The Grand

Raising Emus

September/October 2010

St. Agatha teachers builds business around this tasty, nutritious beef alternative.

The flightless nervy emus at the 86-acre Banbury Farm, a homestead that’s surrounded by swales of verdant countryside in St. Agatha, flee to the far corner of their outdoor enclosure as if fire was underfoot when visitors first approach. Eventually a few of the less skittish will approach on their gangly legs and stare at you with their curious, russet-coloured eyes. But there’s probably not a lot going on upstairs. “Emu’s have a very small brain so they’re not too bright,” says emu breeder Michael Banbury. Just as well, really. That means these prehistoric birds haven’t the faintest clue they’re destined for the barbecue.

A cousin to the ostrich, the soft-feathered emu has darted across Australia since the time of dinosaurs. These days, however, emus aren’t restricted to the outback. In 1997, wishing to diversify farm income beyond its equestrian facility, Michael Banbury, 44, a genial man, with a round, trustworthy face, bought one breeding pair and six yearling emus. “I went with the emus instead of ostriches because they’re easier to deal with,” Michael recalls. “Ostrich are bigger, stronger and more temperamental.”

He admits, though, that he may have bought into the hype of the time that easy to raise shaggy-looking emu were the livestock of the future. But while many North American farmers’ hatched hundreds of birds and subsequently went broke trying to feed them, Michael kept things low-key bringing into the world no more than 20 emu chicks each year. “These other guys created a huge supply before there was any demand,” Michael suggests. Today, he has three breeding pairs, eight yearlings and fourteen babies on the farm.

Like any new venture that pushes one past the edges of familiarity, Michael too has had his growing pains when it comes to emu farming. He recalls having his first hatchling killed by his Jack Russell. “That was certainly disheartening but the real struggle has been to get people to accept emu as a viable food source.” “People tend to be so beef focused when it comes to red meat,” Michael muses. 

But that is slowly changing. Uber-meats like elk, bison and emu are finding their way onto more dinner plates as word gets out about their environmental benefits, wonderful flavor, tender texture and nutritional might which includes plenty of iron and less heart-damaging fats than factory farm beef. For newbies, Michael describes the taste of his decidedly red dino meat as slightly sweeter than beef but generally a lot like what is gleaned from a cow. “You get people who say, ‘Emu? No way.’ But once they taste it and realize it’s not at all gamey, they become believers,” he says.  

Micheal takes his birds for processing at a government inspected facility around 14-months of age and comes home with 30 to 40 pounds of meat from each emu. About forty percent of that is steaks and the rest is turned into ground meat or pepperettes. “The flat is my favorite cut because it’s so simple to cook,” says Michael, who sells meat directly from his freezer. Discriminating epicureans gravitate towards the pricier fan filet steak for its similarity to lauded fillet mignon. “One customer wraps it in bacon and cooks it up in goose fat,” he says. Michael prefers to simply barbecue his emu and serve it with a dollop of fruit chutney. Very lean, Michael suggests you don’t go much past medium-rare when cooking it. Not surprisingly, you won't find many recipes for emu in cookbooks though.

But emu’s low profile hasn’t stopped Charbries, a Waterloo fine-dining restaurant with a menu influenced heavily by the seasons and local comestibles, from requesting Michael’s product. “They used the ground meat for their cabbage rolls,” says Michael “It went over well with their customers so they wanted more, but unfortunately I had run out.” Like asparagus and strawberries, emu meat has its season with the best chances of scoring a pound or two between spring a late fall.

The Buy Local! Buy Fresh! map which reveals the location of dozens of farms in the Waterloo region willing to sell their bounty to city slickers also brings a few new carnivores Michael’s way each season. “I would say my typical customer is looking for non-treated, non-industrial meats that are produced locally,” says Michael. The shrink-wrapped hunks of meat at the grocer offer no insight into the animals’ living conditions, but visitors to Michael’s farm who come from as far as Toronto and London are free to stroll around where they’ll see his emu are in clover with plenty of space to gallivant.

Michael does not give his birds any antibiotics or hormones but stops short of claiming his meat is organic. “At this stage of the game, I can’t be bothered with the headaches involved in becoming organic certified,” Michael says matter-of-factly. “But I am always happy to show customers around the farm so they can see for themselves how I raise these birds.” He also hesitates to use the catch-phrase sustainable. “To me sustainable means you need to be making money at it,” concedes Michael who also works as a French teacher for grades 1 through three. “I’d say I break even every year so I guess some would suggest it’s more like a hobby than a get-rich quick scheme.”

Recently National Geographic was very much interested in Michael’s hobby. “They were making a documentary on the T-Rex so they sent two professors and a film crew to the farm to analyze the emus similar walking and running style. They asked Michael to make a mud pit to help them get a plaster cast of the emu footprint. “They didn’t seem too amused when all birds jumped over it,” quips Michael, speaking of the emu’s propensity to play on their own terms.

Rounding up the quick-footed birds is also an adventure for him. “They kick frontwards so I need to corner them and catch them from behind,” Michael says. “Sometimes I end up with a fistful of feathers or a head-but when they swing their long necks backward. They might play dead and then, all of a sudden, wham!”

Beyond teaching horse riding skills and pampering palates with an ambrosial red meat alternative, the Banbury Farm run by Michael and his mother, Sarah, have a year-round Bed & Breakfast and also manufacture emu oil, lip balm and heavenly scented emu soap. Despite there being only a modicum of studies that exist on the matter, type emu oil into Google and you’ll see that it is lauded by many for its wide range of therapeutic abilities including a remedy for dry skin as well as muscle and joint pain. “I have people ringing me from the States who want my emu oil,” says Michael, clearly embarrassed to be the subject of much fuss.

Twelve years later, Michael is still committed to his emus as ever despite large increases in feed costs due to escalating corn prices and an aching back blamed on spending the first rain-soaked week of his summer vacation mending a wind storm damaged emu fence. For gustatory reasons and the increased desire of the public to bite into foods that are redolent of community means Michael is selling more meat than ever. “As long as regulars and a few new customers buy my emu meat every season I’ll keep raising these big birds,” says Michael, ever the farmer.