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 guards prepping an area ahead of us.
“You will have one hour to take whatever samples you need,” they explained. “The lights will be off.”
“So I’m just to poke around in the dark and hope I find what I need?”
“It’s that or nothing.”
As they squabbled, I could see it in the distance. A 7-foot-tall metal cage, reinforced with steel cables. One of the armed guards were inspecting it, poking and prodding against the metal. Someone tapped my arm, handing me a poncho.
“To make sure you get no unwanted hair samples,” one of the lawyers explained. “Do you have any questions?”
I just shook my head. I was still trying to process what we were doing there. There was no reason to trap a cow in a 7-foot-tall metal box. Ergo, one could easily draw the conclusion that there was no cow involved at all. That would explain the nutritional values.
But then – what the hell were we looking at?
They turned down the lights and lead us inside. All doors and windows were blocked off, leaving us in a completely dark room. Rich fumbled about with his tools sighing as he dropped something on the ground.
“Don’t step on that,” he sighed. “Whatever it is.”
We made our way to the cage, listening intently to whatever was moving inside. I could hear little shuffling noises as it adjusted, but it was quiet. A cow had hooves that’d make a lot of noise against grated metal flooring, but this was almost soundless. Just a light shuffle.
“You hear that?” Rich asked.
There was a smattering against the side of the cage as something inside moved. It took me a few seconds to realize just how tall this thing was. We were talking at least 6’6 or 6’7. It brushed against the side of the cage as it moved, and what we were hearing was these incredibly thick hairs. This wasn’t the coat of an ordinary cow; it sounded almost like metal wiring.
Rich inserted the equipment at the side of the cage and clutched the handle. It was just a quick pinch, but the reaction from the creature inside was enough to make the entire cage rattle. I could hear it shuffling around, scrambling to reposition, and it hit me just how big it really was. Furthermore, there was something off about the way it moved. It was too quick for a bovine.
“Let’s just finish up and go,” whispered Rich. “This isn’t safe.”
“Looked pretty safe to me,” I said. “It’s welded shut.”
“This is not a fucking cow,” Rich wheezed. “I’m counting at least six goddamn legs.”
Rich switched out his equipment and gave it one more go. He inserted the tube, squeezed the handle, and this time there was a much more noticeable reaction. Rich must’ve hit it somewhere sensitive. It exploded into movement, rocking the cage as the weight shifted. I could hear tapping of what sounded like claws as the entire cage started to tilt.
It was climbing the walls.
We stepped back, and I tapped the door.
“We’re done!” I called out. “Open up!”
The cage rocked again, now with a rhythmic thumping noise – like an engine trying to start. Deep pop-like noises. Some kind of communicative click.
As the doors swung open, two armed guards pulled us out and closed the door behind us. I only caught a glimpse of what looked like course hairs poking out the side of the cage. Our ponchos were taken away, and Rich’s samples were sealed and labeled. We were hosed off with pressurized air and had our hands checked for sores or cuts. Once we were cleared, they immediately started ushering us out the building.
I could hear the cage still moving in the background. Whatever was in there was angry.
We had three vials of blood – all black as oil. They were labeled and timed, but that was all there was to it. Rich wasn’t allowed any other kind of sample or examination. Just blood. He protested all the way to the car.
As we stepped back outside, we all stopped. There was the grating sound of metal being bent out of shape, and we all just listened for a second. Then, they all exploded into action. We were pushed back into our car, and the armed guards pulled out their handguns. They were yelling at us to leave, to get back, and to not stop until we hit the highway.
Some were running inside. Others stayed outside. One of the lawyers hid in the back seat of one of the BMWs. I took their advice, got in our car, and stepped on the gas.
But we didn’t get far. As soon as we were about to turn off the dirt roads, we were blocked by a set of cars coming the other way. People were screaming into their earpieces, barking and accepting orders to the left and right. A few cars pushed past us, while some stayed behind to make sure we complied. Rich had to hand over the samples with a handgun pointed at his face.
We were asked to step out of the car as they started to blast it with a sour-smelling chemical. The samples were replaced into a box and sealed with a silicone gel. We were given specific instructions not to break that seal until at least 12 hours had passed. Rich was firing questions on all cylinders, but there were no answers. I was less inclined to make a fuzz; these people were armed, and obviously agitated.
Once we were free to go, I went straight to the highway. I didn’t stop until maybe 20 minutes later, at a gas station, to collect my thoughts.
I stopped to have a sandwich and a coke while Rich made some calls to the higher-ups. He tried to explain that we had in no way gotten enough information to make an informed decision, but apparently this was as good as it was gonna get. There had been some kind of agreement behind closed doors, and this was all we had to work with; three vials of blood from the original “Minnesota Blue” dairy cow.
