Don Biltong Medellín: South African Biltong And Boerewors You Need To Try

• 🥩 Air-dried biltong, not dehydrated jerky. Tender slices. Beef first.

• 🍻 Built for Medellín life. Boards at breweries, wine bars, match day, hikes.

• 🔪 Local grass-fed beef, 7–8 day process, specialty slicing, small batches.

• 🌶️ Classic, zero-fat, teriyaki, medium picante. Custom extra-hot on request.

• 🌭 Boerewors with prime beef and pork fat. Real snap. Clean finish.

Don Biltong is the brainchild of Sasha, a South African living in Medellin, and his Colombian wife, making biltong and boerewors in the city. He did not arrive with a business plan. He arrived, looked for the food he missed, and found nothing.

“I moved to Colombia with zero plan to start a business,” he says. “I went looking for biltong and boerewors. They didn’t exist. No one had done it here. It was a chance to represent my country with products we love.”

He gives the local translation in one clean line.

“These products are to South Africa what empanadas, arepas, and chicharrón are to Colombia.”

That makes the mission clear. Make something real. Make it here.

Biltong is not jerky. It starts with thicker, steak-like cuts, often with a ribbon of fat. The meat rests in a mix of dry and liquid spices. It dries in moving air at under 24 degrees. The dry time runs four to six days. You end up with tender, thin slices that eat like concentrated steak.

Jerky is different. It uses thin strips from lower-grade cuts. It is dehydrated with heat at around 30 to 32 degrees. It dries in hours, not days. It leans sweet in stores and often chews tough. If jerky is a glove box snack, biltong is that and more. It belongs on a tabla next to cheeses and olives. It feels at home in a wine bar or a cervecería.

The fit with Medellín is obvious once you taste it. It pairs with beer without getting in the way. It upgrades game day. It lives in a desk drawer for the 4 p.m. crash. It goes in a backpack for Tres Cruces or a Santa Elena hike. During drying, the meat can shrink by up to sixty percent in weight while holding on to its nutrients and protein. Each bite hits harder.

Craft sits at the center of Sasha’s process. He starts with local, grass-fed beef and trims with care. The cure uses a dry spice mix and a wet mix. The meat rests for twenty four hours so the flavor moves through the muscle, not just the surface. Then he hangs the cuts in a drying cabinet imported from Cape Town. It holds up to one hundred kilos and keeps temperature and airflow steady. Drying runs four to five days depending on the finish he wants.

Slicing is its own story. He brought in a dedicated biltong slicer from Cape Town as well. “A standard slicer can take six minutes on a big piece,” he says. “This one does it in five seconds.” The cuts come off clean and even. The bite stays consistent. Sasha says these two machines are the only ones of their kind in South America. The whole cycle, from beef to bag, takes seven to eight days. No shortcuts.

The sausages stand apart too. Boerewors carries a spice profile you will not find in a local chorizo. Think coriander, pepper, and garlic that support the meat instead of hiding it. Most supermarket links are commercial products built for shelf life. This is the opposite.

“We use high-grade cadera and punta de anca for boerewors,” Sasha says. “Traditionally sausage gets the leftovers. We go the other way.” The classic mix in South Africa uses beef, pork, and lamb. Lamb is hard to source here and pricey, so the Medellín blend is eighty percent prime beef and twenty percent pork fat. That alone makes it different. In Colombia, most sausages are one hundred percent pork and often use ends. Here, the grind eats like meat, not paste. The snap is natural. The finish is clean.

Adapting to local taste has been thoughtful, not random. Medellín gets a zero-fat biltong option for people who want lean. There is a teriyaki flavor that locals like and that North American customers ask for. The picante version sits at medium heat by default. If you want hot or extra hot, they make it to order. Traditional coriander and pepper is always there, because some things do not need a remix.

How is the city taking it. With curiosity first, then habit. “Medellín is figuring out international taste,” Sasha says. “Food. Culture. Mindset. We’re not here to replace anything Colombians love. We’re here to add value to what Colombia already does well.” The focus is on younger customers who look at new formats as additions, not threats. That audience gets the idea fast. A few slices on a board. A beer. Now it makes sense.

Education is the hard part. In most places where biltong takes off, a South African expat base creates steady demand from day one. That base buys weekly and keeps the lights on while locals discover the product. Colombia does not have that base. “There are fewer than fifty South Africans in the whole country,” Sasha says. “So we have to build everything from zero. Foreign community. Local community. Everyone needs a first taste and a clear explanation.” It is a patient push. One tasting at a time. One new fan at a time.

The vision is big and slow on purpose. “Bring biltong into the homes and hearts of Colombians and the foreigners who choose Colombia as home,” Sasha says. “That’s a generational project.” The next steps are concrete. Gain a steady presence in cervecerías across the city and then the country. Sit on menus in wine bars that take their snack boards seriously. Get stocked in delicatessens in Bogotá, Cali, and Medellín. Place biltong next to jamón serrano, salami, prosciutto, and the many artisanal cheeses made in Colombia. Work with independent gyms and personal trainers who want a low-sodium, high-protein option for clients. Show people how to use it. Make it easy to find.

One line he will not cross is the supermarket aisle. “In South Africa, when a supermarket sells biltong without a butcher, what you see is a commercial product with preservatives for shelf life,” he says. “Biltong doesn’t need that. It stays artisanal here.” That means more fairs, smart pop-ups, and collabs with other makers. It also means seasonal events. Oktoberfest in Bogotá and Medellín is on the wish list.

If you want a first taste, look for him at brewery events and artisan markets. Cervecerías get it right away. A pale ale next to classic biltong. A stout next to chili. A board with cheese, olives, and pickles. It is simple. It works. Bring a friend who rolls their eyes at dried meat. Watch them change their mind after two slices.

At home, the best moves are easy. Plate it for match day with hot mustard and pickles. Carry a bag for a hike. Keep one at your desk for the late afternoon hunger. Fire up the grill and lay a spiral of boerewors next to arepas. You do not need to overthink it.

What you notice after a week is that it slides into your routine. You stop buying sugar bombs at the corner store. You stop serving empty snacks when friends come over. You start pairing meat with beer and wine in a way that feels natural in Medellín. You feel the quality in the chew. You taste the beef first, not candy. I have sat at a table and ate a whole bag of biltong without even thinking, the flavors are addictive and the quality meats are obvious.

That is the point. Honest ingredients. Real technique. Local beef turned into something new for the city. It is South African in spirit and Paisa in attitude. If that sounds like your lane, grab a bag, pass it around the table, and see who asks where you bought it. Then buy two bags next time.

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