Thoughts on the thoughtful consumption of meat: a summer weekend in Essex

I hardly eat meat anymore. It's not really a conscious decision, I just love cooking vegetables. Plus, being a poor grad student, I find a vegetable and grain diet to be both cheaper and healthier. [I'm sure the exploration of the state of the American meat industry in my Anthropology of Food degree program also subconsciously impacted how much I love vegetables.] But a recent trip to Essex to visit our dear friend David Hillyer was a welcome reminder that eating meat can be a culinary delight--both fun to prepare and ridiculously delicious--all while supporting the local community and respecting the environment.

David doesn't do things half way and certainly not in the kitchen. On Saturday he proudly revealed the beautiful rolled pork we would be having on Sunday. It came from a local farmer, purchased from the local butcher who had skillfully rolled and tied it. I don't usually think of raw meat as something aesthetically pleasing but when David pulled back the tea towel, I 'ooo'-ed at the glistening pinkness of the foot long roll of meat with its inch-thick layer of fat. It was beautiful. The next day David unrolled it, cleaned and dried it, and then blistered the fat by pouring boiling hot water on it, reboiling the water throughout to really make it blister. He then lovingly stuffed it with a mixture of dried apricots, breadcrumbs, egg, parsley and spices. It then went into the oven for two and a half hours. Meanwhile, we walked through the farmland surrounding Tollesbury, walked along the sea wall and along the salt marshes to Trinity, the light vessel (see photo above: us walking through a field at the end of David's road). It couldn't have been a warmer, sunnier day. The country and sea air was intoxicating and peaceful.

Back at the house we indulged in appetizers and Pimm's as the evening's guests arrived. We gathered around David's wood farm table for the meal and as the loin was brought out on a wood plank there was great admiration of the pork. David skillfully carved thick slices of the loin, topped with dark, crunchy crackling. The moist meat melted in my mouth, shattering the stereotype of dry tasteless pork. I had a revelation of meat (similar to past pork meals with Alun). This was the food of the gods.

This pork had been lovingly cared for and respected, by the farmer who reared it, the butcher who prepared it, and David who cooked it. As we savored each bite together around David's table, we were upholding the values that had carried this pig through each phase of its life through our commensality. The meal embodied not just these thoughtful approaches to animal husbandry and culinary preparation but also the place of Tollesbury itself. Memories of our weekend with David in Harwich, and the surrounding Essex countryside, resonated in each bite of delicious pork I ate.

Eating is so much about the place and people with whom we share it. David's pork loin reminded me that thoughtfully cared for and prepared meat can not only fortify and enrich bodies and communities but also this financially starved grad student's culinary soul.