For any chef, food expert, or food writer this step is key to becoming a true representative and expert of your craft. The squeals of the Iberian hog particularly reminded me not to waist anything when it comes to animal sacrifice. The beady eyes of the “guarro” made sure I didn’t take any piece of precious acorn scented fat for granted.
Morning came and we left from our evening stay in the Rocamador hotel. An elegant converted monastery with character and culture flowing through the halls which chanted old monk hymns. Warmed by private antique fireplaces in each room we prepared ourselves on what was a rainy morning. We knew we were in for a treat when 4x4 trucks and SUVs showed to take us to our destination. Anxious to get to the site of the Matanza, Elliot from China and Bobby from the U.S. along with myself were the first to set sail to the “campo”(country farm).
The ride itself was muddy, muddy, muddy and the roads respectfully were narrow and bumpy. This for me completely built up the anticipation and quickly erased any hangover left from the countless Spanish wines the night before. Once we arrived to what I would describe as a posh staging area for Matanza’s, the sun popped out with a permanent presence.
Walking into this staging area we immediately understood what we were getting into. Hanging in the rafters were countless cured sausages, chorizos and loins. Opposite of the entrance, a warm wood fire was burning with plenty of stools surrounding it. There was a pot of migas (a hunters dish varying depending on region and the cook, migas literally translate to crumbs and the dish always showcases old bread) also on the fire which dispersed toasty notes throughout the room. Each of the farmers present in the room took their turn turning the migas which require constant attention.
Then everything happened really, really fast. Before the hosts could get the word volunteers out of their mouths: Elliot, Bobby and Myself were in the truck to go catch us a piggy. We drove about five minutes to a pigpen set up for swine to be slaughtered. These hogs are starved for 24 hours to clean the GI tract making for a much more safe and clean Matanza. Outside of the pen, the “wild hogs” can be seen grazing free in the countryside. We later found out that these hogs require 1 and ½ to 2 hectares of grazing territory each or about two football fields (3 to 4 acres) to be considered true Iberian hogs and fall into the D.O. guidelines. Yes these were the mythical pigs that US citizens and especially chefs only read about: true Iberian Cerdo de Bellota (acorn fed and Iberian bred hogs).
After about a 15 minute wrestling match between us and the hog we shoved the beast onto a rigged trailer. Jose, one of the farmers, said they typically slaughter the hogs in the same pen area, but since everyone wanted to see the matanza, we were to bring him down to the staging area. It took 4 failed attempts to get the darned pig onto the trailer. Squeeling loudly, Jose stuck his finger up the pigs rear to get him moving, but a little rectal irritation wasn’t going to get him all the way to the trailer. Then the pig was grabbed by the ears and lassoed by the mouth. All of us then shoved, shoved and shoved until the beast was in his place and his excrements were on my hands.
Jose and his buddy went immediately for their packs of Lucky Strikes and lit up. Short of breath, Jose who initially told Bobby that he could drive the knife into the hog, retracted his statement and said “sorry but after that wrestling match I wanna “matar el puto guarro yo mismo!!!” or kill the damned pig myself!!!
We drove back to the site and hauled the hog off the trailer. It was almost as if the swine new it was his time to die. Directly in front of the trailer was a raised iron platform with bars running parallel. A volunteer was requested and I immediately entered to raise the pig up for the slaughter. We held him tightly in place and the knife was then passed to Bobby. The best irony of Bobby wielding the knife of death is that Bobby is a frickin’ vegetarian…..or was.
So you can’t expect a vegetarian to make a clean kill on his first go. No, I’m not saying it wasn’t a good jab of the knife, because it was, but, it surely didn’t make a quick kill. The knife was pushed in and the pig suffered for about four minutes, ok more like six.
Bobby was then christened with the pig’s blood by Jose, a right of passage into manhood. “good job Bobby!”
Blood pouring from the pigs neck was stirred by one of the ladies assisting so to prohibit the coagulation of the blood and to make for a decent “morcilla” or blood sausage and our farmers then began to burn the hide of the beast to eliminate all hair and dirt remaining.
The slicing and dicing followed as we were explained the different cuts and order of them in a matanza. Huge amounts of fat were yielded from the Iberian pig, which we were told was yet another unique quality of the pig. From these different cuts, we continued on to make sausages, chorizos and loins which were to be cured.
I could literally write an entire book of the details of each step of this experience. Each moment was vivid with tension and excitement. The only way one could calm down was the enormous feast that followed.
Fresh chorizo served with farmer’s bread started us off. We were also shown a fridge full of beer, a necessary element to any matanza. Following was several different spiced sausage mixtures that we simply grasped with some bread and our hands. By the fire, the ladies had working a mix called caldillo. This caldillo is comprised of mainly pig liver, but also can include the kidney, manteca or lard, cumin, cinnamon, garlic, paprika, salt and pepper. I have to say, I’m a huge fan of this stuff and if it weren’t so high in calories I could have made a sandwich with the “Man-Wich” like mix.
Stuffed and unable to go any further, we continued to enjoy the fire and sip on wine.
Our hosts told stories of their past acting careers and perversions that came with. As a group of chefs we also jokingly reflected on the day and the experience. One I will never forget.
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