About Us
Paper: Fresno Bee, The (CA)
Title: Old shop, new start
Date: January 26, 2011
After more than 60 years, Gus' Meat Locker in Madera has a new name and is
coming full circle -- thanks to a young couple with a passion for artisan
meats.
Step up to the meat counter, and you'll see new items such as Calabrese and
Sicilian sausage. Head to the deli, and you'll notice a greater variety of
sandwiches, such as sliced turkey and a housemade avocado spread on focaccia
bread from Max's Bakery in Fresno.
And a peek around the corner may reveal a group of older butchers cutting and
wrapping meat. Old-timers will recognize them as local meat experts and former
rivals: There's 69-year-old Clyde Polston, who owned the old Clyde's Meat
Service & Lockers in Chowchilla; 61-year-old Bill McCann of Willie's
Country Meats in Le Grand; 68-year-old Jim Hardesty, former owner of Madera
Quality Meats; and 70-year-old Don Sambueso, a former owner of Gus'.
"I call them my little brat pack," says Melissa Chase, who recently
bought Gus' with her husband, Scott Chase. "We're bringing all the old
guys back together. We just want to learn from the best."
The Chases, also owners of Central Valley Irrigation Service in Madera, have
big plans for Gus': They're butchering wild game for hunters; expanding Gus'
sausage line; preparing to make pancetta and prosciutto; thinking of custom
butchery classes for the public; and renovating Gus' to sell custom cuts of
locally raised animals from its meat counter -- or provide butchering services
for ranchers who want to sell their meat at farmers' markets.
(Currently, Gus' can slaughter and butcher animals only for their owners; but
the shop isn't allowed to sell those cuts at retail.)
It's the latest step in their efforts to re-create the fresh food they
encountered in Italy. About three years ago, they were inspired by an article
in Bon Appétit magazine to visit Castello di Spannocchia, an educational center
at an organic agricultural estate near Siena, Italy.
The experience changed their lives. Before they visited Castello di
Spannocchia, they'd never composted or had a garden. Now, the family --
including children Hannah, 10; Justin, 14; and Jordean, 18 -- raises its own
animals for meat.
"We've had our own Thanksgiving turkey and chickens," Melissa Chase
says. "We've done pigs and lambs and several steers."
That's how the Chases became interested in Gus', a shop that still practices
the rare art of preparing meat from the ground to the table. Founded by
Augustine "Gus" and Rita Sambueso, it launched in the 1940s, when
butchers were used to working with animals and cutting them to fit customers'
preferences.
Twin brothers Don and Augustine "Dim" Sambueso worked with their
parents, eventually taking over what was known as Gus' Food Locker. Don
Sambueso says he handled the custom slaughtering. And Dim Sambueso managed the
catering, deli and the meat counter.
As time went on, the meat industry grew in a different direction. McCann notes
the changes on his website, willies butchery.com: "... in the early 1980s
the whole structure of the meat business began to change rapidly," he
writes. "By this time I was working in management, still cutting meat
every day but with a difference. The meat we were processing and packaging was
merely taken out of large plastic bags."
Dissatisfied, McCann started Willie's Country Meats, a custom butchery service
that processes beef, pork, lamb, goats and some wild game. He says he plans to
maintain Willie's and work at Gus'.
For McCann, the joy of joining Gus' is an opportunity to teach a young couple
about artisan meats. "I'm concerned about the next generation," he
says.
Just 10 years ago, folks didn't seem to care if specialty meat shops such as
Gus' or Willie's closed, McCann adds. But the public's renewed interest in the
origins and quality of its meat means newfound support for custom butchery.
"People realize that these places are treasures in a way," he says.
Now, Gus' is the kind of place where customers can pick the brain of Jim
Hardesty. With his easy laughter and knowledge of meat and cooking, "Jim
can lead them to a product they might not have considered before," Scott
Chase says.
It's also the kind of place where the Chases' son Justin -- armed with his own
knives and a white coat -- can learn from the experts. He might ask Don
Sambueso about cutting lamb or aging meat.
"The fatter the beef, the longer it can hang," Don Sambueso says.
Or he can study under Polston, who has done everything from skinning hogs to
cutting steak.
"You want the fat to be a white color" on a steak, says Polston, who
prefers New York, rib-eyes and T-bone steaks. For those steaks, he prefers the
fat to be 1/4-inch thick, while the flesh should be 1-inch to 1 1/4-inches
thick.
It's also the kind of place where the old-time butchers can joke about their
past rivalries -- and impress themselves with how quickly they still can break
down a steer.
"We've always got along real good," Polston says. "I enjoy it.
Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."
As for Don Sambueso, he's enjoyed handing over the reins to the Chases. Dim
Sambueso no longer can work because of a bad back, and at 70 years old, Don
Sambueso says he can't handle Gus' alone.
Custom butchery is time consuming, and the regulations stringent. As Don
Sambueso says: "We were lucky to find somebody who wants to work."
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