Dinner Traditions

The smell was intoxicating, it’s sizzle impossible to ignore as the slab of meat cooked and popped in the cast iron pan. Momma always taught me to cook a good steak on well-seasoned cast iron.

The cast iron itself was a labor of love, ensuring its proper cleaning and regular oiling with pure lard, nothing else would do in this family. When I was 8 years old momma let me cook for the first time with the family iron. I burned myself within a few minutes of handling it but that was the best bacon sandwich I had ever had in my short life.

The air hung thick with smoke and a greasy aroma, it was the type of scent that permeated the house and could invade your nostrils, but I don’t mind it much. It reminds me of my childhood far too well to cause any discomfort.

I’m 23 now, and I still use the family iron. I’ve taken great care of it. I only wash it after I cook a sticky-sweet dessert or maybe some type of sauce, and even then I don’t use soap unless I think momma would’ve. I use coarse salt for scrubbing and since it never sits for very long without use I never really have to worry about rust.

I can’t think of a better way to spend my afternoon after two days of butchering. With my neighbor's wedding day coming up these types of gourmet meats are pretty important for our kin. When he called me up a couple of days ago I couldn't believe the luck he had.

“Sam! I got us a couple of really pretty long pigs and I was hoping you could process them so we could cook ‘em up for the wedding.”

“For long pig? Hell, Farley, I’ll make time tomorrow for ya, bring ‘em on by ‘round 9 am.”

“Oh, hot damn! I knew I could count on you. You won’t believe it when you see them, I mean these are some perfect pigs. I got one at prime age and the other is a breeder, she is just bursting.” Farley’s voice was full of excitement and pride at his two captures.

He didn’t know how much I missed my mama's cooking but either way, I knew he wouldn’t mind if I saved a rib steak for myself. Momma made the best chuck roast with vegetables right from the garden. My daddy loved frying up that skin so in his honor I made some too, though I don't remember it taking quite so long when daddy did it. Burning all that hair off took more time than I had prepared for but I was only cooking a small batch which turned out just fine. I seasoned those crisp skins with some garlic powder, paprika, and pepper, you can’t go wrong with a simple seasoning like that.

Momma always taught me to flip a good steak once, any more than that and you’re an idiot who doesn't know how to cook. I start to baste with freshly made butter with some thyme and garlic cloves.

Those teets were as full as could be when Farley brought them pigs in. It only took me a couple of minutes to milk ‘em, it’s a shame though that I was only able to get about 6 ounces out of both of ‘em, but it’s enough for dinner tonight since I won’t be sharing it with Farley. You’d think that the teet would have some type of nutrient or even flavor but it’s not very edible. You can’t even fry it up really, but it is great for rendering though I only make candles with it.

To be honest, I couldn’t believe he had gotten so lucky finding a breeder like that. She had to have been only a couple of days post-birth, her belly still a little swole so when I gutted her there was a bit of extra liquid to deal with. But she was great, nice firm core and the best rump and thigh cuts I’ve seen in a while.

I only use a little bit of salt, as the breast butter is the creamiest and sweetest type of butter you’ll ever come across and you only baste with it during the last few minutes to keep the flavor intact of course. Some say the salt ruins the flavor but I think it enhances it, these long pigs keep such unhealthy diets in the first place that a little salt can’t ruin it in my humble opinion.

My steak is from that prime one, his body had just enough fat for a nice marbling, and he was strong too. Muscles built up nicely around his flank and shoulder. Farley would want most of the chuck for his important day and would only cook up the ribeyes for him and the new missus. If there is anything left we could grind it up with some herbs and make some sausage. You can’t use long pig intestine for sausage tho, I’d have to trade someone for some sheep intestine instead.

I like to keep my steak seasonings simple, just some salt and pepper, so the flavor of the meat comes through without competition. If you pair it with some ripe vegetables you’ve got yourself a right proper meal.

When momma passed I told her I would keep the garden going and all the herbs too. All she could do was stare at me as I was talking but I didn’t take any offense to it. I figured it was just her mind diminishing as she was being drained.

As I start to plate my beautifully cooked steak, topped with more of that sweet breast butter, I take me a side of fresh green beans and a freshly baked roll. I had set up the dinner table beforehand and I was pleased with my work, it looked mighty handsome. The heads of my recent butcher sat proudly in the middle, their eyes reflecting the rustic chandelier while their mouths had been the perfect opening for some candles I had rendered a couple of months ago.

