Swallow This (20 page)

As I soon discovered, the distinctive characteristics of these ready-cooked meats are a testament to the boundless creativity, food engineering skill and sheer thrift of meat processors. Their art consists of taking a sow’s ear (often literally), and turning it into a silk purse. They do this by reconfiguring meat and fish in an infinitely more profitable way, through the addition of water. Lots of it. Why? Water is cheap; meat and seafood are expensive. The economic logic of such ‘cost engineering’, as it is known in food manufacturing, is obvious. Why sell meat when you can sell added water?

That said, getting meat to absorb liquid isn’t an easy task; in fact it’s contrary to the laws of nature. When an animal or fish dies, its muscles naturally contract (rigor mortis) and expel moisture. In the natural world, meat and fish get drier as they age, not wetter, and when we cook them, they dry out further. Nevertheless, meat manufacturers get round that technical challenge by mixing together tap water with a variety of substances, some classed as ingredients, some as processing aids, some as food additives, to make a soaking solution, referred to in the trade as ‘brine’. The substances added to the water vary in nature and composition, but they all have one thing in common: they act as binders, encouraging the meat or fish to do something it would not otherwise do: soak up and retain water.

So what tools for this purpose do meat manufacturers have at their disposal? For starters, there’s transglutaminase, an enzyme. Its use is now widespread in meat processing. One company that markets it to meat manufacturers explains to its prospective customers that it works by ‘catalyzing reactions in the formation of covalent bonds between a carboxylamide group of the lateral chain on a glutamine residue and the amino group of the lateral chain of a lysine’. Pardon me? Try understanding that little lot if you aren’t a biochemist. But food manufacturers can ignore all that and cut to the chase. Transglutaminase creates strong bonds between proteins, the company says, and thus ‘transforms worthless cuts of meat or fish without commercial value into standardised portions with a high added value’. Now we’re talking a language that everyone can understand.

No wonder transglutaminase is known in the trade as ‘meat glue’. It gets bits of meat or fish to stick together that wouldn’t otherwise do so. It gives manufacturers the properties they deem essential – juicy firmness, elasticity, viscosity and ‘thermo-stability’ (the meat retains these other qualities when heated), and so ‘facilitates the addition of water’.

Transglutaminase has another benefit for meat processors: it reduces the traditional drying and maturing time needed for cured meats, such as salami, by up to 40 per cent. So it provides a nifty short cut for manufacturers of all types of charcuterie products sold on deli counters up and down the land. For instance, one Romanian company, Supremia, produces a transglutaminase product blended with animal protein and vitamin B9:

Salami Dry Express B9 decreases ripening time by up to 20 per cent, creates a more homogenous and appealing colour in less time, offers improved casing peeling and enhanced sausage aroma. Improved slicing properties reduce wastage by up to five per cent, while shorter processing and storage times also provide financial advantages. A special ripening room [for maturing the salami] is not needed.

Conveniently for manufacturers the European Commission, doubtless under pressure from those same manufacturers, has classified transglutaminase as a processing aid rather than an ingredient, because ‘the end-product production process – normally the application of heat – inactivates enzymes or depletes the substrates, meaning that transglutaminase is not present in the final product’. So, with a little bit of semantic manipulation, transglutaminase is ‘clean label’ and it doesn’t have to be listed on the packaging. This means that irrespective of whether or not you shop for cooked meat and charcuterie in high- or low-end shops, there is no way you will ever know if it was made with the aid of transglutaminase. Equally, simply by reading the label, you won’t have a clue whether your salami or ham was cured the patient, traditional way, or speeded up by the use of this enzyme. However posh and artisan some cured meats might appear, in this respect their pedigree is a little hazy.

Phosphates are another useful class of chemicals in the meat processor’s batterie de cuisine. Derived from phosphoric acid, phosphates ‘raise the pH (of meat) and work with salt to increase the ionic strength, which favours protein solubilisation and water absorption’. Or, in other words, phosphates make protein soluble so that it develops a natural tackiness that will bind meat or fish pieces with water. Maybe you have tried to fry bacon, only to find that it exudes a cloudy white liquid that prevents it crisping? That’s undissolved phosphate and added water seeping out. Manufacturers have to be careful to get the dosage of phosphate just right, because fat and phosphate combine to make soap, and some people with keen taste buds will pick up a soapy taste in phosphate-swollen meat. Nothing that a bit of extra salt, sugar and flavouring can’t disguise, mind you.

