 I love salami.. but sometimes I wonder what’s in it and how its made. When I got an invitation to to go to Tarsillo’s house in the Veneto Region of Italy and make salumi- I jumped at the chance. Salumi is the generic word for all those things that you make from a pig and stuff in a casing.
“Eww! It’s still warm!”
When we got there the pig was already quartered and sans head, laying on the big wooden cutting board while Gigio (Luigi) was working quickly at cutting up the pink beast. I touched the skin and it really was warm to the touch.
My morbid curiosity got the best of me and I asked when our friend met his maker. “This morning, Gigio replied. “ It’s important to cut it up very quickly. The meat is very perishable”.
In just over an hour this little piggy—actually quite a big pig- all 200 kilos of it… had turned into so many pieces of meat, ready for the grinder.
Out spews the meat and out squirts the fat, making rude little spurting sounds. The ground meat had quickly become a mountain on the cutting table- a homemade wood contraption with raised sides. Four of us, eight hands, all pushed to amalgamate the mixture. Some salt, pepper and a liberal sprinkling of Nardini grappa — Mario takes a bit in hand and tastes it, and I do too- its taste is similar to steak tartare… but then it dawns on me—this is PORK! What about all those things we know about the dangers of raw pork? The fact that I am still here writing this has assuaged my doubts considerably.
Next, the casings; they are extremely long and they are carefully turned inside out, because, even though they are perfectly cleaned, the internal part of the intestine is considered the “dirty” part and must face outside. The casings are slid down to the base of the steel nozzle just like a … ( oh, never mind…)
All in all it took just over five hours, with four men (and me, slowing them down). The salumi is then transferred to the cellar for ageing from two months to up to a year.
Tradition has it that everyone involved in salumi making is invited to dinner. The same tradition dictates that pork is never eaten, not out of respect for the pig as I had thought but in deference to the salumi expert- the person invited to lead the job, since these men ate pork nearly every day of their lives.
Afra, Tarsillo’s wife scurries up and down from the kitchen to the taverna- the large room in the basement for informal meals like this- and brings down a feast—tortellini in broth, boiled tongue, boiled chicken, assorted greens, vegetables, salad from their garden, cheese and pickled vegetables.
I go away from this experience surprised at my reaction. Instead of turning me off pork forever, it made me respect the pig a lot more. A truly efficient creature that eliminated our problems of waste in years gone by, we showed the same respect for him by not wasting a single part.
A terribly hard job was made fun by working together in a spirit of teamwork, as it has always been done …. Looking to the next generation in line, I ask Tarsillos son Paolo, who is learning his English idoims: “When will you stop making salami?” “When pigs fly”, he winks.
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