Blog - Parsons Creek Steak

Spoiled Rotten (And Loving Every Bite): Autumn's Chicken Recipes

Spoiled Rotten (And Loving Every Bite): Autumn's Chicken Recipes I have a confession to make: I'm spoiled. Completely spoiled, rotten, ruined — and I've been that way since the early 2000s. Let me tell you a little story. Back when phones took blurry pictures, and music still lived on the radio, I met a beautiful soul named Autumn. We were young, free, and fresh out of high school! Today, we're still young (at heart), and I'm lucky enough to still call her my best friend. Autumn has spoiled me. She's ruined me. If you'd like to avoid the same fate, I suggest you do not become friends with a chef — keep your expectations of food right where they belong, on the stove where you left them. Lucky for us, Autumn has been spoiling our family for almost two decades with the most delicious meals and desserts you could ever dream up. She caters our family celebrations. She caters every event we throw. And now, our Parsons Creek Steak family is delighted to share her with you too — Autumn is our resident Chef here at Parsons Creek Steak, and she creates all the recipes we pass along to you! Since adding chicken to our repertoire, Autumn has been busy in the kitchen figuring out the very best ways to make our pasture-raised chicken taste even better. I can't wait for you to try these. Bacon Wrapped Chicken Roulade Ingredients Chicken breastBacon, 2 slices per breastDiced green chilies, about 1 Tbsp per chicken breastGruyère cheese, small dice, about 1–2 Tbsp per chicken breastChili powder (to your preferred heat level)CuminGarlic powderOnion powderBlack pepperSalt Instructions Place plastic wrap over a plastic cutting board — you'll be pounding with a meat tenderizer. Sprinkle a little water on the plastic wrap.Place the chicken breast smooth side down on the covered board, sprinkle a little water on top, and cover with another layer of plastic wrap.Use a meat tenderizer to pound the chicken to about ½ inch thick. Go easy — pound too aggressively and you'll tear the meat.Lay all the tenderized breasts smooth side down to season and fill.Sprinkle seasoning only on the rough side of the breast, making sure each one gets an even coating. Go light on the cumin — it can easily overpower everything else. Salt generously.Place diced cheese and diced chilies in the middle of the breast, lengthwise. Don't overfill, or it won't roll properly.Roll the breast up starting from the pointed end, rolling toward the thick end. Tuck in the sides.Wrap the roulade with a slice of bacon, gently pulling the bacon to stretch it and cover more surface area. Secure with toothpicks (don't push them in too far — you'll want to remove them easily later). Wrap the second slice of bacon in the other direction.Cover and refrigerate for several hours, or ideally overnight.Remove from the fridge and let sit about 30 minutes before cooking. Preheat the oven to 375°F.In a pan that can go from stovetop to oven, crisp the bacon on all sides over the stovetop first. Work in batches — don't overcrowd the pan.Once the bacon is mostly crisp, return all the roulades to the pan and transfer to the oven.Check the internal temperature after 15 minutes, then every 10 minutes or so until it reaches 165°F. Don't overcook, or the chicken will dry out.Let the roulade rest for 15 minutes. Carefully remove all toothpicks.Slice into 1-inch pieces to serve. Korean Chicken Thighs Serves about 4 Ingredients 3 Tbsp honey1–3 Tbsp chili paste or sriracha (adjust to your desired spice level)4 Tbsp tamari, soy sauce, or coconut aminos1 tsp sesame oil4 cloves garlic, finely minced2 Tbsp ginger, finely minced2 lbs Parsons Creek chicken thighs For garnish 2 tsp sesame seeds2 spears green onion, thinly sliced Instructions Whisk together the honey, chili paste, tamari, sesame oil, garlic, and ginger in a bowl.Add the chicken thighs and marinate for at least 1–2 hours (or up to 2 days in the fridge).Preheat your oven to 425°F.Line an 8x11 baking dish with parchment paper and add the marinated chicken.Bake for 25–30 minutes, until the chicken reaches an internal temperature of 165°F.For more color, finish under the broiler for a minute or two — just keep an eye on the parchment paper.Serve over rice or your favorite side, topped with sesame seeds and fresh green onion. Roasted Whole Chicken Serves about 4, depending on bird size Ingredients 1 whole Parsons Creek chickenKosher or sea saltFreshly ground black pepper1 large bunch fresh thyme1 sprig fresh rosemary5–6 cloves garlic, cut in half2 Tbsp olive oil or melted butter1 whole onion, roughly chopped Instructions Preheat your oven to 425°F.Remove the giblets if present (Autumn's tip: cook them up with a little butter for the dog or cat — no seasoning).Remove any leftover feathers or fat if needed, and pat the chicken dry.Place the chicken in a roasting pan. Liberally salt and pepper the inside, then stuff with half the fresh thyme sprigs and all the garlic.Chop the remaining thyme, the rosemary, and the onion.Brush the outside of the chicken with olive oil or melted butter, then sprinkle with salt, pepper, and the chopped herbs. Scatter the chopped onion around the chicken in the pan.Roast for 1.5 hours, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°F. Tip: when temping a whole chicken, aim for the thickest part of the breast, just touching the bone, for the most accurate read. Clear juices are another good sign it's done.Remove from the pan and let rest on a cutting board for about 10 minutes before slicing.Serve with your favorite sides — or turn it into a roasted chicken cobb salad, Autumn's favorite for summer. Back-to-School Chicken Salad Serves 2–4 Ingredients 2 cups leftover roasted Parsons Creek chicken, shredded or diced¾ cup mayonnaise1 rib celery, small dice¼ red onion, small dice¼ cup golden raisins1 tsp Dijon mustard1 fresh lemon1 tsp honey or agave¼ tsp saltFreshly ground pepper, to taste1 tsp chopped fresh dill (or ½ tsp dried)1 tsp chopped fresh tarragon (or ¼ tsp dried)¼ cup roasted almonds, roughly chopped Instructions In a large bowl, mix together the mayonnaise, mustard, honey, chopped herbs, salt, and pepper.Zest one whole lemon into the mayonnaise mixture.Add the chopped chicken, celery, golden raisins, red onion, and almonds. Stir to combine.Enjoy on your favorite bread for a sandwich, in lettuce cups for something fresh and crunchy, or with crackers for a quick snack. Raw onion tip: If red onions are a little too pungent for your taste raw, soak them in cold water for about 10 minutes and strain before adding to the salad. It takes some of the harsh bite away. As much as we love watching Autumn work her magic in the kitchen, we're just as proud of what she's working with. Our chickens live the same way our cattle do — out on real pasture, foraging, scratching, and soaking up fresh air and sunshine, not packed into a barn somewhere. They're moved through the same rotational system that builds our soil, which means healthier ground, healthier birds, and a richer flavor you can actually taste in the meat. No shortcuts, no mystery ingredients — just chicken raised the old-fashioned way, on the same land our family has worked for five generations. It's the kind of chicken we're proud to feed our own kids, and we think Autumn's recipes are the perfect way to show it off. From our pasture to your table — thank you for letting Autumn spoil your family the way she's spoiled ours. Shop our pasture-raised chicken and Black Angus beef at parsonscreeksteak.com, and follow along on Facebook and Instagram for more from the farm.

