I remember those icy winter days when we used to wake up
early in the morning to go to my grandfathers’. There was not a single trace of
stars on the sky as we set off. The fog was so thick that we hardly could make
out each others’ shape even though we were pretty close to one another. The streets were empty except some cars here
and there half buried in the snow. It was a real adventure making our ways on
sledges by them. I would pick up snow, make it into balls and start a war
against my brother and cousins. When we arrived at last, dripping wet, my
grandfather was already waiting fully equipped; he was wearing his leather
apron and was sharpening his set of knives and axes. We would sit in the house
and jostle for a better position in front of the only window that was looking
onto the yard to see grandpa slay the hog. It took three or four men to hold it
down as it was weighing about 600 pounds. Even with chains they hardly could control
it. Then grandpa stuck a knife in its neck and kept it there until somebody
quickly came with a bucket and held it in such a manner that the blood would stream
into it. It was a difficult task because the hog kicked and screamed, but they
still managed to drain almost all of its blood into the bucket. It was a
marvelous view to see that little that was spilled steaming as it came in
contact with the snow. Only when the hog stopped moving were we allowed to go
outside and taste the fresh blood. Then it was given to the women who were
already boiling the rice and were chopping green parsley, dill and other green
stuff that would be used to make some fine sausages. Outside the hog was washed
with snow and then scorched. I was allowed to hold the torch for a little
while. Then it was put on the huge table and grandpa would chop it in pieces,
starting with the ears as we hardly could wait to nibble on the tip of them. By
the time the sun was high in the sky people were swarming through the yard
taking little by little half of the hog with them. The other half of the meat
was portioned and put in the freezer. From that point everybody moved inside.
The internal organs (heart, liver, kidney, lungs, tongue, spleen) were minced,
seasoned, mixed with some rice and pushed into the guts. And so was the boiled
blood. The fat was melt and the lard was separated from the scraps; the head,
tail, legs and what was left from the ears were boiled and made into aspic.
Too bad my kids won’t experience things like this thanks to
our beloved Europe. Now you cannot keep a damn chicken in your own yard in the
city as it is considered a source of noise pollution and olfactory discomfort.
I keep wondering why they haven’t prohibited the use of cars on the same criteria…