Last time, I talked about my homemade fermented foods. I also frequently make salted preserves, as they keep well. The outcome varies  greatly depending on the time and salt concentration used. It reminds me of scenes I often encountered when traveling through rural Brazil in the past—where locals made dried meat. As a student  visiting the area, I was puzzled when I first saw it. I thought, “What on earth are they drying?” When I got closer, I realized that they were  hanging large cuts of beef, almost half a cow, over a log. In those villages, there was no electricity and certainly no refrigeration.  They would butcher the cattle, then sun-dry the meat to produce dried beef for sale. The process involved slicing the thick meat diagonally with a knife, rubbing coarse rock salt into the cuts, and hanging it to dry. The dried  meat prepared in the dry season started as thick and heavy cuts, but as the salt drew out moisture under the intense sun, it would eventually  become thin, hard, and completely dried-out meat, ready to be shipped to nearby towns.

In the early stages of the drying process, the meat looks dirty and almost black from a distance, resembling blankets hanging out to dry.  But upon closer inspection, the dark appearance is actually due to swarms of flies covering the meat. Witnessing this, one might think it  completely inedible. However, after days of rubbing in salt and drying under the scorching sun, it’s remarkable that the fly eggs fail to develop,  and the meat ultimately dries out completely. Eventually, it’s hung outside butcher shops, where it’s sold in pieces. I bought some, struggling to cut it with a knife for a meal, then soaked it in water to remove the excess salt until it became tender. After that,  I thinly sliced it and stir-fried it together with onions, carrots, potatoes, garlic, and black pepper in oil. Thinking back on its production process,  it’s almost unappetizing — but as my father used to say, “There’s no such thing as dirty food if it tastes good.” This is a perfect example of that.

So how does it taste? It’s hard to describe in just a few words—it’s complex, with a distinctive aroma unique to dried meat, and simply put,  it’s incredibly delicious. Just like Manuka honey, dried meat that takes several months to a year from production to completion has a fully matured, deep flavor. The high salt concentration and intense sunlight break down the proteins, resulting in an abundance of umami-rich  amino acids, which is the best explanation I can offer for its incredible taste. There’s hardly anything like it in this world. Even after moving to New Zealand, I couldn’t forget this flavor. I now try to recreate it using venison from butchers or friends who hunt,  following the same method. When I eat it, I feel as though the South American landscape is right before my eyes, and nostalgia wells up within  me. Of course, when I make it myself, I keep it covered in netting to keep the flies out. Manuka honey, on the other hand, doesn’t have the same transformative process. Trying to process it would diminish the value of  pure raw honey. Manuka honey, I suppose, is best enjoyed as it is—a perfect product of nature.