Laurent Vernet has a strong nose, neat facial hair and a warm, genial manner. Despite having spent the best part of two decades living in Edinburgh, his native French accent remains as strong as ever, moulding words into melodies. Like most of his fellow countrymen, Laurent is deeply passionate about food, a self-declared carnivore who mixes his hobby with work at Quality Meat Scotland. Most importantly, when he says something about beef, people listen.

‘Scotch Beef is special, a protected product like champagne’, he says, illustrating the point with his hands. ‘It means the animal has spent its whole life in Scotland. As soon as it puts a hoof outside of the country, it is no longer Scotch Beef.’

We’re sitting in a dimly-lit room in Mayfair, in the belly of the Guinea Grill. It’s a fitting venue for a beef master class, a founder member of the Scottish Beef Club and a restaurant that confidently promises some of the best steak in London. Two pieces of juicy red meat have just been placed in front of us, and I try hard not to devour them instantly.

Two minutes later, I’ve failed the first taste test – I guessed them to be identical cuts, but it turns out one is lamb, the other is beef. How embarrassing. Laurent is forgiving, however, explaining that they deliberately got rid of the fat from both meats to demonstrate that protein alone does not give flavour. He would later prove the same point by giving us a fatless (and consequently tasteless) beef heart.

‘Butchers nowadays, they try to sell you beef with two inches of fat for roasting, and they tell you it makes the meat more flavoursome. That makes me really angry.’ Laurent’s passion begins to flare. ‘It is marbling that matters, not the fat around the edge. All that improves is the gravy.’ I don’t tell him how much I like gravy, but make a mental note to ask for as much fat as possible on my next visit to the butchers.

The next three cuts of beef appear, and Laurent is able to use them to describe the life the animal led. Any stress or excitement results in tougher meat, with a flavour that moves progressively from sweet to sour. This is why our samples, which include a young bull who would have been bursting with hormones, and a castrated male who wouldn’t have known so much as a flicker of bovine lust, ranged from chewy and slightly bitter to saccharine and soft like butter.

The next few samples go from my fork to my stomach in a blur. I learn that life spent on a plough results in thinly-fibred meat (it helps get blood to the animal’s muscles quicker), that an animal kept outdoors can taste of flowers and honey, and that a colder climate forces fat to be produced quicker, and thus marbling to be greater.

Laurent also tells us about the importance of maturing meat, which sees a reduction in water and a concentration in flavour, and how butchery is an art form that takes talent and hard work to perfect. But he’s careful never to be patronising or elitist: ‘There is no right or wrong when it comes to beef. Everyone has their own preferences and likes different things.’

Too soon the final slice of meat is taken from the table, and we turn to the last few drops of wine to bring an end to a satiating evening for both stomach and brain. I now understand that, like whiskey, every piece of beef is different, and almost everything about it depends more upon lifestyle than breed. This is why the Scotch Beef hallmark is so special, because it guarantees an exceptional level of quality and care, and ensures every bite will be exquisite. Bear that in mind next time you’re in the meat aisle at the supermarket.

Written by a Thoroughly Modern Man, Alex Plim.

Follow Alex, @AlexPlim to read more of his writing.