Hello Kate, I read this while drinking my morning coffee. Later this morning our neighbour and some of my wife's family, will slaughter pigs that will be spit roasted tomorrow (Saturday), and consumed at family feasts on Sunday which is Serbian Orthodox Christmas. How you tell the story of the "Winter Pig" mirrors exactly what happens here in the village where I live. Nothing goes to waste. The skills are passed down through generations. Bests from an unusually warm Northern Bosnia and Herzegovina, David
Thanks for another excellent post Kate! The opening quote is so true, "an and not a but" says it all. I was fortunate to participate in raising pigs with my father when I was a teenager. He was a rugged man, but would get choked up when the animals were killed (as would I). Those who haven't had the privilege to raise their own meat will not, perhaps understand how even seasoned farmers can become attached emotionally to these magnificent animals. The farm raised meat is more than worth it.
I’m a farm girl born and bred. and pigs have always been part of my life. I still find it hard to connect the animal with the meat, always a complicated link, even when you know they’ve had a good life. It gives you much more pause and respect for what’s on your plate when you truly understand where it’s come from.
We shared a winter pig with our neighbours here in France and spent a day with working alongside them and the butchers to make sausages and pâté , jarred pork and traditional sarthoise Rilettes. I was processed jars of terrine and pâté into the night! We gladly gave up our trotters and ear for a bit more meat for mincing though, we aren’t quite as nose-to-tail as we should be I’m afraid.
Brilliant, Kate--such a treasure of memories. I've taken part in pig slaughters in Spain (in Extremadura, home of the nearly wild black pigs), and of course in my Italian home turf in Tuscany. What strikes me in all these places and what I learn from you is the deeply sacramental nature of this event and the seriousness with which people approach it, along with the joy brought by the prospect of fresh meat for a feast. It reminds me of Native American tribal people, thanking the beast and asking its pardon before killing it. It didn't surprise me when I learned that the Spanish word for the slaughter is sacrificar, to sacrifice. It makes sense. I'm looking forward to what more you'll write on this fascinating subject. Thank you!
Kate, this was fabulous and a sheer delight to read. I’m without a doubt a pork person as are most people in Italy, so whatever the pork recipe is, it resonates with me.
Two years ago, I did a podcast episode about a pig slaughter experience in the Langhe region of Tuscany. It’s always been one of my favorite episodes and yet I was hesitant about how it would be received in the United States. Turns out that after close to 200 podcast episodes it still remains in my top five most listened to episodes.
It's so important to continue to share these oldways. Not for the sensational amusement of others but for the gratitude to those who grow and make our food. Brava to you!
Here in Italy, pigs are such a natural and normal part of life. Yesterday we went to a country restaurant in the northern Lazio/Sabine town of Contigliano just a bit north of Rome, for our traditional Befana lunch with family.
I do love pork, and this particular restaurant grows a lot of its own produce and raises pigs. They make their own exquisite prosciutto, sausages, and every other pork product you can imagine. One of my favorite dishes this restaurant does exquisitely well is cotiche e fagioli: Melt in your mouth pork rind in a luscious tomato-based bean sauce. Definitely plan to feature the recipe in my next Substack newsletter!
Kate, your writing always evokes so many memories from my own childhood in the 1970s. My new stepdad was a custom butcher that travelled to nearby farms to butcher a pig or cow, and occasionally sheep. I was all of 10 years old for my first lesson on where our meat actually comes from. It was quite a lesson at that age, but my dad, a huge man in my eyes, a WWII and Korean war vet, was an amazingly gentle soul. As he walked me through the process from gunshot to "sides of beef or pork, I was awed and grateful for the gifts he imparted and the way he honored each animals life and sacrifice to feed their family for the coming year. As I write this now, many years after his death, I wish I would have been more involved in his life's work or at least taken notes as it has become a lost art in the Midwest now. Alas, that was not my path then. Thank you for sharing Pig Earth as well as I had never heard of it. Hopefully I can find a copy of it to add to my memories. xx
Hello Kate, I read this while drinking my morning coffee. Later this morning our neighbour and some of my wife's family, will slaughter pigs that will be spit roasted tomorrow (Saturday), and consumed at family feasts on Sunday which is Serbian Orthodox Christmas. How you tell the story of the "Winter Pig" mirrors exactly what happens here in the village where I live. Nothing goes to waste. The skills are passed down through generations. Bests from an unusually warm Northern Bosnia and Herzegovina, David
So happy to hear that we can still witness and consume these ancient culinary skills. try to get some boudin noir for a recipe coming up next week!
