So Many Pigs, So Little Time

The tail-end of the book-writing process has hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m deep into my manifesto on pork, half-submerged into my bit on charcuterie, and just beginning my entire foray into poultry. All at once. Meanwhile, this girl has 1.5 pigs to break down and fully cure, quick as she can. For those I know in the commercial world, this may seem laughable, but for a broad with a kitchen the size of a closet, another job, single-mothering two raucous boys, and a man-friend who might possibly lose it if I don’t stop talking about meat, trust me: It’s a lot of pork. Tomorrow? Playdates for the boys with our little badass neighbor girl, while mom produces porchetta, lomo, tasso, three sausages, bacon, ribs of all varieties for recipe test, and a fully rubbed and ready-to-smoke picnic. Oh, and a few cocktails if the weather is nice. Fried pig tail for lunch, pork banh mis for dinner or a midnight snack. Let me be perfectly clear: I love my life.

Here’fridges my fridge today. A welcome sight. I’ve been challenging myself recently to listen, and remain silent, throughout a handsome load of BS pyschology from some past demons. Today, I decided that’s enough of that. I’m only feeding hope, here. And if that comes in the shape of a burgeoning to-do list, written in grease pencil on the skin of a berkshire belly, so be it.

And as I come around to the to the end of this book project, I just have to say one thing: I hope you’ll read the whole thing. I hope you’ll eat the whole animal, and read the whole book. Both are worthy, and flavorful, and full of passion and purpose.

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