It's Not the Cow, It's the How.

It's Not the Cow. It's the How. You've probably seen the headlines. Cows are bad for the planet. Cattle are cooking the earth. Maybe you've even had someone at a dinner party tell you, with total confidence, that the burger on your plate is single-handedly melting a glacier somewhere. I get it. It's a catchy villain. Cows are big, they're everywhere, and yes — they burp methane. That part's true. But like most things that make a good headline, the full story has a lot more nuance to it than "cows bad." Because here's what almost nobody explains: not all beef is raised the same way, and how a cow lives changes a lot about her carbon footprint. So let's slow down and actually look at it. Feedlot and pasture systems work very differently, and understanding those differences helps make sense of why you'll see such a wide range of numbers when people talk about "beef's carbon footprint." How Feedlot Systems Work Most of the beef in this country — somewhere around three out of every four steaks or burgers — spends the last few months of its life in a feedlot, or Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation (CAFO). Cattle are gathered in one place and fed a grain-heavy ration designed to add weight efficiently in a shorter window of time. There are real tradeoffs built into that system, in both directions:Concentrating animals concentrates their manure, too. When a lot of cattle are gathered in one place, their manure collects in lagoons or holding areas rather than being spread across land. Without oxygen, that manure breaks down anaerobically, a process that produces methane and nitrous oxide. cattle-feedlot The grain has to be grown somewhere. Feedlot rations rely on large volumes of corn and soy, which in a lot of the country is grown on tilled, monocropped ground with synthetic nitrogen fertilizer. Producing that fertilizer and tilling that ground both come with their own emissions.Spraying monocropsFeedlot ground doesn't build soil carbon. Bare, compacted feedlot pens and tilled row-crop ground aren't actively pulling carbon out of the air and storing it the way growing, living pasture can. Not to mention, having bare ground drastically increases soil temperature (10-30 degrees F); picture acres and acres of ground sitting barren, baking in the sun. Does the Dust Bowl ring a bell? Put together, feedlot systems are efficient in some ways — they produce more beef on less land — while carrying emissions that are just harder to see, tucked into the grain fields, the fertilizer plants, and the manure ponds instead of the pen itself. Understanding that full picture is the first step toward understanding why the pasture side of this story looks so different. How Regenerative Grazing Works Now let's look at the pasture side — the approach our family has built our whole operation around. Rotational grazing changes what manure does. We move our herd through paddocks the way a herd of bison once moved across the plains — grazing an area for a short burst, then moving on and letting it rest and regrow. We're working toward 50 to 60 head per acre, rotated every few hours, a practice we've talked about before as mob grazing. Manure spread across pasture in smaller amounts breaks down aerobically, with oxygen, instead of anaerobically in a lagoon. That shifts it from a methane source into fertilizer (with zero emissions) for the next round of grass. Same manure, different process, very different outcome, depending on where it lands. That grazing pressure also builds root depth. Short, intense grazing followed by rest stimulates grass to grow deeper root systems, and deeper roots are part of how pasture pulls carbon out of the atmosphere and stores it underground. Cover crops and no-till keep carbon where it's already stored. Sorghum, triticale, cow peas, winter rye — the mixes we plant do double duty, feeding cattle and feeding the soil. Because we're not tilling that ground, the carbon that has built up underground stays there; instead of being released back into the air like it does when a field gets plowed. Healthy soil hosts bacteria that consume methane. This is the part that still gets me. Well-managed pasture soil supports methanotrophic bacteria — microbes that use methane as an energy source, essentially eating some of it before it reaches the atmosphere. That kind of soil biology depends on the ground being alive and undisturbed. So, Does It All Cancel Out? Here's where I want to be straight with you, because there's a lot of noise on both sides of this topic, and our family would rather give you the full picture than a tidy slogan. The science on soil carbon is still developing, and researchers don't fully agree yet on exactly how much carbon well-managed grazing land can lock away, or for how long. Some studies looking specifically at adaptive, high-intensity rotational grazing have found that once you account for the carbon being pulled into the soil, the whole finishing phase can flip from a source of emissions to a net carbon sink. Other broader reviews, averaging results across many farms and many grazing styles, find the sequestration numbers are smaller and more variable. The honest answer is: it depends enormously on how the land is managed, and management looks different from farm to farm. What we do know, with a lot of confidence, is this: it's not just the cow, it's the how. A cow raised on a system that's actively building soil is part of a very different carbon story than a cow raised on a system that isn't. Same animal, same species, different surrounding system. That's a big part of why our family farms the way we do. Cover crops. No-till. Rotational and mob grazing. Papa always says you work for the land, and if you do it right, the land provides. We're not just hoping raising cattle can be part of building healthier ground — we're out there every day, moving fence line, watching the grass come back thicker, and paying attention to what the soil tells us. So the next time somebody at a dinner party tells you cows are ruining the planet, you'll have a more complete answer ready: it depends a whole lot on how those cows were raised. From our pasture to your table — thank you for trusting us with your family's dinner. Shop our regenerative farm, pasture-raised Black Angus beef at parsonscreeksteak.com, and follow along on Facebook and Instagram for more from the farm. Further reading, for the curious: Michigan State University's long-running research on adaptive multi-paddock (AMP) grazing, published in Agricultural Systems, found that once soil carbon sequestration was factored in, AMP-grazed beef finishing shifted from a net emissions source to a net carbon sink — while feedlot emissions stayed essentially flat.A 2024 life-cycle analysis in PNAS found that grass-finished beef systems that account for soil carbon sequestration show the greatest reduction in overall emissions compared to feedlot systems, though the researchers noted a full shift to grass-finishing nationwide would require significantly more land.Not every study agrees on the size of the effect. A 2025 systematic review of regenerative grazing research found that when you look across many farms and grazing styles, the median measured soil carbon sequestration rate is much smaller than the standout studies suggest — a reminder that how the land is managed matters enormously, and results vary a lot from farm to farm. We're not citing this to win an argument — we're citing it because we'd rather you double-check us than just take our word for it.

