photo from Alaina B's flickr

When a friend invited me to attend a pork butchering class at the Brooklyn Kitchen, I couldn't resist. While our government is sharpening their knives to carve out pork barrel spending, my mouth was watering thinking about how much pork belly I'd be lugging home after the half pig was butchered in front of our eyes.

The class was led by Tom Mylan, the butcher for Brooklyn eating establishments, Marlow & Sons, Diner and the Bonitas. With a knife belt saddled to his side and a whole half pig before him, I was excited just to learn how to dice up and prepare the pig pieces. But like more and more Americans, I have been without a paid gig for over a month now. Longing for steady work, I allowed myself to get swept away in a fantasy where I become an old world butcher. "Everybody needs a butcher," I told myself, momentarily forgetting my vegetarian lover. "Even in a recession."

By the end of the butchering class, my notebook was loaded with scrawled notes documenting the constant stream of advice about how to cut, cure and cook the meat. My brain was full. So much for my fallback career as a butcher. It would take a lot more than a three hour crash course to master this knife wielding art.

We drew numbers to determine the order that me and my fellow classmates would select our cuts of meat. My friend chose 1. I chose 2. While the pigs kidneys were sauteed and served, I chose first the sirloin tip, then the pork belly and finally the Boston butt for pork pulling. I could have stayed for another round but my arms ached from the weight of the meat. I headed home to cure, not trim the fat.