Pigs have toenails.

I have always thought it important to constantly question my actions. Not in a wishy-washy flaky way, but in a "being true to myself and my beliefs" way. I love eating meat. I love the taste, the smell, the way it looks, everything, but I have always had a hard time with dead animals. I don't want to kill cute little rabbits, ducks and cows. I think of these animals with the same cuddly affection as I do my cat. How could I be so hypocritical? When I started this blog and became serious about the food I eat, I decided that I had to learn what it was like to kill my food. I needed the up close, realistic and bloody view of death. I had to learn that even though I (responsibly) buy my meat from the farmer at the market...it didn't start out wrapped in butcher paper. It all seems so obvious when I think about it, but I really had no idea how I would feel with the animal's actual demise occurring in front of me. Would I cry? Throw up? Hyperventilate and pass out? I didn't know. I needed to know.

I attended a "Sacrificio" put together by the chef and students at Culinary Communion on a farm in Port Orchard, WA. Here I would watch the death of the pig, the cleaning of her carcass, the break down of the meat and learn some curing techniques. The pig's name was Helen. I said hi to her. She tried to stick her nose out of the trailer for me to touch. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Even though it was 10 in the morning, there was no way I was going to get through this without a little liquid courage. My friend Naomi and I opened a bottle of the provided wine and began swigging it as fast as possible. A celebration for the life and death of Helen was in order.

The chef shot Helen in the head with a .22 rifle. She fell to the ground and was instantly dead. I didn't cry, I didn't throw up, but I'll admit that I closed my eyes at the exact moment that the shot rang out. That is when she became meat in my mind. The transition was amazingly easy for me. When they hoisted up the carcass and slit the throat to drain her blood, all kinship with this animal was replaced with a different kind of reverence. The need to treat this meat with the utmost respect and care was first on my mind, but she had become nothing more than skin, bones and muscle.

After a lot of boiling, blow torching and scraping, all of the hair and the first layer of skin was removed and I was covered in singed hair and blood. The butcher pulled off her toenails with a crowbar. They popped off on to the ground. I didn't know that pigs had toenails. (I took them home for the dog. He loves them.) When the pig was clean, they hoisted her up by both feet and cut her open. They managed to pull her entire digestive tract out of the body in one peice to avoid any contamination. It was completely amazing. I have learned so much from seeing the insides of living things. It all fits like a puzzle and all mammals really aren't that different from each other.

Then I had the opportunity to help cut the carcass up into primal cuts. Basically ribs, legs, butt, loin and tenderloin. I learned so much about meat. The meat was beautiful, fatty and warm. It smelled like blood and looked like cows meat. Anyone who has seen this can swear that pork is definitely not "the other white meat". I can't really say that I learned from the people there, but I definitely learned from this hands on experience. I am happy that I went. I am happy that I try to be part of a community of people who respect what goes into the food on their plate. I tend to be apathetic in my beliefs and "sit on the fence" from time to time, but not when it comes to respecting the animals that I consume for foods. They must eat the best food available and they must have the happiest most comfortable lives possibe. I will strive to always be involved with the animals I eat on more levels than the sauce I serve them in.