I sat in the driver’s seat, checking out the sealed box, while Rich was going off on my supervisor over the phone outside. There were a lot of colorful words being thrown around. I was mostly surprised that someone was there to pick up at all; we were pretty strict about not talking shop after-hours. This was a bit of a special case though.
The sun had started to set and we were both feeling the adrenaline running out. As Rich got back in the car, and I took a deep breath, we decided to call it a day. I’d drop him off at his practice, and that’d be that.
Except for one thing; it seemed that the seal on the box was broken.
It was evident when we tilted the side of it; we could see little black bubbles forming at the edge of the silicone seal. One of the vials must’ve broken. Rich got a little on his hands, staining them like a thick soot. We put the box in a plastic bag while he headed to the bathroom to clean up. I couldn’t help but to get a bad feeling about it. Not just because we’d probably lost one of our three vials, but because they’d been so adamant about spillage.
We set out east, staying off the highway to cover some ground. We heard reports about a pile-up and decided not to take any chances, instead keeping to the back roads. Rich and I had been discussing contaminants for the past twenty or so minutes when I noticed a car coming up behind us. Not too surprising; people drove like crazy on these smaller roads.
But then, the car behind us did something I didn’t predict.
It turned straight off the road, crashing head-on into a pine tree.
We stopped and turned back. Rich was ready to call for help. But as we got closer it was clear that something wasn’t right. The car hadn’t just veered off the road on its own; there was a big buckle in the driver’s side door. Something had hit it; hard.
While Rich got emergency services on the line, I put the car in reverse to make some space. As Rich tried to explain our position, I spotted something off the side of the road. Six sparkling orbs, reflecting the headlights of the car.
It was coming right at us.
It’s hard to explain the force that came upon us. It was vast enough to flip the car over completely, but I could tell that it could have done far worse if it’d hit us just a bit different. In nothing but a heartbeat, I was covered in glass. Rich smacked his head into the dashboard, possibly breaking his nose. It was so fast that I didn’t have the time to reflect; I went into this sort of instant, animalistic panic. I barely even understood what happened until I saw a long insectoid appendage reach through the crack in the windshield, grasping at me with coarse spike-like hair.
I only saw parts of it in the light of the dying car. Six, maybe eight legs; all covered in rough hairs that seemed to “breathe” with the rest of the body. Some kind of leather-skinned thorax, and an almost completely spherical head with six front-facing eyes. As I crawled into the back of the car, and out through the broken rear window, Rich scrambled to get out through the passenger-side door. He couldn’t get the door to move. I had to come up the side and pull him through the window.
We were both cut and bleeding. I could hear the emergency operator calling out through Rich’s phone, still left somewhere in the car. The people we’d pulled over to help looked unconscious, or barely moving. That frontal crash was a lot worse than the side-swipe we’d gotten.
The creature made this strange, deep, rumble. Like an abyssal purr. It crawled across the wreckage with nothing but little tapping noises, using its appendages to grab and squeeze.
As the silhouette loomed over us, I froze. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t get my mind to cooperate. Rich and I just stood there, watching the creature unfold to its full size; bones and joints snapping like unmade origami. The thing was easily larger than the car.
As the headlights of the car flickered, I watched the thing move as by a strobe light.
Slowly, it reached inside the car, and brought out the sealed box of blood samples. I could see the black eyes reflect at me, as if trying to understand, as it sniffed the air. Clutching the box to its chest, it looked to Rich, then back at me, as if gauging our response. I couldn’t breathe. It could easily reach me in a single bound, if it wanted to. A growl escaped it, slowly shaping into a word.
“Mine.”
And with that, it retreated into the woods.
Both Rich and I lost our positions shortly after that confrontation. Apparently, calling the emergency services constituted a breach of disclosure. I have no further insight into what kind of process the Minnesota Blue went through, but now here we are years later, and the first slices of Minnesota Blue are about to hit the storefronts. Most of it isn’t even marketed as lab-grown meat, and from what I’ve seen it has been rebranded into about 12 different kinds of “high-end meats”. Mostly sold to delicatessens and charcuteries across the higher end of the social spectrum.
What bothers me is not the technology itself, but exactly what we’re putting into our bodies. There was no way for me and Rich to make any kind of meaningful research into the Minnesota Blue. To this day, I’m trying to convince myself that I didn’t hear that damn thing talk. But I know what I heard, and I can never un-hear it.
That thing was as monstrous as it was curious. I think it managed to track the blood-scent of the samples for literal miles, perhaps by some sort of chemical reaction. Either that, or it had managed to catch a whiff of Rich and I. But it was strange – to have something so intelligent and powerful track us down, only to take back something that it thought… smelled nice?
This holiday season, make sure to double-check what exactly you’re ordering. If something seems suspiciously cheap, or if there is something marketed as “high-protein meat snacks” of uncertain origin, just be aware.
I know I’ll be.