...watching for Pigs on the Wing

18 Gennaio 2009

I love pigs. I’ve said it before, but throughout these last 2 months of self realization and exploration of the Italian perspective of proper foods, my genuine infatuation with pork products has been resoundingly engrossed. To try to word this with any form of congruent verbiage would result in me being ever so dissatisfied with the language I could choose. I don’t think that the behavior is unhealthy, but addicts don’t usually identify themselves as such until at least Step 5, so I may be in denial. Regardless of that fact, I was fortunate enough to visit and tour a pig-plant in a small town outside of Umbria. Scianca provides us with all of our pork, and they know how to treat tasty mammals. Their building was immaculate, and was without the regularly overpowering odor that meat markets or butcher shops are infamous for. Instead, I found this nirvana, white walls and floors, glistening (probably with pork fat) and room after room, hanging carcasses tantalizing my predetermined weakness for that tender, tasty, trotter-bearing beast. These pigs are seen cut in half, and then broken down into each individual piece, separated, so that each could receive the love and affection from their brethren before being packaged and adorning the plate of a very privileged diner somewhere in central Italy. All raw parts are available, but the fun doesn’t end there. Sausage, cured meats, lardo, copa di testa (head cheese), all sprawled out in their retail display case, but mostly kept at a separate location for the aging process. It’s my hope, and full intention, to spend a few days living the life of the Scianca meat-cutters, packers and processers, so that when I return home, I’ll have the skills and knowledge to introduce these salivary stimuli to the American public. Guanciale (gwohn-ch-yahl-eh), as prepared by Sciana, has taken the place of BACON in my favorite food column. I never thought that would happen, in fact, when I discovered this sensuous, piccolo-prosciutto-looking thing, it took only one taste to sway my loyalties.

The pig still wins, but I won’t be bringing home the bacon, it’ll be Guanciale, and you will be glad I did.

Go Slow, Stay Local.
Va Piano, Rimane Locale.