I don’t normally take the time to clean up the heads but this dinner was different. I had taken a moment to open the eyelids fully so I could see the pretty blue ocean eyes of the girl, I even gave her a name, Sarah. I pushed her hair back and around to the side so it would look pretty on the table. That boy, Tommy, didn’t need much cleaning up really. He was clean-cut, no facial hair, and young, maybe 19 or so. I am a particular fan of organic flowing art so I never wipe the blood off. I see it as a way for the spirit to leave its final word.

The smoke from the candles had already started to discolor their blood-stained and pinky skin, creating soot around the gums, upper lip, and nose. It’s not too often you get to have such fine centerpieces. After tonight's dinner, I’ll finish skinning the heads and then I’ll let nature have at ‘em. They’ll be put in wire cages outside where other animals, insects, and the weather will finish stripping them to the bone.

In most animals you can eat the brain but not these, the brain is completely useless in the aspects of cooking and it causes you to develop kuru. I remember my pappy had that, we stopped eating brain after he died. It was such a waste too, he had gotten so old we couldn’t even use him for more than dog food. Momma and daddy died around 30, which was good news for me as they still had some viable meat on them.

As I sit down I gaze around my dining room and I feel so loved and so blessed to be the one to carry on my family name and traditions. The room is filled with my family members, all lined up in a row, each bleach white skull sitting neatly beside the other, darn near 3 generations fill this room with my brothers Will and Jeb being the most recent.

I remember the night I told them two boys I was taking over. Boy did they fight me, trying to convince me that they had superior genes and that they could do a better job than me. Will wouldn’t stop clawing and scratching at me, I’ve got a scar from him on my forearm. I use it now as a reminder to pray for them in heaven.

Their desperation was understandable but I’ve always known I would be the one to carry on the name and as part of my responsibility I’ll need to find myself a wife pretty soon. I’m creeping up to the separation age anyway, our ways dictate that we separate from our worldly body at 50 years old normally. Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule but I’ve no desire to buck tradition.

When it’s time for me to go, hopefully by then I’ll have some type of young boy to carry on these traditions. I know I’ll fight, it’s just human nature to fight which of course changes how the meat will taste. It’s important to try and keep the adrenaline out of the system so a nice hard whack on the head when your mark is slumbering is the most humane way to do it. Bleeding them takes care of the rest really, nice and quick and just feels like going to sleep. It’s very peaceful and not at all worrisome if they just accept their fate.

I often imagine how it will feel to die. I think a warmth will come over me first, I’ll feel like I’m being cuddled in the womb again, and then if my eyes are open my vision with start to fade and get blurry. I think that’s when I’ll get to relive all my special meals again. The Christmas with the fresh rhubarb pie, green bean casserole, and that lovely couple from Minnesota. Maybe I’ll get to see that one birthday meal momma made me when I was ten, daddy had spent the whole day grinding away making hotdogs just like what you’d see at one of them Piggly Wiggly’s.

I remember the first time I got to work on bone crafting, I took a thick femur from this traveling salesman and whittled it into a bone knife. It was just ugly as can be but boy was I proud.

Humans are for special occasions now or more likely that our special occasions just surround those special meals hence the quick jump for the wedding I suppose. Because of its last-minute nature, I still need to finish making Farley's wedding gift, a beautiful bone chandelier not much different than this one here in my own dining area. It’s a labor of love really, but it stands the test of time and is a wonderful heirloom to pass down.

I hear my stomach growl and it shakes me back to the reality of the feast before me. I stab my fork into the tender meat, cooked to perfection. Savoring each draw of the steak knife, watching the muscle slide and pull in between each of the serrated teeth of the knife. The succulent juice seeping from the inner muscle, pooling below the steak and spreading its pink color to my vegetables and a golden yeast roll. I purposely take my first bite, slowly, allowing the feeling of euphoria to roll over my tongue, down my throat to my belly where it expands and envelopes my whole being. Some say that blood wine can cause a feeling of lightheadedness and joy but I get that feeling just from eating something as mouthwatering and divine as this.

I close my eyes and feel the warmth wash over me. I imagine my family around the table, smiling on me, being proud of me for keeping the tradition. I hope they guide me when it’s time for me to find my bride, and I hope she likes good old-fashioned home cooking too.

Good food really is fuel for the soul.