Yesterday’s New York Times had a good long story about the in-house butchering at a group of Brooklyn restaurants.

I got to see the group’s butcher, Tom Mylan, hack up half a pig at The Brooklyn Kitchen a couple of weeks ago. It was illuminating, and I came home with many pounds of meat.

I knew things were off to a good start when Tom introduced himself and said, “I just came from work, so I’m about half-drunk.”

Aw, I miss the energy of a pro kitchen.

Tom had forgotten to bring his bone saw, so he said he’d have get all “Old Testament” on the beast.

Much, much hacking and slicing later–I don’t envy anyone having to hack bones with a cleaver (while half-drunk) in front of a crowd–the pig was laid out in all its glory.

It looked deceptively easy, and while he was doing it, I felt all the knowledge crystallizing in my brain in a very satisfying way. Today, however, I cannot remember a single thing. Except! I never realized how much a kidney really looks like a kidney bean. And also, we ate the kidney at the end, and it was delicious–the first time I’ve eaten it and it didn’t taste like pee!

We drew numbered ziplock bags, then took our pick of meats in order–like the NFL draft, but for pig parts. I drew 10–out of 10–but fortunately no one took the jowls before I got there. I also got a big shoulder roast, and some smaller shoulder part I cannot recall the name of. Also, some ribs, some leaf lard, and a big piece of skin–Tom suggested wrapping a rabbit up in the skin and roasting it. Delightful!

Back at home, I got down to business with most of the meat. I rendered the lard per tossed-off instructions in the class (stick in the oven at 350), but might’ve done better following The Homesick Texan’s instructions, as I think my lard got a little toasty. Still–lard–what’s not to like?

I’d picked the jowl because I really wanted to make my own guanciale. Again, tossed-off instructions in class: cover jowl in fennel, cloves and pepper, then pack in salt with garlic and fresh thyme; leave in fridge for 4 or 5 days, then brush off and keep in fridge in waxed paper. (It’s not yet cool enough out for me to hang stuff in the pantry, alas.) I used allspice instead of clove, and since that seemed Syrian to me, I also sprinkled on the last of our Aleppo pepper.

Texture shot:

An aside about the bowl I’m using: My friend Amy brought it over, saying, “My mom was throwing this away–it seems like something you might use. It’s for berries?” It’s a bowl with holes in the bottom, and comes with a matching small plate. I resist super-specialized kitchen devices, and this one seemed dangerously twee.

But it’s become the Surprise Kitchen Hit of 2008. Among many other uses, it turned out to be just the thing to hold a salt-packed piece of pork that was going to ooze away a third of its weight in liquid.

It also left behind a UFO-landing-pad pattern when I moved it to its proper plate:

I swaddled the guy up in salt.

After I got that done, I rested a couple of days. My pork shoulder sat in the fridge, waiting, hoping. On Friday, I pulled the guy out to roast him. He needed a little cosmetic adjustment first.

I won’t show the picture of the skin after I cut off the hairy part, because somehow it’s even nastier looking.

I poked holes in the roast with a knife and shoved in whole garlic cloves. Then I browned him up nice in my enameled casserole, and tossed in a few canned tomatoes and a whole lot of wine. I added some rosemary I’d snipped off my neighbor’s front hedge, and threw in some languishing green onions and a couple of olives, in vain hope of cutting the fat.

I packed the guy into a 300 oven for maybe four hours. Near the end, I tossed in half a pound of sauteed mushrooms. Then stowed him in the fridge overnight. The chilling was good because I was able to scrape off all this fat from the top–not to throw away in horror, but to save for frying eggs and potatoes in at some later date. It’s bright orange, and smells of rosemary (and pig).

We ate the roast the next night. Through poor planning, it was just me and Peter and a whole lotta pig.

Plain old potatoes (from the CSA) boiled in a ton of salt (so much they float, like people in the Dead Sea) were all we needed to soak up the winey-mushroomy goodness. And I guess we ate a green veg, but whatever.

Then I forgot all about my pork for a while. Many more than 4 to 5 days after I’d stuck the jowl in the salt, I remembered to pull it out.

It looks good. There was a wee bit of mold where one of the garlic cloves had squashed against the meat. I just cut that off and hoped for the best.

I’m so porked-out now, though, that I can’t quite face cooking with the guanch yet. (I didn’t even get into the smaller piece of shoulder, which I brined per Fergus Henderson, and then slow-roasted in the oven with a garlic-mustard-brown-sugar crust. I did it up with “dour” lentils, again per Fergus.) But I’ll let you know how it goes–unless, of course, the mold kills me. In which case, Peter should report.

I was feeling a little grumpy at the class because there was a crew of three people from the same household (and one of them was just passing through town), and they took all the pork chops and belly. But getting some of the odder pieces made me do a lot more interesting stuff–so I guess it was all a positive learning experience. And I haven’t even gotten to the bunny in a pig jacket–looking forward…

Thanks, Tom, and the folks at the Brooklyn Kitchen!