The Revival of Beef Tallow in American Kitchens

Creating beef tallow kicks off with obtaining suet, which is the white fat surrounding the kidneys of grazing animals like cows and sheep. After trimming away any blood clots or connective tissue, you dice it into small pieces. Slow-roast the scraps until they melt into a clear grease. Once it’s done, strain out any burnt bits and transfer the liquid to a Mason jar—stick it in the fridge, and it solidifies into a shiny block of fat. There you have it: beef tallow, ready for culinary adventures, for better or worse.

I’ve always had slightly elevated blood pressure, and I’ve been making efforts to lower my cholesterol for what feels like ages. So, when I found myself frying eggs in March, using solely tallow instead of my usual oils or butter, I felt a twinge of worry. I had decided to give this new approach a shot after hearing strong endorsements from influential figures about its health benefits.

This past January, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., leading the Department of Health and Human Services, released a revised Food Guide Pyramid, which dates back to its original introduction in 1992. Those familiar with Kennedy know he promotes a decidedly meat-heavy diet. His recommendations? Eat more red meat—lots of it—alongside fruits and vegetables, cheese, yogurt, and gallons of whole milk. Meanwhile, he’s against grains, processed foods, and anything packaged in plastic. The most interesting twist actually came from his advice on cooking fats, suggesting we favor “oils with essential fatty acids,” while also allowing for butter or beef tallow.

Ah, beef tallow—a once-popular cooking fat that has fallen out of favor, largely because it’s high in saturated fat. Just to put it in perspective: tallow contains about 6.4 grams of saturated fat per tablespoon, which is considerably more than canola oil’s 1 gram. For years, dietary guidelines have warned us that saturated fats increase cholesterol levels, narrowing arteries and raising the risk of heart disease. Studies have shown that reducing saturated fat intake can lead to a significant decrease in cardiovascular events. This has led to a long-standing stigma against fats like tallow. Back in 1980, the Department of Agriculture advised people to limit their intake of fatty animal products, favoring starches and carbohydrates instead. In fact, a decade later, McDonald’s stopped using tallow to fry its fries, opting for a blend of vegetable oils instead.

Yet, Kennedy and his wellness proponents claim the scientific consensus on saturated fat might be flawed. Before his pyramid announcement, he famously demonstrated cooking a turkey in hot beef tallow online. He argued against fast-food chains like McDonald’s for using seed oils, suggesting they’re harming customers and contributing to the obesity epidemic, and fervently called for a return to tallow.

As Kennedy continues to promote his message, the sales of beef tallow have seen a remarkable rise. Whole Foods reported a whopping 96% increase in tallow sales in 2025. Even places like Steak ‘n Shake have embraced tallow to fry their fries, while Sweetgreen made its kitchens free from seed oils.

The revival extends beyond food; on social media platforms like TikTok, beauty influencers sing the praises of tallow for its supposed regenerative properties. Some claim it can even be consumed. Dermatologists, however, maintain there’s little evidence supporting its benefits for skin health. In fact, using it might lead to more breakouts.

This whole trend raises a lot of questions about our current society. Some wonder if the rise in tallow signifies a breakdown of accepted medical wisdom or perhaps a return to traditional cooking methods. As people stir their pots and put tallow in their cookies, I can’t help but wonder: where will this shift lead us?

As for my own experience, I found the taste of my tallow-cooked eggs delightful. The richness was apparent—a buttery-like flavor that really enhanced the meal. But was it healthier? That’s up for debate. Ingredients aside, I felt good, and my heart was still ticking away.

However, seeking tallow isn’t as straightforward as I’d hoped; local stores didn’t carry it. Eventually, I found some at a butcher shop known for its ethical practices, and I decided to ask the co-founder about the newfound popularity surrounding tallow. He affirmed his commitment to the whole-animal butchery philosophy, indicating that turning every part of the animal into edible products is a step toward sustainability.

The vibe around beef tallow even reaches establishments like Butterworth’s in Washington, D.C., popular among political insiders. The chef there was surprised to learn that tallow had become trendy but adopted it to cater to demands from their clientele. It’s intriguing how a fat once considered unhealthy is now making its way back onto menus, even outside of traditional kitchens.

This evolution seems to reflect larger shifts in how different groups relate to food. Right-wing voices are becoming keen on culinary philosophies that were once tagged as liberal. Even sociologists studying food culture highlight the public’s desire to find ethical ways to enjoy meat, suggesting that tallow taps into this yearning for traditional practices while providing some comfort amid a swirl of modern complexities.

As I continued cooking with tallow, I realized I was confronted with many unknowns. The complex history of food, nutrition, and societal norms felt more like a puzzle than ever. Regardless of how I might have once viewed dietary guidelines, I found myself pondering what is true and what may very well be wrong. There’s a certain unease in navigating this shifting landscape.

Trying out tallow in various dishes was quite satisfying. For instance, using it to sear chicken resulted in wonderfully crisp skin that captured all the flavors. While I kept my choices somewhat hidden from my wife, the dinners we enjoyed were too good to waste. Even as we indulged ourselves in tantalizing flavors, questions of ethics and health lingered in the back of my mind.

In the end, while I did savor my meals, I am still left contemplating the broader implications of my culinary choices. Was my week-long tallow journey a mere dalliance with culinary trends, or does it hint at a more profound transformation within the American food consciousness? Perhaps it reflects a growing willingness to question long-held beliefs—and maybe the confusion I felt speaks to a deeper discomfort about modern dietary wisdom.

As we battled through the emotional residue from recent global events, my reflections about food came to represent more than just ingredients on my plate. They mirrored a societal discourse, grappling with the complexities of trust, science, and choice. Going forward, I’m not sure where my culinary path lies, but I find consolation in the fact that I’m not alone in this ambiguous landscape.