250 Years of Dirt Under Our Fingernails

250 Years of Dirt Under Our FingernailsThis year our nation turns 250. That's a big number. It's also, coincidentally, not that far off from how long our family has been getting up before the sun to do this work — five generations of it, right here on the same ground.I've been thinking a lot about that overlap lately. About what it actually took to build this country, and who did the building.It wasn't done in an office.This Country Was Built With Calloused HandsBefore there was a stock market, before there were factories, before anyone had heard the words "supply chain," there were farmers. Homesteaders. Families who looked at raw, unbroken ground and decided that was where they'd plant their whole lives.They didn't have a manual. They didn't have a guarantee. They had a thier hands, a season, and the willingness to fail at something and try it again the next year, a little smarter than the year before. That's not a metaphor for this country — that basically is this country. Independence wasn't just a document that got signed. It was thousands of families deciding they were going to feed themselves and their neighbors off their own land, on their own terms, regardless of how hard that turned out to be.Rolling your sleeves up and figuring it out as you go isn't a personality trait. Out here, it's a job description. It always has been.Before the "Revolution" There Was Just... FarmingSomewhere along the way, we had what folks call the agricultural revolution — synthetic fertilizers, monocultures, feedlots, chemistry standing in for what used to be common sense. It grew a lot of food, fast. It also meant a lot of us forgot what farming looked like before we thought we could out-engineer nature.But before all of that, this land was worked the old way. Cattle moved. Ground rested. Manure went back into the soil instead of into a lagoon. Families grew what the land could actually support, and the land, in turn, kept giving. Nobody called it "regenerative farming" back then — they just called it farming, because there wasn't another kind.That's the tradition we came back to. When Christian and Madison took over this farm to carry on the fifth generation, that was the whole point: not to modernize away from what our great-great-grandparents Greenfield and Ruth knew, but to get back to it. Rotate the herd. Let the pasture breathe. Work with the ground instead of against it. It's slower. It's harder to scale. It also happens to be the reason our soil is richer than it was five years ago, and why the beef that comes off this land tastes like something.Mistakes Were Part of the DealI don't think our ancestors — the ones who broke this prairie 250 years ago or the ones who broke it five generations back — got it right on the first try. Nobody homesteading Missouri ground in the 1800s had a perfect plan. They lost crops. They lost livestock. They learned the hard way which fields flooded and which ones held. And then they got up the next morning and did it again, a little wiser.That's still how it works here. We've had years with too much rain and years with not enough. We've made calls we'd take back if we could. But that willingness to try, mess up, and adjust — that's not a flaw in the American farming story, it's the whole engine of it. This country wasn't built by people who had it all figured out. It was built by people who were willing to not have it figured out, and show up anyway.Why This Still Matters at 250There's a reason "amber waves of grain" made it into the songs about this place instead of skylines or stock tickers. For most of this nation's history, farmers were the backbone — not as a nostalgic idea, but as a fact of who kept everyone fed. Somewhere along the way that backbone got a lot less visible to most people. Food shows up at the store and the story behind it disappears.We'd like to think that on a farm like ours, that story is still very much alive. Every calf born here, every acre we rotate our cattle and chickens across, every pound of beef or chicken that leave our pasture for your table — that's a small, ongoing continuation of the same thing families have been doing on this soil for two and a half centuries. Hard work. A willingness to get it wrong and try again. A belief that working with the land beats trying to outsmart it.So this Fourth of July, when you're firing up the grill, we hope you'll think about more than fireworks. Think about the generations of dirt-under-the-fingernails people — ours and countless families like ours — who made the decision, over and over again, to do the hard, unglamorous work of growing this country from the ground up.Happy 250th, America. We're proud to still be out here doing it the old way.From our pasture to your table — thank you for being part of the Parsons Creek family.Shop our pasture-raised Black Angus beef and free range chicken at parsonscreeksteak.com and follow us on Facebook and Instagram for farm updates, recipes, and specials.

