Lechon Matado

So, I have been roasting whole pigs for more than 10 years now, and I have never really seen one of my pigs alive until today.

Gary Grizzle has been butchering pigs for me since I got to East Tennessee, and he is one of the nicest guys I have met out here. He lives in the country with his son’s family to the left and his neighbor’s 100+ calves in a barn to the right, all overlooking his multiple acre vegetable garden.

This morning I met Gary and drove over to Bill the pig farmer's farm. A couple of hundred pigs, all of them cute, smelly, eating, shitting machines. Bill was in the middle, wearing what I would consider fly fishing waders, smiling and knee deep in pig. There were all sizes, from beautiful little foot long babies to their 500 lbs (those bite) mommas; we picked the largest of the less than 15 week lot, about 85 pounds live weight, and put it into Gary's son's trailer for the drive back to Gary's place. Apparently it only takes a pig about 6 months to reach 250+ pounds!

One shot in the head (while still in the trailer), and our bouncing brain pierced pig was on the floor, soon to be bled with a swift cut at the main neck artery. As it bled, Gary's two beautiful weenie dogs (as his grandaughter put it) lapped up the blood (I had earlier remarked that they had stunning coats), and we chatted as we waited for the blood to subside and the heated water trough to reach 160 degrees.

A homemade metal bath with (what had to have been) large propane burners underneath, Gary had started the heat at 7 this morning. It was now about 9:15, and the water (not changed since the last pig) finally read 160 on the industrial thermometer.

We used a chain link fence to support the pig as Gordon (Gary’s son) rocked the pig up and down, carefully scalding the outer layer of skin, until, in-between rocks, Gary was able to easily rip off pieces of hide.

The chain link fence was great because not only was it strong, porous, and flexible enough to be rocked, it also made the roll onto the wooden dock next to the bath that much simpler.

All three of them went at it, Gary, Gordon, and Gordon’s son, three generations of Grizzles making this pig cleaning look easy and putting up with a strange looking Cuban that was really interested in the details.

They used folding buck-style knives that they had each sharpened earlier, and I realized that the grips and short blades were perfect for shaving the pig. I was in there grabbing at hide as well, but that was the fun part, as the shaving of the left over hair took the skill of a barber with a straight blade.

After making slits in the rear legs and revealing the double (as Gordon noted, unlike a deer) ligaments, we hung the pig up from a crane, and I realized how beautiful it was.

After cutting completely around the anus to free it, Gary made a light central cut, barely breaking the skin, from ass to ribs. I looked at it more than once, and realized that it was indeed perfectly straight and perfectly in the middle.

A bit deeper, and a grain filled small intestine began to pop out, slowly followed by its length, and Gary worked the viscera out at a steady pace. Before the liver, he asked do want the liver? Cutting it away and handing it to Gordon, he continued down the pig. Do you want the heart? Again cut away, then split, and the congealed (thick thick dark dark) blood pushed out. Before I knew it, there was a hose, Gordon’s son had picked up the guts (almost as big as him), successfully strained to put them in the trash bin nearby, and I had a zip lock of clean viscera and was on my way to wash up for a day at office.

I think I learned more this morning than I have all week, and viscera (as my olive oil sautéed lunch time heart spoke to) are exquisite fresh.

Thanks to Gary, Gordon, and Mackle for their patience and generosity.

You may ask: why no photos?
- I walk a fine line between being an interested outsider, and being an abrupt alien. Gary’s grandkids would have thought I was the strangest fellow in the world if I had been taking photos of shit covered pigs.