andrew and James came home to farm, and they now run two shops which sell a multitude of seasonal veg and meats: Welsh Black beef, Lleyn lamb, pigs and turkeys.

We’ve come to the original Hooton’s Homegrown Farm Shop at Brynsiencyn, whose front door perfectly frames the pyramidal summit of Snowdon, which looms a dozen or so miles away. We like James Hooton immediately, partly because he’s an immediately likeable chap, but mainly because he arrives on a big red tractor, looking like a proper farmer (because he is).

“We’re just… real,” he says, muttering dark things about some so-called farm shops which aren’t any such thing.

Hooton’s is indeed the real deal: all the fresh produce on the shelves is grown or reared on the farm (‘we work in food metres, not miles’ is their slogan). All the preserves, pies, cakes and ready-meals are made in their own kitchen.

“Everything we do here, everything we grow or raise or cook or make is sold in our shops, and nowhere else,” says James.

They have a loyal local following, boosted by a seasonal influx of tourists. In summer, they fire up the BBQ so that visitors can devour steaks and burgers along with the stonking views. Behind the scenes, three butchers are busy breaking home-reared beef, lamb and pork into cuts. James ushers them into the sunlight to pose for a photo, leaning on the wheel of his Massey Ferguson. “Is this farmery enough?” he asks, wrily. “I can chew on a straw and go ‘ooh-arr’, if you like.”

Not necessary. The meat (which we buy and cook later) proves his credentials. It’s really, really good. Then James is back on his tractor and off to plant some peas and tend to his garlic and do farmer stuff. If you’re in Anglesey, do call in. As James says, it’s real.

We drive back across the Menai Strait and down onto the Llŷn Peninsula. It’s surprisingly mountainous, with volcanic peaks rising jaggedly from the sea. Just before the highest, Yr Eifl, the road veers inland and drops down to Glasfryn Parc, our final destination. Glasfryn has diversified well beyond the usual farm shop, and is now as much a tourist magnet as a farm, with go-karting and wakeboarding among the attractions.

Its meat has won a hatful of True Taste awards, and they supply lots of local pubs and hotels (including, I note with approval, Plas Bodegroes, one of my favourite restaurants in Wales). They also sell meat direct at the farm and at the Puffin Café in Penmaenmawr.

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Graze Anatomy

animals are best when allowed to get on with doing what comes naturally

Gwynfor the farm manager takes us on a tour of his domain. It’s fabulously low-tech, an elegantly battered collection of mostly Victorian farm buildings. The Welsh Black cattle are about to be released to pasture, and look glowingly healthy. Across a stone wall, lambs are doing that skippy-jumpy thing in a meadow. We meet the pigs, whose home is a scrubby field that is useless for cattle or sheep, but paradise for the porcine. Gwynfor calls to them and they trot up to greet us, each with a tide-line of mud from where they’ve been wallowing in the field’s lower swamps. We feel momentary pity for factory-farmed pigs, the ones whose trotters feel nothing but concrete.

We also remember Lord Newborough’s mantra that animals are best when allowed to get on with doing what comes naturally. These pigs are as happy as pigs in… well, you get the picture.

The same goes for every animal we’ve met on our tour, including the humans. Raising animals properly, in a sunkissed North Wales, and making meats that are celebrated by the world’s best chefs. It’s bound to put a smile on your face, isn’t it?

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Everything we do here, everything we grow or raise or cook or make is sold in our shops, and nowhere else… www.fork2fork.wales

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The sign of the black ox

Commercial exploitation of the Welsh Black breed meant that drovers would herd them long distances to English markets. A difficult and hazardous job as the well-worn routes attracted highwaymen and drovers often carried large sums of money. As a result, droving banks were established along the way, including the Banc yr Eidon – the Bank of the Black Ox in Llandovery, renowned for its black cattle and a central meeting point for the Carmarthenshire drovers.

The bank was later purchased by Lloyds Bank.

WOOL FIRST

Sheep were bred for their wool initially and many of the first flocks were cared for by the monks of the medieval abbeys.

They established the spinning and weaving industry in Wales and for centuries woollen cloth was a main export.

Mutton – from lambs that had spent at least one winter on the mountains – was the meat originally eaten and has become more popular today because of its special flavour.

In the soup

Is ‘cawl’ the national dish of Wales?

Historically made with salted bacon or beef (now lamb) plus swedes, carrots and potatoes, in North Wales it’s known as 'lobsgows'. ‘Cawl cennin’ uses meat stock and leeks and is served with bread & cheese (bara caws).

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Mutton Prized dressed possessions as…

Rolling Old boar rivers

The agricultural pig breeds of today originate from the old wild boar found in Welsh woodlands. According to the legends of the Mabinogi the first pigs were gifts from the Celtic underworld and they were first seen in Dyfed.

Many Welsh rivers are named after the pig family – Hwch, Twrch, Aman, Banw, Machno a Soch. Rivers burrow or cut through the land, like a pig searching for acorns, roots and mushrooms. The pig also enjoys rolling in mud – not because it’s a dirty animal but because a layer of mud keeps it cool and protects it from the sun’s rays.

The Welsh farmland has been home to native breeds of cattle for thousands of years.

Early Celtic tribes rarely slaughtered their animals for meat, doing so only for special feasts. The owner’s wealth and status would be reflected by the size of his herd. The word for cattle still in use in south Wales is ‘da’ (meaning ‘money’ or ‘possession’).

For some, mutton is meat from a ‘wether’ (castrated male sheep) and to others, from an older breeding ewe. Either way, the best meat (especially the Welsh Mountain breed) is produced from October – March after long summer grazing. ‘The leg of mutton of Wales beats the leg of mutton of any other country.’ George Borrow, Wild Wales.

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We're now at our journey’s end... ...however to start your own food and drink odyssey visit www.fork2fork.wales and chose one of the hundreds of direct food locations available just a stone's throw away, be it a farmers’ market, farm shop, festival or at a farm gate.

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