The Newest Members of the Parsons Creek Family

The Newest Members of the Parsons Creek Family There's a sound on the farm these days that didn't used to be there. It starts before the sun is fully up, drifting across the pasture on the same cool morning air that carries the smell of dew on tall grass and the distant lowing of our Black Angus herd. It's cheerful and busy and a little bit chaotic — and it fits right in out here. Pasture-raised chickens have come to Parsons Creek. If you've been following along on the blog, you know we've spent years talking about the "why" behind regenerative agriculture — the cover crops, the no-till drill, the rotational grazing, the mob grazing we're working toward. You know that healthy soil is the foundation of everything we do. Every decision we make on this farm traces back to one simple question: Does this build the soil or deplete it? Adding pasture-raised chickens? That was an easy answer. A Partnership as Old as the Prairie Long before any of us had a word for it, the land already knew how this was supposed to work. Picture the Great Plains before the plow, before the fence line, before the highway that cuts through what used to be endless grass. Enormous herds of bison thundered across those grasslands in tight groups, grazing intensively, moving on, fertilizing as they went — and right behind them, birds. Dozens of species pecking through the churned-up ground, scratching through the fresh manure, eating every grub and larvae and fly that dared to call that spot home. The grass recovered. The soil deepened. The whole system fed itself. That's not a coincidence. That's just nature doing what nature does. We've spent years trying to mimic that relationship on our farm with cattle — moving them through paddocks the way the bison moved through the plains, letting the land rest and recover before they return. What we didn't have was the second half of that equation; the birds. Now we do. The Soil Math I'll be honest — when people picture chickens on a farm, they picture a barnyard, a coop, and a pile of feed. Chickens, as an afterthought, tucked somewhere out of the way. That's not what we're talking about. Our chickens forage on pasture — real pasture, playing their own role in the health of our farm. Here's where it all comes together, and if you've been with us since the Tale as Old as Dirt days, this is going to feel familiar. Healthy soil isn't just dirt. It's a living thing — full of microorganisms, fungi, worms, and organic matter that work together to hold water, cycle nutrients, and grow grass that is genuinely, measurably more nutritious than what comes out of chemically treated ground. Our cattle graze their pastures in a managed rotation, depositing manure as they go. That manure is rich in nitrogen — the same nitrogen we'd otherwise have to bring in by truck and spray by machine. Our chickens are doing something remarkably similar. By scratching, foraging, and naturally spreading their own manure as they range, they are actively working the ground beneath them. They consume harmful insects and larvae, accelerate decomposition of organic matter, and distribute nutrients evenly across the soil. The microbes go to work on what's left. The grass comes back greener, denser, and more nutritious. The same principle is at work on both. Healthy soil → healthy pasture → healthy cattle and healthy chickens → healthy food on your table. No synthetic fertilizer needed. No pesticide to keep the fly population down. The farm provides what it needs, in the order it's always supposed to A Little House on the Parsons Creek Prairie There are mornings out here that stop you cold. The light comes sideways across the pasture, golden the way only early morning light in Missouri can be — the kind that makes the dew on the grass look like someone scattered diamonds across a green quilt that stretches all the way to the tree line. The cattle stand quiet in the distance, patient and unhurried, the way animals are when they are truly content. And now, up closer, there's a small riot of feathers moving through the field, heads bobbing, scratching, clucking in that conversational way chickens have. It looks like something out of a picture book. It looks like something a farmer's grandmother would recognize immediately. That's kind of the point. This is what farming looked like before we decided we could outsmart nature with chemistry. Mixed species, working together, each one doing its part, to ensure our land is healthier each year. Christian and Madison came back to the farm to do it the right way — which, as it turns out, is also the old way. We're just adding one more layer to what the land has always known how to do. What This Means for You When you choose Parsons Creek Steak, you're not just getting meat (though it's exceptional). You're choosing a philosophy. A farm that is actively, intentionally getting healthier every year. We are so proud to now offer both pasture-raised Black Angus beef and pasture-raised chicken from our farm. This is the meat we feed our own family. Our kids play in the same fields and pastures these animals roam. That's not a marketing line — that's just the truth. If it isn't good enough for our table, it doesn't leave this farm. The soil our cattle graze on is richer than it was five years ago. The pastures our chickens now forage through are going to be richer still. And that richness — that living, breathing, nutrient-dense foundation — is what ends up in the food that comes to your table. You can't fake that with a bag of fertilizer. You can't manufacture it in a lab. You build it the way our grandparents built it, the way the bison built it before them: by letting the land work the way it was designed to. The chickens know it. The cattle know it. The soil beneath our boots knows it. And now, so do you. Follow along on Facebook and Instagram for updates from the farm — we have a feeling the chickens are going to have a lot to say. Shop our pasture-raised Black Angus beef at parsonscreeksteak.com.

