On an archived episode of Mythbusters I recently watched, the team tackled fables, parables and expressions, taking them word for word and putting them to the test. Judging a myth confirmed, plausible or busted became a merry chase, and there was nothing that these geniuses spared in executing their tasks. Being somewhat of a fan, I recognized the pattern of research and realized that I inadvertently did a little mythbusting of my own recently.
If anyone in my former career was ever stuck in an OR with a certain elderly Portland general surgeon, they learned the expression, “Looks like a hog killin’ in here”. I once had the lovely misfortune to spend 14 hours with this asshole, attempting to replumb a cold leg and in the course of that day heard the F-word no less than 25 times. Not one time did it come out of my own mouth. Yeah, astonishing, isn’t it? Suffice to say, the scene was not pretty and it all came flooding back to me when I got another ride on the Butcher Shop kill truck last week.
Some of you recall my adventure last summer at a Bison slaughter with the boys. Serving as a photojournalist, I stayed out of the way and studied as I clicked the shutter. This summer, as I leave the Rogue Valley and Oregon for good, I thought it was time to round out my experiences and actually get in on the action. The boys set me up and I actually showed at the farm to work the truck.
Now, when one stands amidst a clearing filled with dispatched animals, a certain goriness is anticipated. People imagine a Freddy Kruger scene, complete with redecorated vertical surfaces all around. Call up Tobe Hooper (of the famed Texas Chainsaw Massacre film) and I am fairly sure the scene styling in his legendary flick is what he would associate with the equally famous expression.
Not so, my friends.
When a pig, is dispatched, it is quickly done with a .22 round and then a thorough, neat draining via carotid artery and jugular veins as they rest on the ground. No big splashes, no gratuitous throwing of body fluids through the air a la’ Carrie. Its neat, tidy and quiet. I am happy to report that a hog killing is a hell of a lot cleaner and more organized than that day in the Prov St. V. OR with a foul-mouthed Yankee doctor. So, her you have it, Myth BUSTED.
“You ready to get your hands dirty?”
Brian, Troy and Jim were already halfway through the day’s work when I was invited to join in. Brian wanted to be able to get me one-on-one time, when he could give me all his attention. Throwing around razor sharp boning knives and power tools is hard enough without a free swinging animal carcass to deal with. Not holding a knife like anything I was accustomed to at a board, I had to really be comfortable, aware and skilled.
I keep harkening back to my days in the OR for a reason. Many times since school, I have drawn upon things I learned over my time in surgery, no skills were ever so important as respecting the knife, knowing anatomy and having good hands to dissect with. Knowing that the pelvis has a center suture line that will give in just the right spot if you apply the right downward pressure with a blade helped a great deal to make that first step in dividing the carcass. Knowing that the “exit ramp” is a round tube that needs to be freed all the way around at the distal end was just as important for beginning the gutting process. Working out at the gym was equally important, belive me.
Using anatomical knowledge, a little leverage, counter-traction and a confident grip, I made my way through three or four pigs. Faster each time, with a little intermittent coaching from the guys in trouble spots I was having, I actually found the work very rewarding and not frightening at all. I was glad to have my hands back inside a warm body, although not for healing purposes.
“Was an experience like this something that you found to be “just another day at the office” or was it more meaningful?”
A foodie pal sent me this question after I sent him images from the day’s work. As a city dweller, he was curious as to the lessons learned from this exercise. I confess that I tie this kind of thing into my disdain for prepackaged foods, the vanishing tradition of culinary heritage being passed down to the next generation and the lack of respect for the food/body connection. As all of you know, I have memories of a gardening grandfather and the reverence for every food’s origin driving me to seek out more experiences at the starting line of the dining experience. Getting on that kill truck was one step closer to the gate. Had I not been tied up with Brian and gutting an already downed pig, I’d have had the experience of dispatching one personally which is the next logical step in my mind.
Some of my schoolmates have the great luck to have a whole pig show up on the board at work and they get the valuable chore of breaking it all down into service cuts and then utilizing all the spare parts as best they can. It teaches a lesson or two to the participants how to cut an even steak (something I suck at), how to turn meat scraps into charcuterie and other magical works of conservation, and the most traditional and vital skill of all- how to make a perfect stock. None of that means a damn if the meat is mishandled once that gun goes off. I am fortunate to have been on the beginning end of that bite of food.
For the photo album of my time up to my elbows, please click HERE… and if you’re squeamish, go hide.
Its Been Swell
This weekend I am off to help my school buddy Mike cater his brother’s wedding out in Shady Cove. To be totally honest, I am completely flattered and honored to be working with Mike once again- to have been asked about this over a year ago and to actually be working the occasion (with someone who I respect greatly) is a big deal. When someone asks you for help because of your brains it is a far better compliment than when you are asked just because you can fog a mirror.
This event is also a great exit for me, as Brian and I head out in a little over two weeks. Wrapping up time in the Rogue Valley with a native son, partyin’ in the kitchen and remembering that awesome time at school will make for a nice sendoff. School brought me here and school will take me to the next adventure.
My time here in the valley was short but sweet. We head out partly to be nearer to family and partly because I think I got enough of a taste of what this place has to offer. I have some incredible experiences, stories and photos to look back upon in the future. I will never forget my first PBR shotgunning with the boys after a hot weekend in the catering trailer, watching pearly milk turn into cheese, dancing to Gogol Bordello with the loveliest of people at the chocolate shop, plunging my hands into a warm pig for the first time…Its all good. Very, very good. Now its time to go.
Without further ado, please excuse me. I have to get cookin’, packin’ drivin’ and unpackin’. Catch up with you all in Santa Fe soon!