Thanks for another excellent post Kate! The opening quote is so true, "an and not a but" says it all. I was fortunate to participate in raising pigs with my father when I was a teenager. He was a rugged man, but would get choked up when the animals were killed (as would I). Those who haven't had the privilege to raise their own meat will not, perhaps understand how even seasoned farmers can become attached emotionally to these magnificent animals. The farm raised meat is more than worth it.
I’m a farm girl born and bred. and pigs have always been part of my life. I still find it hard to connect the animal with the meat, always a complicated link, even when you know they’ve had a good life. It gives you much more pause and respect for what’s on your plate when you truly understand where it’s come from.
We shared a winter pig with our neighbours here in France and spent a day with working alongside them and the butchers to make sausages and pâté , jarred pork and traditional sarthoise Rilettes. I was processed jars of terrine and pâté into the night! We gladly gave up our trotters and ear for a bit more meat for mincing though, we aren’t quite as nose-to-tail as we should be I’m afraid.
Brilliant, Kate--such a treasure of memories. I've taken part in pig slaughters in Spain (in Extremadura, home of the nearly wild black pigs), and of course in my Italian home turf in Tuscany. What strikes me in all these places and what I learn from you is the deeply sacramental nature of this event and the seriousness with which people approach it, along with the joy brought by the prospect of fresh meat for a feast. It reminds me of Native American tribal people, thanking the beast and asking its pardon before killing it. It didn't surprise me when I learned that the Spanish word for the slaughter is sacrificar, to sacrifice. It makes sense. I'm looking forward to what more you'll write on this fascinating subject. Thank you!
Kate, this was fabulous and a sheer delight to read. I’m without a doubt a pork person as are most people in Italy, so whatever the pork recipe is, it resonates with me.
Two years ago, I did a podcast episode about a pig slaughter experience in the Langhe region of Tuscany. It’s always been one of my favorite episodes and yet I was hesitant about how it would be received in the United States. Turns out that after close to 200 podcast episodes it still remains in my top five most listened to episodes.
It's so important to continue to share these oldways. Not for the sensational amusement of others but for the gratitude to those who grow and make our food. Brava to you!
Here in Italy, pigs are such a natural and normal part of life. Yesterday we went to a country restaurant in the northern Lazio/Sabine town of Contigliano just a bit north of Rome, for our traditional Befana lunch with family.
I do love pork, and this particular restaurant grows a lot of its own produce and raises pigs. They make their own exquisite prosciutto, sausages, and every other pork product you can imagine. One of my favorite dishes this restaurant does exquisitely well is cotiche e fagioli: Melt in your mouth pork rind in a luscious tomato-based bean sauce. Definitely plan to feature the recipe in my next Substack newsletter!
Have a wonderful Sunday, Kate!
That's such a special kitchen floor isn't it! A great read, as ever
Thank you Kate for sharing this fascinating article on pig farming, butchery and charcuterie.
Kate, your writing always evokes so many memories from my own childhood in the 1970s. My new stepdad was a custom butcher that travelled to nearby farms to butcher a pig or cow, and occasionally sheep. I was all of 10 years old for my first lesson on where our meat actually comes from. It was quite a lesson at that age, but my dad, a huge man in my eyes, a WWII and Korean war vet, was an amazingly gentle soul. As he walked me through the process from gunshot to "sides of beef or pork, I was awed and grateful for the gifts he imparted and the way he honored each animals life and sacrifice to feed their family for the coming year. As I write this now, many years after his death, I wish I would have been more involved in his life's work or at least taken notes as it has become a lost art in the Midwest now. Alas, that was not my path then. Thank you for sharing Pig Earth as well as I had never heard of it. Hopefully I can find a copy of it to add to my memories. xx