From Our Pasture to Your Pan: The Case for Making Tallow at Home

There's a quiet revolution happening in kitchens across the country, and it looks a lot like something your great-grandmother would recognize. People are setting aside the seed oils and reaching instead for something older, simpler, and more nourishing — beef tallow. Here at Parsons Creek Steak, we've been raising Black Angus cattle on the grasslands of northern Missouri for five generations. We know every pasture and the cattle that graze them. So when people started asking us about rendering tallow from our beef fat, we couldn't have been more thrilled. Because tallow isn't just a cooking fat — it's a way of honoring the whole animal, reducing waste, and connecting back to the kind of real-food traditions that built this country. Let me tell you why tallow deserves a permanent spot in your kitchen. What Is Tallow, Exactly? Tallow is simply rendered beef fat. "Rendering" is the process of slowly melting raw fat over low heat until the pure fat separates from any remaining tissue. What you're left with is a beautiful, creamy white cooking fat that solidifies at room temperature — shelf-stable, deeply flavorful, and incredibly versatile. That's it. One ingredient. No additives, no preservatives, no industrial processing. Just pure beef fat, rendered down to its essence. Why Tallow Is Having a Moment — and Why It Deserves One 1. This Is How People Cooked Before Processed Oils Took Over Before canola oil, before vegetable shortening, before seed oils became a supermarket staple, beef tallow was the fat American families cooked with every single day. McDonald's famously fried their original French fries in beef tallow — and food writers will tell you nothing has ever tasted quite the same since they switched. There's a reason this generation is rediscovering tallow. As people take a harder look at ultra-processed foods and unfamiliar ingredients, many are choosing to return to the foods their ancestors thrived on. Tallow fits squarely in that tradition — and it fits right alongside our family's mission of farming the way it's always been done. 2. The Source of the Fat Matters Enormously Not all tallow is created equal. Just like you wouldn't buy a mystery burger from an unknown source, you want to know where your cooking fat comes from. Our cattle are pasture-raised on the open grasslands of northern Missouri. They spend their days outside, in the sunshine, free from routine antibiotics and added growth hormones. The quality of an animal's life and diet directly affects the quality of its fat. Tallow rendered from well-raised, pasture-raised cattle is richer in fat-soluble vitamins like A, D, E, and K2. It contains higher levels of conjugated linoleic acid (CLA) — a beneficial fatty acid associated with a range of positive health effects. And it's loaded with oleic acid, the same monounsaturated fat celebrated in olive oil. When you render tallow from Parsons Creek Steak beef, you're not getting a commodity byproduct. You're getting the result of five generations of careful, intentional farming. 3. It's One of the Best Cooking Fats You Can Use From a pure cooking standpoint, tallow is exceptional. It has a smoke point of around 420°F — well above the temperatures needed for searing, frying, and roasting. Unlike many vegetable and seed oils, tallow remains stable at high heat and doesn't break down into harmful compounds. Want a perfect sear on a ribeye? Start with tallow. Making roasted potatoes with a crackling crust? Tallow. Frying eggs with rich, golden edges? Tallow. Wherever you'd normally reach for butter, olive oil, or vegetable oil, tallow is a worthy — and often superior — replacement. And the flavor. There's a depth and richness that tallow brings to food that's hard to put into words. It's beefy and savory without being overpowering. Once you've made potatoes roasted in tallow, you'll struggle to go back. 4. It's About Using the Whole Animal On a working family farm, waste is something we simply don't accept. When you raise an animal with care and intention, the way we do, you want every part of it to be used well. Rendering tallow is one of the most meaningful ways to do that. The fat that surrounds the kidneys — called leaf lard or suet — has historically been the most prized for rendering because it produces the purest, most neutral tallow. Rather than letting that go to waste, rendering it at home is a way of completing the circle. It's a practice that our grandparents and great-grandparents understood instinctively: respect the animal by using everything it provides. It's what we call nose-to-tail eating, and it's not just a trend — it's a philosophy of respect. 5. People Are Using It for a Lot More Than Cooking Here's something that might surprise you: tallow has become a darling of the natural skincare world. The fatty acid profile of beef tallow is remarkably similar to the oils naturally produced by human skin, which is why many people find it deeply moisturizing and gentle. A growing number of people are using it as a facial moisturizer, a lip balm base, a healing salve for dry or cracked skin, and even a hair treatment. If you're someone who reads ingredient labels on your skincare products and finds yourself overwhelmed by the list, tallow is about as simple as it gets: one ingredient, animal-derived, deeply traditional. How to Make Tallow at Home Using Parsons Creek Beef Fat Making tallow is a slow, simple process that rewards patience. Here's how to do it: What you'll need: Raw beef fat or suet from Parsons Creek Steak A heavy-bottomed pot or slow cooker A fine-mesh strainer or cheesecloth Clean glass jars for storage Instructions: Step 1: Prepare the fat. If your fat has been frozen, thaw it completely in the refrigerator. Trim away any remaining meat or connective tissue, and cut or grind the fat into small, uniform pieces. Smaller pieces render more quickly and evenly. Step 2: Render low and slow. Place the fat in a heavy-bottomed pot or slow cooker on the lowest heat setting. You're not frying it — you're slowly coaxing the fat to melt away from any solids. Stir occasionally. This process takes 2 to 4 hours on the stovetop or longer in a slow cooker. You'll know it's ready when the fat is fully melted, the liquid is clear golden-yellow, and any remaining solids (called "cracklings") have sunk to the bottom and turned lightly golden. Step 3: Strain carefully. Pour the rendered fat through a fine-mesh strainer or cheesecloth-lined colander into clean glass jars. This removes any solids that could cause the tallow to spoil more quickly. Step 4: Cool and store. Let the jars cool at room temperature. As tallow cools, it will turn from golden to a beautiful creamy white. Store at room temperature for a few weeks, in the refrigerator for several months, or in the freezer for up to a year. Pro tip: Don't discard the cracklings! Season them with a little salt and enjoy them as a snack — they're the original pork rind, except made from beef. A Fat Worth Knowing There's something genuinely meaningful about making tallow at home. It connects you to a long tradition of resourceful, whole-food cooking. It puts a nourishing, stable fat on your counter that you made with your own hands from an animal you know was raised well. That connection between the farm and your table is exactly why we do what we do. Christian and Madison returned to this land to continue a fifth-generation legacy — not just to raise cattle, but to feed families with food they can trust. Tallow is one more way we can do that. If you're ready to try rendering your own tallow, we hope to be your first stop to make that dream a reality. And as always, if you have questions about our farm, our practices, or our products, we love hearing from you. From our pasture to your kitchen — thank you for being part of the Parsons Creek family. Shop our pasture-raised Black Angus beef at parsonscreeksteak.com and follow us on Facebook and Instagram for farm updates, recipes, and specials.

