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Fairytale of New Pork

 And so it came to be that two little Wicklow pigs reached the peak of their fattening. A glorious March Sunday was to see them get their final glimpse of Wicklow’s rounded hills.  Having feasted on local barley, mixed own grown vegetables and some farmhouse kitchen scraps, windfall apples and even a regular beer, the time had come for them to make the supreme sacrifice. Both gilts were seven months old, in rude health, well muscled and fit for the table!

 They were walked one at a time out of their ample yard into a small pen and quietly stunned and bled. The precious blood was all caught for some real puddings. So far so easy! The scalding tank had been purpose built for the job by M., with two gas burners hissing away underneath the water soon reached the critical temperature.

 At this point the hard work really started…. Once the hair started moving, the scrapers started scraping and flushed by the cleanliness of the initial strokes, took to the task with gusto. Scalding and scraping, scraping and shaving, shaving and singeing, and all the while rinsing. Gutted next and then split in two, soon enough there were four gleaming, steaming sides of excellently conformed pork hanging, cooling down slowly before being chilled.

The red and green offal was washed and prepared

Puddings first, then sausages, the slow roast of  a shoulder perhaps,  and then in a month’s time … let there be bacon!

 And they all fried happily ever after.

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