Phosphates are pretty essential kit for manufacturing boneless hams, chicken and turkey roll, bacon and charcuterie, but they are also used extensively in seafood processing. The delicate nature of seafood proteins causes them to denature far more rapidly than those of meat and poultry, and the Omega-3 fats in fish and shellfish are also highly prone to oxidation, which causes them to discolour as they age, first to yellow, then to brown, and finally blue. And who wants to eat old, stinky, matt-looking seafood when, as any good fishmonger will tell you, fresh fish should have a natural sparkle? Phosphates allow processors to extend the shelf life of seafood by preventing the protein degrading and so developing a tell-tale rancid flavour and changed colour.

By dipping fish fillets in a solution of phosphates and water, seafood processors create a surface coating of dissolved proteins on the fillets, which then forms a protein glue when frozen. Result? As one phosphate company coyly puts it, the fillets will ‘retain natural juices for a longer period of time’, and of course, with all the water now soaked into them, the fish will weigh much more than it did to start with.

While phosphate treatment makes a perceptible difference to the texture of meat, in shellfish the effect is particularly remarkable. A natural scallop, sold ‘dry’, that is not treated with phosphates, will be relatively small, with a fresh marine sweetness to it, and a pleasingly springy texture. The same scallop, sold ‘wet’, that is treated with phosphates, will look about twice the size, taste of next to nothing, and have a jellied consistency. When the FSA tested fresh raw scallops, it found that nearly half of samples tested contained more than 10 per cent added water, and some samples had as much as 54 per cent.

Still, scallops pumped up with phosphates and water are extremely attractive to restaurateurs and chefs who want to cut their ingredient costs. The odd customer might notice that the bivalves were disappointing to eat and vaguely wonder why, but many more will tuck into them, feeling that they are getting a generous portion for the price.

Phosphates are also used as a ‘processing aid’ for prawn shelling. They ‘solubilise’ the collagen protein that attaches the prawn to its shell so that the prawns exude less liquid when they are defrosted, yet the word phosphate does not have to appear on the label. Phosphates also play a vital role in the manufacture of mass-produced scampi, which are scraps of prawn ‘reformed’ to look like whole prawn tail, and surimi, the imitation crabmeat. Surimi is made by repeatedly washing a mulch of white fish, then adding a blend of phosphates, sweeteners such as sucrose and sorbitol, pink colouring and artificial crab flavouring. Without the last ingredient, by the time it goes through the manufacturing process, surimi would have no flavour whatsoever. You may not be aware of ever eating surimi, but it often turns up in the middle of sushi rolls. Masked by wasabi (pungent horseradish) and salty soy sauce, it supplies texture and colour, and its lack of flavour goes by unnoticed.

Hydrocolloids, a group of gummy sweet starches, are another set of ingredients that bind flesh to water. In this group come carrageenan and agar (derived from seaweed), gum acacia and locust bean (from trees), guar gum, inulin, cellulose and konjac (from plants), xanthan (made by fermenting corn sugar with a bacterium), and pectin (from fruits). Hydrocolloids are used extensively in food processing, for making everything from ice cream and milk shake through to sauces and gravies. Just a small amount added to a recipe – only 1, or even 0.5 per cent – will make any liquid ingredient thicker and more viscous, and bind those that would otherwise split, ‘shear’ and separate out. A dash of xanthan gum, for instance, will stabilise the oil, water and vinegar emulsion in an off-the-shelf salad dressing.

In the meat manufacturing business, hydrocolloids help do the all-important job of uniting bits of boned meat and water in a highly lucrative, sticky embrace. According to one company that supplies carrageenan, meat processors who use this gum can improve the ‘yield’ or weight of their products by as much as 100 per cent. Carrageenan is supplied to the trade in three different forms – kappa, iota and lambda – depending on how jellied a ‘mouthfeel’ is required. Hydrocolloids appeal to retailers too. Thanks to their binding properties, meat products that contain them cut very cleanly. Nice neat slices; no wastage; tidy profit margins.

