AgriCulture bloggers Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Peter writes: People often say when they are trying to describe something difficult or impossible that, “It’s just like herding cats.” Well, we could one-up that and say, “Like herding pigs”. We have had more than enough experience now to speak with authority on this aspect of farming. Not only are pigs extremely smart, some say as intelligent as dogs, they are also incredibly strong—and willful. We inadvertently made the task of herding pigs all the more difficult when, about three years ago, we crossed our relatively small Ossabaw Island sows with a young Tamworth boar. Our aim was to produce crosses in which the fattiness of the Ossabaws would be balanced out by the leanness that Tamworth are known for. And while we did succeed on this score and produced some tasty feeder pigs, the unexpected result was that we ultimately ended up with two Ossabaw/Tamworth cross sows, who each eventually tipped the scales at close to 500 pounds, more than twice the size of the standard purebred Ossabaw sow. I am talking about Carmen and Miranda. And it was with them that our troubles really began. Some of you may remember the poem I dedicated to them that graced these pages a year or so ago: TWO SOWS WHO LIKE TO SAMBA ( to be read to a samba beat)
I'm Carmen! I'm Miranda! We're two sows who like to samba! We samba here! We samba there! We samba sans our underwear! But not without our turbans on! Without our turbans all is gone! Our turbans piled with fruits and nuts From tiny grapes to coconuts. While our pen is far from Rio, It shakes, o me! o my! o mio! Like bums and boobs at Mardi Gras. As we twist and turn, our last hurrah, Two sows who love to samba, Known as Carmen and Miranda! ”Very funny,” some of you may have thought at the time, but, you will be intrigued to learn that, as with most poems there is a subtext, a deep underlying meaning; a darker significance that I am happy to explicate for you. Read on, dear reader, read on: You will be surprised to learn that their exuberant “samba-ing” was not the fun Brazilian dance you imagined but referred instead to their demonic penchant for demolishing pig panel fences, heaving cattle gates up into the air, overturning their metal huts, trashing their pens, and tearing up the pasture. Their “turban piled with fruits and nuts”—refers to their general sense of mayhem. The “o me o my o mio”—to the great distress and expense they caused us on a daily basis. And the “sans our underwear”—to their total lack of shame for their outrageous behavior. Of course, only with a close reading and a knowledge of the circumstances would this hidden text become evident to the casual reader. The “two sows who liked to samba” ultimately reached their Mardi Gras Day crescendo a bit over a year ago when Carmen and Miranda samba-ed not only “ here and there” all over our property, but smashed through the perimeter cattle fence into our neighbors’ yard, ending their dance somewhere near the swimming pool. Several mornings, for reasons yet to be understood, Miranda, accompanied by her three samba-ing piglets, chose to end her dance on our neighbor’s front doorstep just as, “o me o my o mio,” their children were ready to leave for school. I thought I had gotten the “two sows who liked to samba” safely confined to their reinforced pen the morning I was to depart for JFK to catch my plane for a long weekend get away to New Orleans—a place I saw as one full of musical celebration, but, mercifully, “sans” pigs. But on emerging from the house with my bags, dressed smartly for travel, I discovered that Carmen and Miranda had samba-ed out of their pens and were heading “o me o my o mio” for my perennial flower gardens. After a quick costume change and a double time pas de deux, I locked Carmen and Miranda back in their pen and secured it. Hurriedly dressing once more, I drove quickly off, not daring to look back, leaving the confined Carmen and Miranda in the care of our devoted farm helper, Darlene. But on returning refreshed from my getaway four days later, I was greeted by the sight of poor Darlene at the head of the driveway reduced to tears. The samba-ing had apparently not stopped in my absence. In fact, the samba-ing had passed from “here and there” on our property back to the neighbors’ yard once again. Darlene tearfully informed me, amidst deep sobs, that the police had just been called. By the time I had done a fast change into my farm costume and stepped outside ready to play dance master once again, the samba-ing pair had dutifully returned to the farm, and peacefully trotted back into their pens under the patient supervision of Officer Eli Fieser of the Sheriff’s Department. After that memorable homecoming, it was just a matter of time before, unfortunately, Carmen and Miranda did their last “twist and turn”. And, oinking their “last hurrah,” the undaunted, unrepentant pair danced off, not without a little mayhem on the way, to the waiting trailer to meet their fate, the inevitable, dark fate of pigs “who love to samba,” While they are gone but, of course, as they say, “not forgotten,” their delicious pork chops remain—still seeming to pulsate with that irresistible Latin beat that once was Carmen and Miranda.—Peter Davies We asked our Road Foodie pork maven, Brigit Binns, how best to treat these very substantial chops from our mature sows. She took off a sample, and triumphantly replied with this recipe, "Probably the best braised chop I’ve ever eaten." Brigit Binns' Porcini and Olive-Braised Turkana Chops These chops have great marbling, so if you want to trim a little of the exterior fat, fine.
1. Bring the chops to room temperature, pat thoroughly dry, and season generously on both sides with salt & pepper. 2. Warm some olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. When it is VERY hot, place the chops in the pan and sear without moving until golden brown underneath. Sprinkle the top with a little superfine flour (Wondra), turn and sear the second side until nice and golden. 3. Throw a chopped onion in the pan, to one side of the chops, and sizzle a couple minutes till starting to soften. 4. Add some chopped, soaked porcini mushrooms, and a little of the water you soaked them in, plus some red wine, and some tomato puree. Mix it all together in the pan, and reduce the heat to very, very low. 5. Partially cover the pan and braise the chops for 25 to 35 minutes, spooning the sauce over the chops every once in awhile. 6. Throw in 8 to 10 pitted and quartered kalamata olives, or some capers. If the sauce isn’t thick enough when the chops are just about tender, increase the heat, uncover the pan, and reduce the sauce slightly.—Brigit BinnsFor the complete archive of past AgriCulture blogs, click here.
