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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Saturdead on 2023-12-02 22:50:24.
For a few years, there have been talks about lab-grown meat hitting the consumer market. I’m sure you’ve heard about it. Maybe you’ve seen some morning talk show-hosts trying out a thinly sliced piece of meat for $2000, saying it tastes just like the real thing. Maybe you’ve heard the many long talks on late-night radio where some fiery speaker tells you that you need to love beef to be a warm-blooded American. And hell, maybe you’ve had this discussion around the dinner table with friends and family. But that’s all there’s been to it, right?
Well, not for me.
I work with food administration on a federal level, and when lab-grown meat was starting to become a topic half of the people I worked with were up in a frenzy. There were so many quandaries that it was hard to wrap your head around. Would lab-grown meat have to be stored differently? How would we trace pathogens? As soon as you started to cut beneath the surface of the topic, you would run into a plethora of issues.
Luckily, we didn’t have a proper case until 2019, when we got a request to approve sales of commercial-grade lab-grown meat. It was the first of its kind, and we had to make up a lot of temporary regulations on the spot to cover it.
For example, since there is no longer a need to catalog and register every single animals we instead relied on thorough examination of the original donor animal. The “patient zero” from which the original meat protein originated.
That first run was a Holstein cow. It looked exactly as you imagine when you hear the word “cow”; black and white, large and hefty. It was sort of a trial run for the company as well; a sort of small-scale production to see if they could bring it to market in a timely manner.
Turns out, they could. By winter 2019, the first slabs of “Invisible Beef” was put to market in select delicacy and butcher aisles. I’m sure you saw a few influencers try it out; it was all the rage for about two weeks. Problem was, the demand would fluctuate too much, and they never managed to set a price that would work long-term. They started too low and lost too many customers as they ramped it up to market.
We thought that’d be that; trend over. But they were just getting started.
I was brought on-board full-time when they dropped an approval request for a new line of lab-grown meat. This was not from a Holstein cow, but from a breed of cattle called the “Minnesota Blue”. Didn’t look all that strange though. It was slightly smaller than the average dairy cow and had a greyish black coat; sort of like a thinner Murray Grey.
But something didn’t look right on the nutrition reports. The fiber and protein count was significantly higher than the previous beef counterpart. There was a statistical increase in iron, and a different composition of vitamins. While these results can differ based on cattle breed and the individual used as a template, this particular specimen raised a few eyebrows.
Not with my department though. Most of them were excited to see advancements. Others’d had their pockets “lubricated” a bit, I suspected; they were a bit too eager to look the other way. The decision finally made its way down the line to my desk. I had to choose whether to investigate this further, dragging an open-shut case into a lengthy debacle, or just put my stamp of approval on it.
And man, do I wish I’d done the latter.
As I was the one with the objections, I was also the one to head up the investigation. It was just supposed to be a double-check of the nutritional readings and a physical check-up by a licensed veterinarian, but we immediately ran into roadblocks. Not only did they challenge our assumption at every turn, they dragged the process out for weeks. Claims and counterclaims. I had to reaffirm my position half a dozen times over the course of two months before we were finally greenlit to finish our inspection.
I took a company car and set out for rural Minnesota in late May of 2020. I met up with Rich Anselmo, our trusted veterinarian, at his practice in Rochester. We kept heading west, past Minneapolis and St. Cloud, before we turned to the smaller roads. Apparently the animals used in the Minnesota Blue “Invisible Beef” were local to an area not too far from the town of Tomskog; mostly known for production of aluminum sidings and novelty sunflowers.
We arrived at the Long Horizons Ranch just past 5:30pm. Rich had called ahead to make sure it was an appropriate time, and we’d gotten the go-ahead. It wasn’t really meant to be an impromptu “gotcha”-kind of meeting. After all, they couldn’t trick our tests. That being said, we knew that these people were inclined to make things difficult for us. They’d done so for months.
We were greeted by two men, none of which looked like they belonged on a ranch. I couldn’t help but to take notice of their polished shoes, for example. They offered to show us around (briefly) and took us to see the specimen. But before that, they wanted a short discussion with each of us in private. I wasn’t enthused by the idea, but I knew I could trust Rich to keep his integrity. I’d asked for him specifically; we’d worked together a handful of times in the past.
There were a few vague offers on the table, all in the spirit of “making things easy” and “cooperating to a greater extent”. Nothing explicit, and no money exchanging hands, but it was clear to me that these men were looking for shortcuts. Even now, they didn’t want us to go through with this.
We were finally taken to see the specimen from which the animal protein had been gathered from. There was nothing peculiar about this cow, it was just one of many. They didn’t have a name for her, just a designation and a code. Rich was given free reign to take whatever samples he needed; all under strict supervision.
“There will be slight variations,” said one of the men. “You have to account for that.”
“Of course,” said Rich. “But we have to start with the assumption that this is the same animal.”
“Are you claiming it isn’t?”
“We’re not claiming anything,” I added. “Hence the tests.”
Rich proceeded with a general check-up as well as blood and mucus samples. But even now, I could tell they were reluctant. The two men were pacing back and forth, and neither were particularly talkative.
Once finished, we made our way back to the car, thanked our hosts, and told them we’d get back to them as soon as we had the results. There was little to no answer; these people knew the results wouldn’t be great. I could tell. There was an uncertainty in the air, and that’s usually something that only comes up when there is something to hide.
Much like expected, Rich came to the same conclusion that I did. After performing a few tests and measuring the results given, it was clear that whatever nutritional values they’d claimed was nowhere near what we’d produced from the samples taken.
Meaning that either the nutritional values recorded were falsified; or we hadn’t met the real “Minnesota Blue”.
While my colleagues weren’t particularly enthused about the prospect, they could no longer deny that we had to investigate it further. My boss brought it up with the company in question, and after a lengthy debate I was called in for a private discussion.
It was me, my boss, and three lawyers in a small meeting room. No windows. I was given three non-disclosure agreements to review and sign, all of which had been cleared by our internal lawyer team ahead of time. So yeah, I signed it. And here I am, breaking it.
It was disclosed that the animal we’d tested had “accidentally” been the wrong one, and that no further inquiries on it was to be made. We were allowed to test the original animal, but there were a large number of stipulations we had to agree to. This had to do with corporate espionage law and consumer protection. That’s what they said at least.
It was July 2020 when Rich and I went back to rural Minnesota to test the “real” Minnesota Blue. This time we weren’t heading to a ranch. Instead, we were following dirt roads into the middle of nowhere, passing burnt-out cars and half-collapsed sheds along the way. As we passed an abandoned scrapyard, we noticed an old warehouse in the distance. That was our destination.
It was strange to see no less than six brand new BMWs parked outside a place that could be knocked over by a stiff breeze. I saw sheets of corrugated metal barely holding on to rusting screws, giving off a creaking complaint with every whiff of movement. I felt like I needed a tetanus shot just for looking at it.
We were greeted by armed guards, a company veterinarian, and no less than four corporate lawyers. We were double-checked for recording devices, scanned for bugs, and all our testing equipment was screened by hand. All of it without exchanging a single word or pleasantry.
“You are only allowed to take the necessary samples”, one of the lawyers reiterated as we entered the building. “There will be no physical examination.”
“That’s preposterous,” chuckled Rick. “How can we not be allowed to-“
“We have been ordered to comply with providing access, but there is no requirement of a visual or hands-on inspection,” the lawyer continued. “You will be given minimum access, as pertained to your inspection requirements.”
“You can’t be serious.”
We were shown into a room in the far back of the facility. We were given some custom testing equipment. Long handles and tubes, made to take samples from a distance. Meanwhile, I could see the ...
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