Hydrocolloids and phosphates are hardly cutting edge, and now many meat manufacturers prefer to substitute, or include in the brine formulation, a group of highly refined starchy fibres and flours with a high water-holding capacity, extracted from sources as diverse as wheat, soya, peas, bamboo, rice, potatoes and citrus. Commonly used in products such as sausages, pâtés, meatballs and meat pie fillings, the sales pitch for these flours and fibres is that they ‘tightly bind added water in processed meat products to improve yields and profits’. Their ‘sponge effect’ makes a big contribution to the weight of raw, boned poultry meat. One company with a buoyant business in the field claims that adding just half a kilo to 100 litres of brine ‘significantly reduces storage drip’. Plainly put, if your chicken supremes have had some starchy fibre added to their brine, they will hold added water and form less of a puddle when they defrost.

Starchy fibres of this type are used to firm up, or, as the industry prefers to put it, ‘retexturise’ chicken products, such as Kievs and nuggets, that have been ‘restructured’. In ‘emulsion’ products, where meat is processed until it forms a slurry, a slightly more substantial dosage of starchy fibre will provide the much firmer consistency and bouncy ‘snap’ that allows a frankfurter or knackwurst to break cleanly in two.

The makers of one such starchy fibre product, Swelite®, based on yellow peas, explain its function. The evocatively named Swelite® ‘improves the processability, stability, texture and yield of the final product’. Moreover, ‘it can replace 50 to 100% of a protein source while improving juiciness’. In other words, Swelite® allows meat processors to radically reduce the amount of meat needed in their recipe. Not for nothing is ‘making the most of meat’ the marketing slogan for Swelite®.

The makers of another starch-based instant texturiser, Ultra Create, spell out its usefulness to manufacturers and caterers: ‘Ultra Create instant texturiser can help food processors and foodservice establishments quickly create delicious soups, sauces, gravies and dry mixes with minimal effort and energy’. Products made with this texturiser are ‘freeze/thaw stable, allowing foodservice establishments to prepare formulations in advance without concern about them breaking down or gelling during processing or reheating’, it explains. Note the ‘minimal effort and energy’ bit: that’s what food processing is all about.

Soya protein is another useful ‘meat extender’ for manufacturers. It comes in the ready-to-use forms of flour, concentrate or protein isolate. This processed soya protein is typically extracted by washing soya flour in acid, in aluminium tanks, introducing the possibility that this heavy metal, which is known to be bad for the brain and the nervous system, can leach into the product. The chemical solvent, hexane – a component in glue and cement – is also used in the soya protein extraction process. Hexane is known to poison the nervous system, although the soya industry insists that no hexane residues find their way into the finished product.

But why would manufacturers use such a controversial ingredient? Soya is the plant food that comes closest to having the texture of meat, and it has a prodigious ability to absorb water and fat. So, according to the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization, it can be used to replace as much as 30 per cent of the meat in products such as sausages, pie fillings, meat sauces, ready meals and meatballs. And because soya proteins are considerably cheaper than meat, manufacturers have a strong financial reason to do so.

Some manufacturers still use gelatine, a highly refined form of collagen, the protein found in animal tendons, ligaments and skin. Collagen is sticky stuff; the word comes from the ancient Greek ‘kolla’, meaning glue. It forms ‘stiff fibres of tremendous tensile strength’ and ‘loosely woven fibres, permitting expansion in all directions’. Gelatine is obtained from animal carcasses after all their meat has been removed in the abattoir, in a chemical process that uses an acid or alkali solution, or enzymes, and water, to break down the raw material. If gelatine is used in a meat product, it has to be listed as an ingredient on the label, and these days it is beginning to look a bit last century. In recent years, meat manufacturers have begun to use a newer, ‘clean label’, more ‘functional’ form of collagen protein powder with a slightly different chemical structure, obtained in a chemical process where the proteins are extracted from the animal by-products using mechanical and heat treatment. Functional proteins of this type are rising stars in the contemporary meat processing firmament. In the language of food manufacturing, they guarantee improved ‘sliceability’, firmness and cohesiveness, producing that juicy, slightly resistant ‘mouthfeel’ that we associate with processed meats, and reduce ‘purge’ (the seepage of watery liquid into the product pack) by acting as a barrier to water loss. As one supplier of chemicals to food manufacturers puts it: ‘Proteins, thanks to their multi functionalities like solubility, viscosity, water binding, emulsifying, gelation, cohesion, foaming and elasticity, bring a specific impact to food systems.’