Your freezer called. Its not ready for grilling season!

We're already thinking about your summer cookouts.

The Food Pyramid Just Got Flipped—And It All Starts in the Dirt

The Food Pyramid Just Got Flipped—And It All Starts in the Dirt On January 7th, Secretary Brooke Rollins and Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. unveiled the new Dietary Guidelines for Americans, 2025-2030. With them came something we haven't seen in over a decade: an actual food pyramid. But this one's different. It's inverted. At the very top—the foundation of healthy eating—sits protein, dairy, healthy fats, vegetables, and fruits. Real, whole, nutrient-dense food. "Eat real food," Secretary Kennedy said. "These guidelines return us to the basics." Whether you agree with the intricacies of the guidelines or not, I think we can all agree that eating real food can’t hurt. This isn't just about what's on our plates. It's about where that food comes from. And if we're going to eat real food—truly nutrient-dense food—we need to think about what's underneath it all. We need to think about the soil. From the Pyramid to the Ground Just one month before the food pyramid announcement, the USDA launched a $700 million Regenerative Pilot Program aimed to help American farmers adopt practices that improve soil health, enhance water quality, and boost long-term productivity, all while strengthening America’s food and fiber supply. You can't have nutrient-dense beef without healthy pasture. You can't have a healthy pasture without living soil. You can't have living soil without regenerative practices that build instead of deplete. The new food pyramid says: prioritize protein from whole food sources. The Regenerative Pilot Program says: We're going to help farmers raise that food the right way. Healthy soil → real food → healthier people. It's the first time in my lifetime that I've seen the federal government connect these pieces. And for farmers like us who've been quietly working toward this for generations? It feels like hope. What We've Been Doing All Along The Regenerative Pilot Program focuses on soil health, water management, and natural vitality. If you've been reading our blog, you already know what that looks like. Cover Crops - We plant sorghum, triticale, cow peas, and winter mixes to prevent erosion and build nitrogen naturally. Healthy soil is never bare. No-Till Farming- We use a no-till drill to plant new crops right into the residue of the last one, protecting soil structure and those hardworking microorganisms underground. Rotational Grazing - Our Black Angus cattle move through pastures regularly. They graze and fertilize. We're working toward "mob grazing"—mimicking the way buffalo moved across the Great Plains for thousands of years. These practices build soil instead of mining it. They create beef that's more nutrient-dense because it comes from richer ground. And now, the USDA is putting $700 million behind helping more farmers do exactly this. Why This Gives Me Hope For years, we've watched good farmers want to do the right thing but get buried in red tape or worn down by a system that didn't value what they were trying to build. The Regenerative Pilot Program changes that. One application instead of ten. Whole-farm planning instead of fragmented bureaucracy. Real support for practices that actually work. This isn't just validation—it's transformation. Young producers won't have to fight as hard as Christian did when he moved back to the farm. New farmers can start with regenerative practices. Families can transition to soil-building methods with actual financial support. And with more regenerative farming, we all get access to better food. The beef in grocery stores and on dinner tables becomes more nutrient-dense, raised on healthier soil. The cycle strengthens. The Connection We've Been Missing The new Dietary Guidelines say: "Better health begins on your plate—not in your medicine cabinet." I'd take it one step further. Better health begins in the soil. When we talk about chronic disease in America, we can't ignore where our food comes from. The nutrients in beef trace back to the ground it came from. The flavor, the tenderness, the marbling—it all connects to soil health. The new food pyramid recognizes that real food matters. The Regenerative Pilot Program recognizes that real soil matters. And out here at Parsons Creek, we've always known both are true. What Comes Next I keep thinking about my daughter running around the farm in boots three sizes too big. She's inheriting not just land, but soil that's been tended, loved, and cared for. That's the promise of regenerative agriculture. The new Dietary Guidelines told Americans to eat real food. The Regenerative Pilot Program is making sure farmers can grow it. And families like ours—who've been doing this work quietly for decades—now have support to keep going and expand. Papa always says, "You work for the land, and if you do it right, the land provides." The food pyramid starts at the top with protein and healthy fats. But we know the truth—it really starts in the dirt. In the soil we build, the practices we follow, the stewardship we choose. From our farm to your table, we're hopeful. Hopeful for the soil we're healing. Hopeful for the farmers getting support. Hopeful for the families choosing real food. Hopeful for the future we're building together, one regenerative practice at a time. Want to learn more about the USDA Regenerative Pilot Program? Visit nrcs.usda.gov/programs-initiatives/regenerative-pilot-program Ready to taste what healthy soil can do? Shop Parsons Creek Steak and support regenerative agriculture with every meal.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas at Parsons Creek

