piglet castration

piglets that are not castrated will result in a lower quality finished product.  they will waste a lot of their energy on testosterone driven sexnanigans, as opposed to devoting it towards becoming delicious tasting, like their castrated brethren.  castration eliminates the dreaded “boar taint”, which is the off putting scent associated with full balled boars.  in most cases i find this “taint” to be non existent in our heritage breed, mixed diet, pasture raised hogs, but  on occasion it has been observed.   

and lastly, castration stops them from raping their sisters.  so, all around, i’d say it’s a good call.

this morning i castrated my first piglet ever.

this morning i castrated my first piglet ever.  grab the testicles, slice the skin with a scalpel, slice the testicle’s membrane, pop out the testicle, and slice off the connecting tissue.  which brings me to my next topic, of spending the afternoon with twenty high school students.  what a silky transition.

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pig circus

balsamic

back at home now—the daily pasta, the gelato breaks, and wine are slowly digesting into my subconscious.  as my thoughts ground back into the reality of a grey, rainy, georgia with work to be done, i enoyed myself a couple days of those jet-lagged, couch-sitting, vacation blues to refocus my energy, and let my body catch up.  asleep at seven, asleep at eight—up at four, four thirty.   a year ago, when surfing the vacation blues in brooklyn, i would find myself depressed, agonizing every decision in a search for something better from my head.  in retrospect, these sessions of rejection from my brain re-entering my (at that time) daily life are some of the real memorable, watershed moments that led me to farming. nowadays, the vacation blues wear a much different hue.  inspired by italy, and terra madre, new reflections, questions, rejections—after sharing ideas and suggestions—whole new swirls of concepts, colors, and ideas are being brushed into little, oily circles on my brain palette. 

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carrello d’carne

look.  i’m from jersey, and i know diners.

as i’ve traveled most of the good ol’ usa in my time, and a healthy amount of foreign soils, i have always been convinced that jersey was the one and only true home of the diner.  in fact, the jersey diner, should be referred to as such—the jersey diner—so as to differentiate it from all the other greasy spoons, box cars, and drive-ins guy fieri might shovel down his gullet. 

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I couldn't give a stronger recommendation...

i couldn’t give a stronger recommendation than to visit agriturismo locanda del gallo.  i wish i had some sort of ihoc rating system i could utilize to describe its greatness.  ebert would excavate siskel to find enough thumbs to express his like.  a truly unforgettable mecca of nature and peace.  this is a shot on our (overcast) approach to the gallo.  the house and jah’s green hills.  nothing else. 

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