The regional table / Montana
Bison Stew
Bison is a farmed animal with a federal grade standard and a voluntary inspection service, and it is worth knowing exactly how it got to be one.
The destruction of the herds is not folklore, it is a federal publication. William T. Hornaday's The Extermination of the American Bison appeared in the Report of the National Museum for 1887, printed by the Government in 1889, and it is free to read. Its account of Montana is exact: "The hunting season which began in October, 1882, and ended in February, 1883, finished the annihilation of the great northern herd, and left but a few small bands of stragglers, numbering only a very few thousand individuals all told." A Minneapolis robe buyer, J. N. Davis, wrote to Hornaday on 27 September 1887 with the trade's side of it — about two hundred thousand hides and robes bought and shipped in 1882, forty thousand in 1883, and then one car load, which "was the last shipment ever made". That is the span of a single human career, start to finish.
What came next is worse to read and is also on the federal record. In the first three months of 1886 Hornaday, then chief taxidermist of the National Museum, found by correspondence that the actual number of wild bison remaining in the whole United States "was probably less than three hundred", and that his own museum, with one mounted female skin and a few dilapidated pieces, could not show a single presentable male. So the Secretary of the Smithsonian, Spencer F. Baird, sent a collecting party into the field, resolved "to collect at all hazards, in case buffalo could be found, between eighty and one hundred specimens of various kinds" — twenty to thirty skins, as many skeletons, at least fifty skulls. The leads came from an Army surgeon writing from Huntley, Montana; two of the three were wrong, and the party went to the Big Dry country out of Fort Keogh with War Department transport and escort. The national museum shot the survivors so that there would be bison to look at afterwards. None of that is a reason not to cook bison, and it is a reason not to cook it sentimentally. The animal on sale today is farmed: 9 CFR part 352 lists bison among "exotic animals" alongside reindeer, elk, deer, antelope, water buffalo and yak, with inspection voluntary and paid for by the applicant rather than mandatory as it is for cattle, and the same section says flatly that "Bison includes catalo or cattalo" — the direct bison-and-cattle cross. On the grading side, 7 CFR 54.1 defines the animals the Agricultural Marketing Service grades as "Bison, cattle, goats, sheep, swine, or other species identified by the Administrator". It is livestock, with paperwork.
Why this version works
The vegetables go in late. Potatoes and carrots take forty-five minutes. Put them in at the start and they disintegrate into the gravy, which thickens it and costs you everything that was good about having them there. Add them for the last stretch and they arrive whole.
A bare shiver, never a boil. Collagen turns to gelatin from about 160°F, and it will do that whether the pot is simmering or boiling. Boiling only squeezes the muscle fibres harder and faster, which on a lean meat is the difference between tender and stringy. A 325°F oven holds the pot at the right lazy blip without watching.
Time, not temperature, is the lever. Bison chuck is tough for the same reason beef chuck is, and it gives in the same way: two and a half to three hours. Do not shorten the braise by raising the heat. If the meat is still tight at two hours, it needs another forty minutes, not a hotter oven.
Brown it in borrowed fat, and gently. Bison chuck carries much less intramuscular fat than beef chuck, so a ripping-hot dry pan scorches the surface before it browns it. Use three tablespoons of oil or a couple of rashers of bacon, keep the heat at a confident medium-high, and take the time to do it in three batches.