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all over the farm Each cow lay bedded, with calves under their arm Stars overhead with the world in sight, We all could feel the magic of this glorious night Each pillow, a head to comfort to sleep, Rest easy, dear Farmers, just count the sheep Dancing snowflakes on windows lead us to our dreams With candies and cookies, and coffee and cream When out by the creek there arose such a sound, A mama cow lowing as snow swirled around; Away to the pasture they flew like a flash, Their truck headlights cutting through night with a splash. Christian and Madison checked on the herd with great care, With boots crunching softly through cold winter air; The children were bundled in coveralls tight, As they scattered sweet hay in the pale moonlight. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave luster to a proud Mama with a new found glow; When what to their wondering eyes did appear, But a newborn calf standing, so precious, so dear! With his grandfather's wisdom and hands weathered strong, Christian tended that calf while the family looked on; More rapid than eagles, they worked as a team, Five generations united—fulfilling the dream. "Now, Gramps! Now, Great-Gramps! Now, all who came before! You walked this same land through each season's encore! From grandfather's boyhood to memories held tight, We honor your legacy here Christmas eve night!" For over a century through sunshine and rain, This family has tended the grassland and grain; With hands that care daily for each living soul, They've nurtured this farm—it's their heart, it's their goal. The cattle roam free under wide-open skies, No hormones, no shortcuts—just truth in their eyes; Raised naturally, humanely, with love and respect, From pasture to table, that bond they protect. Christian thought of those summers, those holidays past, When Meadville's sweet breezes through tall grasses passed; His grandfather's lessons, the values instilled, Now live on in pastures his own children filled. Madison smiled as she watched the calf nurse, Reflecting on blessings—their wonderful curse: To work every day, rain, snow, or sunshine bright, But to know that this calling was perfectly right. They thought of the families near and afar, Who gather for Christmas beneath their own star; With Parsons Creek beef on their tables with pride, Creating the memories that forever abide. For lasting connections are made when we eat, When family surrounds us, when stories repeat; From their farm to your table, through each generation's hand, They're honored to nourish both family and land. The creek still runs clear where it always has flowed, Through seasons and decades on this county road; Five generations have walked this same ground, And in faith and in family, true purpose is found. So Christian spoke soft, ere they drove out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all—may your tables be bright! May you gather with loved ones and hold memories near, From our family to yours—we're blessed you are here!" From all of us at Parsons Creek Steak, we wish you and yours the most wonderful Christmas. Thank you for being part of our family's story.

