Mar. 1st, 2017

oh man am i tired. (Discussion of meat packaging not behind cut but I’m not getting into anything too gross I don’t think? Tagged if you want to avoid, but figured I’d mention it too, in case you don’t have my weirdo tags blacklisted.)

but we got that pig totally finished with and put away. I managed to get all the scraps through the meat grinder in time to leave for the potluck thing we went to for dinner, too. Twenty pounds of ground pork, neatly packed in quart ziplocs. 

The bones are in a giant stock pot on the stove getting boiled down for concentrated stock that’ll get frozen in jars.

The roasts aren’t… exactly professional-looking but they’ll cook fine. There’s a fifteen pound ham that’ll be the lunch for first chicken slaughter in May. My role was just putting things into plastic bags; B-I-L and the Assistant Livestock Manager were doing the cutting. (I’ve mentioned ALM before, I’m sure; she’s a young blond woman of occasionally-unnerving fearlessness, has worked on the farm about a year now.) Neither of them knew what they were doing specifically; she’d witnessed it following a butcher around earlier, but they were mostly consulting a book, which was a nice book but kind of had some crucial gaps in knowledge.

But our main goal was to break the carcass down into things we could cook, so we did. Roasts, chops, shanks, hocks. We did not save the feet, face, or ears. Or skin. Maybe I’ll work up to learning about that sort of thing.

We were prepared for this to be an all-hands-on-deck kind of deal like chicken slaughter is, but it wasn’t. The vegetable guy didn’t participate at all, and FarmSister wandered off after a while to go help him get seeds started, since it’s crunch time in the greenhouse. 

Tonight we went to a potluck with the Agricultural Stewardship Association and a friendly gent there told me all about how much easier rabbits are to raise than chickens. I was intrigued, but not really enough to get into it. He sold the rabbits for meat, under the table, at the farmer’s market, and said most of his clients were elderly French ladies who loved the frisson of danger inherent in doing illicit rabbit trading. 

 He also spoke very fondly of having had pet peacocks as a child, and talked about what loud pains in the asses they were. I’m into it, but man. 
via Waters Is Back and She's Not Here to Play:


Well, it’s a day that ends in y so that must mean Representative Maxine Waters of California is here to show up on your little television show and let the whole place out.

Rep. Waters was a guest on All In with Chris Hayes last night and, honey, they weren’t ready. There’s going all in and then there’s the laser surgery that Rep. Waters performed. Maxine Waters showed up on Chris Hayes’ show like Dr. Bailey from Grey’s Anatomy. She was like, “I’m scrubbed up and about to crack D.C.’s chest, boo. Scalpel!”

For his part Chris Hayes, bless him, spent the better part of the six minute interview failing to get a word in edgewise and succeeding in looking 100% shewk.
We stuck all the left-over, not-part-of-any-cuts-of-meat bones from the pig carcass in a giant stock pot and filled it with water and boiled it for a couple hours, then let it cool overnight. This morning we ladled the stock, which is incredibly thick, into quart Ziploc bags to freeze. The remainder is going into a risotto for lunch. It smells amazing. We’re low on veggies so the vegetable matter in the risotto is just going to be a whole bunch of onions. Like, a whole bunch.

The downside of risotto is that it takes forever and won’t be done for a long time and I gotta smell it the whole time.
via replied to your post “We stuck all the left-over, not-part-of-any-cuts-of-meat bones from…”

I feel your pain re: takes a long time and smells amazing. when I was a kid my parents often made risotto for sunday dinner.

oh man torture

Update: I had a big handful of rosemary from trimming the rosemary plants prior to moving them to the greenhouse, and I absentmindedly put them ALL into the risotto, when really I should have used like… maybe half of what was there… so… uh if you like rosemary this will be bangin but if you don’t uh. 

Fortunately i like rosemary.
Pastured egg chickens in their winter greenhouse digs giving me the stink-eye. Or, more like, the “does she have corn” eye.
bedbugsbiting replied to your post “bedbugsbiting replied to your post “unicornduke replied to your…”

I’ve got BIG OL’ THIGHS. I always have. Hoo boy.

It’s not that my thighs aren’t big, they’re just not the cute bodacious kind of big. Like– I’m not a curvy girl, not the way the marketing sells it. I have some narrow places and some wide places and don’t get me wrong, properly dressed I can sometimes give the impression of Socially Acceptable, but I’m really not. I have a completely flat white girl ass, just on a large scale, and my thighs are stupendously thick but like, straight up and down. 

I am an Enormous Sturdy Utilitarian Peasant-Type White Woman Of The Ages type, and that’s fine, it’s just not very glamorous. So my thighs are certainly not petite, but you kind of wouldn’t notice how big they are because I’m just big all over. I am not the cute kind of thick. 

I sometimes imagine how cute I could be if I had the kind of cute round ass that broke jeans instead, and how I could put cute patches on the butt of my jeans. Patching the crotch just looks sort of awkwardly like I wet myself. Oh well.
live update from the farm kitchen

Sister is cooking. She picks up the jam jar of bacon grease sitting by the stove to scoop some out for browning onions for tonight’s dinner. She pauses, looking into the jar, and frowns across the room at me (I’m in a comfy chair in the corner, lemme tell you a comfy chair in the kitchen is such a great innovation if you got the space). 

“Did you scoop this out with your hands?” she asks me. 

“No,” I say, “I used the knife I was cutting with.”

“It looks like finger marks,” she says dubiously. 

“Well,” I say, “my skin is astonishingly supple lately, maybe that’s my secret.”

She blinks at me. “That would probably work,” she says slowly.

“Bacon grease as self-care 2k17!” I yell. 



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