A Moroccan showstopper

Matching proper meat cut to right cooking method

Plantation’s Dar Tajine offers comfort in a pot with lamb dish.

Although it helps, you needn’t be an utter crackpot to believe that the prehistoric artworks adorning the caves of Western Europe are actually primitive menus. Sadly, though, those chef ’s degustations at Thakk’s of Grobnork left much to be desired, as the peeps of the Pleistocene knew little and cared less about the finer points of meat cookery. “Tender, schmender,” Thakk was fond of saying, “as long as it’s hot and dead.”

Think of the time you’ve spent at the butcher counter, staring. All those meat cuts. All those cooking methods. Just imagine knowing in advance how to pair them up.

The word of the day, which I just learned from my brainiac daughter, is “ungulate,” or hoofed mammal. Our planet (Earth) is rotten with ungulates: giraffes, hippos, okapis — ungulates all. Still, there are only a few of these magnificent beasts that we kill and eat. And those, mostly, would be your cattle, your pigs, your sheep and your goats.

I mention these taxonomic similarities because they speak to those ungulates’ anatomic similarities, and those anatomic similarities are what have allowed us to develop a cogent theory of meat cookery.

“Meat,” by the way, refers typically to muscle. Curiously, muscle is about three-quarters water.

The rest is mostly protein, with smaller amounts of fat, minerals, steak sauce, alien nanobots, etc. (Here come the angry letters!)

Whatever meat we’re eating, whether it’s grilled steak or braised pork shoulder, we want it to be tender. And just so we’re all on the same page, lingo-wise, “tender” means easy to bite through, easy to chew. The opposite of tender is tough.

While meat can be tough for several reasons, the primary cause is the location it occupied whilst still attached to the animal. Location determines muscle structure, which, ultimately, determines cooking method.

Regardless of location, every muscle consists of individual muscle fibers, which are long and thin and wrapped with connective tissue, like living cigarettes.

The more use a muscle gets, the bigger the individual muscle fibers get. Now, if you consider that something thick is harder to bite through than something thin, it stands to reason that meat with thick fibers is tougher than meat with skinny fibers.

It’s also true that much-used muscles need more connective tissue to hold them together and keep them attached to the bone.

Or think of fish: Because they’re floating in water, they’re not subject to gravitational forces the same way as land animals. Therefore, they don’t need as much connective tissue. That’s why you can eat salmon with just your fork, whereas even the tenderest chateaubriand requires a knife as well. Dig?

Now, back to the muscles’ location: Because all they do is stand around all day, the legs and joints of modern food animals, like cattle, get more exercise than their backs. Thus, those underused muscles of the back, with less connective tissue and very skinny fibers, yield tender, finely grained cuts, while the well-used muscles of the legs and joints, with their thicker muscle fibers and more connective tissue, give coarsegrained, tougher cuts.

Naturally tender cuts — ribs, loins, all from the back of the animal — don’t need long cooking times because they’re already easy to chew. Beef stroganoff (see recipe), made with tenderloin or other tender cuts, is cooked just long enough to meld the flavors, and steaks and chops can be seared quickly and eaten at medium or rare doneness.

Finally, younger animals, because they haven’t lived long enough to develop their muscles, are more tender than their older counterparts. Veal more than beef. Lamb more than sheep.

Got it? Now let’s go have some red, red meat.

ABEL URIBE/CHICAGO TRIBUNE; SHANNON KINSELLA/FOOD STYLING A dish of beef stroganoff, made with beef tenderloin, a cut of meat that cooks quickly.