Eighty-six percent of the world's population eats pork. I excluded Muslims and Jews, which comprise about 1 billion of the 7 billion people in the world. America is more beef-centric, but we still consume our fair share, but pig is the preference of Spain.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about my experiences at the home of Pedro and Victoria, local owners of a restaurant landmark in La Alberca. During that meal, the jubilates, or retirees, challenged the jovenes, or young people to a wager. I was involved in the wager, as both sides wanted a strong American ally. My daddy always told me, "Son, old age and treachery will beat youth and inexperience every time." That usually came right after he finished a wrestling match against me by using the reach-around maneuver, which left me incapacitated, clutching my nether regions and rolling on the floor. Experiencing a twinge of nostalgic pain in my cajones, I quickly sided with the jubilates. I could see the sparkle in a few of the old men's eyes, which told me they knew about the reach-around.
Since their Spanish was so heavily accented, and my Spanish was so poor, I really had no idea what the bet was about. All I knew was that I was in for €20 and that we were going to kill and process a pig. At that price, I knew it couldn't hurt too bad, and I am fascinated with anatomy, so what the heck?
The appointed date was March 8, so I duly noted it in my calendar, as it was about a month into the future. Yesterday finally came, and at 7:30AM I went with Pedro and my new friends, whose names I do not know, out to a country home of somebody else, whom I do not know. It was a gentlemen's farm, about 2 acres, with a little one room cabin, named La Casica, which means little house, with a Murcian twist on the spelling. Pedro showed me around the gardens. It had rows of many of the fruits and vegetables that Murcianos love. Much of what we ate that day passed straight from the garden to the table:
- Lechuga, lettuce
- Aho, garlic
- Alcachofas, artichokes
- Apio, celery
- Naranjas, orange trees
- Judías, which literally means "Jews", but is a kind of bean. Nobody knows why.
As we waited for the honored guest, the pig, to arrive, we gathered at the outdoor bar, which was furnished with a full cappuccino machine. We set up several tables for processing and made a fire in the outdoor cooking area. I was the youngest guy there, at 43 years old. There were a few other men about my age. The rest of the group was a bunch of seasoned veterans. The obvious leader of the merry band, obvious because he plopped down a set of knives that would make Jason Vorhees shriek with delight, was a grizzled old fella of 80 years. He had massive forearms, his shoulders resembled lumps of granite and he was missing his left thumb, probably because he bit it off when he was a baby. In a bar fight or zombie apocalypse, I'm on his side. He knows pig.
The pig arrived at 9AM. It was already dead and cut in half lengthwise. I was a little disappointed about that, because I really wanted to kill the pig. For any sentimentalists out there, I'm sorry, but pigs, chickens, goats, deer and cows are food. I do not want to abuse any animal, but killing any of those foods is totally appropriate. If you don't agree, we can talk about it over a big T-bone steak at the restaurant of your choice.
We unloaded the "food" from the truck and plopped it on the table, which was a big, sturdy, old kitchen/dining room table that would seat 8 people or one pig. Edward Scissorhands and his son commenced to butchering up both halves. They moved with the technical precision of coroners performing an autopsy.
Age: Approximately 2 years
Time of Death: 24-48 hours
Cause of Death: Severe laceration to the throat
Possible Motive: Hunger
While the doctors of death hacked away, everybody else milled about or lingered near the fire. I was rapt, transfixed on the process. There is nothing I enjoy more than seeing professionals at work. That's why I was born for management. They sectioned off the pig into different categories:
- Meat
- Meat with fat
- Fat with meat
- Fat
- Bone
Once we had some material to use, we started grinding up some of the fatty meat for use in different things. This is the part where my mama always says, "Don't tell me what's in the sausage."
One of the specialties in Murcia is murcilla, which is basically
- Boiled onions, about 5 big bags full
- Fat, about 2 pounds
- Pig's blood, about 1 liter
- Spices
They pack it in a casing and boil it for about 30 minutes. It's actually very good. Even Susan likes it, as long as she doesn't think about it too long. The trick is to get the spice mixture just right, which is difficult to determine, without tasting a sample. You add the spices before you stuff the mixture into the casings, which means you have to sample it raw. Yes, that's right. R-A-W. Hackmaster's son invited me to try some and comment on what they needed to add. At first I thought he was joking, but then he took up a big pinch first, so I was obliged to join in. I told them I thought it still tasted too much like onion and needed some more salt, much to their approval. I also sampled the salchicha, or link sausage, and sobresala, raw. It was like a scene straight out of Lord of the Flies. This was my initiation. "Kill the pig. Cut his throat. Drink his blood!"
I am now a member of the Old Boy's Club. I am also thankful that I am able to write this blog today, without any ill effects from consuming raw pork.
I also finally know what the bet was. The Octogenarians wagered they could cook for everybody cheaper than the Twenty-somethings could provide beer and wine. That was a most foolish gamble on the part of the little ones. They literally drank themselves out of the bet, and everybody else helped them as well. The cost of food prep for about 50 people was €150, with enough pork left over for several days. The beer evaporated in the hot Spanish sun. Score one for old age and treachery. The ancianos did a reach-around and found the youngsters' wallets.
