The Other Red Meat
Forget prawns and calamari, Sardinia’s culinary heritage embraces meatier traditions
Mid-June and Sardinia’s rocky interior is blisteringly hot. Scraggly olive trees provide little shade and the black volcanic rock that forms the island’s base works like a griddle over flame, first absorbing and then throwing back the sun’s heat. As the car thermometer hits 42 degrees, I think longingly of the azure waters of the Oristano Gulf left behind.
But after six days of enjoying gambas alla griglia and spaghetti frutti di mare in beachside osterias it’s time to get serious. And in Sardinia, for the curious gastronome, that means journeying inland for the meat dishes the island’s mountainous shepherds have made famous.
Tradition dictates Sardinians are pastori, non pescatori – shepherds, not fisherman. It’s a preference Il Bue Rosso’s (+39 0783 54383, Piazzale Montiferru 3/4) exuberant chef and patron, Mattea Usai, fast makes abundantly clear. “What do you like?” Usai trills, approaching our tables as she sees us stumbling to communicate with the waitress, her slightly broken English trumping our indecipherable attempts at Italian. “You like meat? We will give you my specialities.”
Housed in a 1920s dairy overlooking the hills surrounding the small olive-oil producing town of Seneghe in the island’s west, Il Bue Rosso is a gastro temple for lovers of beef. It is also something of a local Slow Food poster-child.
Literally translated as “the red ox”, Usai named her family-run osteria for a breed of local bovine that was fast falling victim to the vagaries of modern-day culinary homogenisation. Her offerings – bruschetta of red ox, pecorino and pancetta, or fresh beef ravioli topped with crushed, sweet tomatoes – are designed to highlight the taste characteristics of a breed struggling to survive. (2002 numbers indicate just 78 bulls were in natural service, though the Slow food Association – combined with interested parties in the region – are working to build numbers and expand availability beyond the few local butchers and restaurants currently specialising in the meat.)
But it is not until a few days later in Cagliari, the island’s Mediterranean–influenced capital, that we truly experience Sardinian culinary authenticity. Led by the hand of a helpful local, we wind our way through a network of tiny streets to el Barbacoa (+39 070 658903, Via san Giovanni 220/222). Though the scent from the wood-fire pizza grill seduces many, it is the meats for which the specialist bisteccheria is known.
And not just any meat.
“Our speciality is cavallo,” informs the waiter, before translating in to English the word inspiring our blank looks. “This means horse.”
Cavallo means horse? Of course, of course… For an island that prizes pigs’ ears and granelle (sliced, battered and fried calf testicles) as local delicacies, horse must seem a rather pedestrian deviation for such a creatively carnivorous community.
Pleading a childhood allegiance to Mr. Ed, my dining companion errs on the side of familiarity with a succulent slab of bistecca, leaving me to fly the foodie flag. So, the taste? Dark and lean, it has the appearance of venison, though the flesh is stunningly sweet – more in the line of wallaby than young deer.
And if I couldn’t stop my mind’s silent symphony of Mr Ed’s theme song for the rest of the trip, well, perhaps some would consider it my just desserts.