I wanted a pig.
My friend Paul sold pigs. He owned Violet Hill Farm and had a Saturday stand at the Greenmarket on Union Square. But Paul had only sucklings. I’d returned from Italy and didn’t want a suckling. I wanted a proper pig, a big one. Could Paul get me a big pig?...
For me, meat wasn’t a cause. I just believe people should know what they’re eating. At the Greenmarket, you overheard discussions about fertilizers and soils and how much freedom a chicken needs before its eggs are free-range. Wouldn’t it follow that you’d want to know your meat? I had brought home a freshly killed animal—better raised than anything I’d find at a store—and, in preparing it, I was hoping to rediscover old-fashioned ways of making food. This, I felt, could only be positive. But I was sure getting a lot of shit for it...
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