The Bread Basket: November Harvest and the Tables We Gather Around

November is when this old farm shines like a new penny. The light slants low and golden across the pastures. The cattle's breath hangs in the cold morning air. And somewhere between the first hard frost and Thanksgiving, something shifts in the way we move through our days. We're not just working the land anymore—we're reaping what we've sown, literally and figuratively. My grandpa used to say, "You don't work the land. You work for the land, and if you do it right, the land provides." November is when you find out if you did it right. The Little Red Hen Had It Right (Sort Of) Remember that children's story? The Little Red Hen asks for help planting wheat, harvesting it, milling it, baking it—and everyone says "not I" until there's fresh bread on the table. Then suddenly everyone wants a piece. The story ends with the hen eating her bread alone. Which, frankly, seems a little harsh. Out here in our small, remote corner of northern Missouri, harvest season tells a different story. Sure, we each tend our own operations. Christian cares for our cattle every day, “come hell or high water,” as the saying goes. But come November? That's when farmers come together. It's an old tradition, older than our five-generation farm. It's the tradition of trading—not just goods, but time, muscle, knowledge, and care. Your neighbor helps you harvest your crops, and you help them sort their pairs. Someone loans you their trailer; you return it with a cooler of beef (the Parsons Creek way). The land provides, yes. But it's the people working for the land, together, who make harvest season what it is. And we want to share what we’ve reaped with you! Check out our Holiday Specials The Bread Basket: Traditional Beef Recipes Worth Celebrating Here are a few recipes that show up on our tables every November, the kind that have been traded between farm families and written on stained index cards tucked into recipe boxesBrisket: The Crown Jewel of Slow Cooking. If there's one cut that embodies the "low and slow" philosophy of November cooking, it's brisket. Whether you're smoking it for hours until the bark gets dark and the meat pulls apart like butter, or braising it in the oven with onions and root vegetables, brisket rewards patience. (We've got our 4-5 lb. briskets on sale right now—perfect for a smaller gathering—and 10-12 lb. beauties if you're feeding the whole extended family (or want leftovers for days, which, let's be honest, is the real goal). Pan-seared Ribeye: Our thick-cut ribeye gets a deep, crackling crust in Nanny’s trusty cast-iron skillet, nothing but salt, pepper, and a swath of real butter sizzling in the pan. After that perfect sear locks in all the juices, the whole skillet slides right into a hot oven to finish cooking through, filling the house with that rich, meaty aroma that means something special is happening in the kitchen. It comes out tender as can be, with those beautiful caramelized edges and a rosy center that would make any Sunday supper or Thanksgiving dinner feel like the celebration it ought to be. Our Filet mignon recipe isn't something we stumbled upon—it's been on our Thanksgiving table for as long as I can remember. Every year, we take the most beautiful cuts from our herd, the ones we've been saving for something special, and prepare them the way my grandmother taught us. Cast-iron screaming hot, nothing fancy—just good salt, pepper, and butter. Then, peppercorn sauce, rich and velvety, is a holiday classic. When this hits the table, it's not just supper—it's Thanksgiving, all our family gathered around, a reminder of every reason why we do what we do on this farm. It's recipes like these that inspired our holiday specials. The Folklore of the Feast I believe that abundance creates abundance. That generosity returns to you; That feeding people well is an act of hope for the future. Every farm family I know has their feast traditions. Some serve the same meal every Thanksgiving—same recipes, same serving dishes, same placement for fifty years. Others make room for whatever came out of the garden or off the pasture that year. But they all have this in common: the table is full, and there's always room for one more. Working For the Land, Together Here's what five generations of farming have taught my family: the land provides, but only if we provide for it first. And we can't do that alone. This November, I'm grateful for: The land that supports our cattle and our familyThe farmers who trade time, goods, and knowledge with usThe beef that comes from our pasture to tables across the countryThe cold weather that makes us slow down, cook well, and gather closeThe tradition of breaking bread together, which is older than any of us and will outlast us all So if you're cooking beef this November—Whether it be Parsons Creek Steak, your local farm, or wherever you source your food—take your time with it. Use a recipe that's been handed down. Invite people over. Set an extra place at the table. The Little Red Hen ate her bread alone, but that's not how this story ends for us. Out here in our small, remote corner of the earth, the harvest is something we celebrate together. From our farm to your table, we're honored to be part of your family traditions this November.

Cozy Crocks in Cozy socks

Cozy Crocks in Cozy Socks There's something about October that makes me want to pull on my thickest socks, light a fire, and let something delicious simmer away in the crock pot all day long. The air gets crisp, the leaves start their show, and suddenly all I'm craving is the kind of meal that fills the house with warmth before it ever hits the table. My brother, Christian, has been busy prepping the farm for winter—fixing fence, checking water sources, and making sure the herd has everything they need as the temperatures drop. Meanwhile, I've been thinking about comfort food. The kind that requires almost no effort but delivers maximum coziness. That's why we're running a special on our Crock Pot Bundle this month—30% off while supplies last. What's in the Bundle? This box is basically Fall, in a freezer package: One beautiful Brisket (perfect for when you want to impress yourself)Two Chuck Roasts (the MVPs of pot roast season)Two Arm Roasts (amazing for those "set it at 8am, eat at 6pm" kind of days)Two pounds of Stew Meat (because soup season is officially here) Every cut from our cattle is premium. Pastured-raised and pasture-grazed here on our Missouri farm, finished with care, and processed locally. Christian takes pride in raising beef that tastes like beef should. These slow-cooking cuts really let that flavor shine. The Simplest Chuck Roast You'll Ever Make If you're new to slow cooking (or just want a foolproof recipe), here's my go-to chuck roast method: Equipment: Crock pot or Dutch oven What you need: 1 Parsons Creek chuck roast (3-4 lbs)1 whole onion1 garlic clove1 bag carrots4 peeled quartered potatoes Salt and pepper with your soul What you do: Put the chuck roast in your crock potAdd Onion, garlic, carrots, potatoes, salt & pepper Add 1-2 cups of water (more if you're planning to make gravy) Crockpot - Cook on low for 8 hours (or high for 4-5 hours) Dutch oven - Cover and cook at 250 for 8 hours (or 4-5 hours at 350) That's it. No searing, no fancy technique. Just come home to beef so tender it falls apart with a fork, swimming in the most flavorful aju you've ever made without really trying. Serve it over mashed potatoes, egg noodles, or with a crusty piece of bread to soak up all that goodness. The Best Part of Slow Cooking Season What I love most about crock pot cooking isn't just the ease—it's the way it makes the whole house smell like home. You start it in the morning, go about your day, and by evening, you've got a meal that tastes like you spent hours on it. It's the kind of cooking that feels laborious, even though it's incredibly simple (in the best way). With beef from our farm, you're getting meat that actually tastes like something. Pasture-raised, grain-finished, no shortcuts. Just the way our family has been doing it for five generations. Grab Your Bundle Our Crock Pot Bundle is 30% off all October, which means now's the time to stock your freezer for the cozy months ahead. Whether you're a crockpot veteran or just getting started, these cuts will make you look like a kitchen genius with minimal effort. Head over to our store to order yours while we still have them in stock. And hey—if you try that chuck roast recipe, let me know how it turns out. I'm always curious what everyone's making with our beef. Here's to sweater weather, slow cookers, and meals that taste like a hug. — The Parsons Creek Steak Family

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