Eating Nadia's Pig - John Trefry
Joe is joined by John Trefry. They talk about Inside the Castle, Castle Freak, Plats, architecture, and more.
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Art photo by Arielle Tipa
Eating Nadia’s Pig
— I'm Of The Perception And Orientation That These Gallant Beasts are Deserving Of Our Gratitude, But There is Nothing Remaining Of Them For Honoring, A Few Teeth Perhaps, Even Those are Useful In Babyrattles, I've The Consideration Of Interment Of The Slaughtering Knives, Although That is Wasteful And I've The Intuition That It's Not Desirable To The Beast, So I'm Simply Spading Over The Dirt Behind The Home With A Small Marker Stating The Day Of The Cadaver's Maximum Valuation, Recollection Of Slaughterday is Always Difficult, And Quite Earnestly Irrelevant —
on the table in the dining nook of the kitchen is a candelabra with goldenbrown tapers that otherwise is devoid of bouquets and decoration—no condiment vessels, no napkins in tasteful arrangement, no napkins, no radishes—only the blankness of thick gray cheese from precipitating vaporization of cookingoil on the boardinghouse table softening in the stifling warmth, gold and minium twotone damask is lavishly festooning ornate plastercast brackets spraypaintingly antiquey in oldgold is flaking flakes are limply tenuous from the volutes in the congealing clogging lardsludge and dustfur, adipose saturation of the fabric is drawing particulate and fibrous suspension from the stagnant air casting the pleats with waxen immobility framing the operable picturewindow looking out over the derelict garden below with pathways of gold acetate confetti and the little pond in the middle of the lawn with a shoreline of pyrite nuggets and filled with gold plastic sequins floating on sepia, the ordinary shrubs at the fenceline behind neighboring dwellings beyond the supersession of ginkgo shrubs in flowerpots swarmingly spangly in the preservation of golden desiccation of fluttering papery foliage clicking into the clattering and clanging of the viands in <<service à la russe>> on gold circumference tableware, the woman in traditional garb, jugular is pulsating and sweaty gazing out the large window to the garden and beyond to finer homes through the thin trees is hurrying about the stifling kitchen silently thunking her forehead on cookware hanging from racks hanging from the ceiling is carrying the first course on goldleaf chargers toward the empty table where the master of the house is sitting is staring at his sullen tenant—her hair patchy and face sinking into its orbitals—and the meal is commencing and the meal is coming only to his position and the table and from the right is coming the course of oral amusements, a textural grandtour of mouthtreats is consisting of cold items—glistening head cheese, spleenwurst, thinslice of cold tongue with panzanella soggingly vinaigretty, a timbale of eggy sawdust & luncheon tongue reconstitution of mechanical tongue separation—on soupplates containing ice shavings are melting into the meatfluids and vinegar soaking through a small interceding scrap of cloth, garnishment is a pithy wedge of exceptionally obscure Catholic limone, & tepid servings—the cubic solidification of blood fryingly crispy, fuet, julienne of ear cracklings with ramekins of spicy mustard—unadorningly heaping on chargers, & sweaty bainsmarie servings—spareribs with hedgeapple and sauerkraut, ribs in paprika & tea sauce with sourcream & mushrooms & taproot—in long boats of congealing sauciness are leaving from the left and from the right is coming the steaming soup course, bathingly titillating the palate and gumline and farreaching musculature of the jaw as far as the temple and hairline—a boiling preparation of porcine snout & trachea with turmericroot in a crock with whole potatoes, stewy vinegar preparation of porcine organs with saturation of particleboard chaff, soup of chunklets of tripe with bellpeppers & onions & cabbage, heart goulash with nutmeg & liver dumplings—steeping in the bondage of a napkin—and garnishing with quark cheese & croutons & ham caramel, a turine of trotter porridge with lemon and cinnamon on a charger with concentric arrayals of hot green and yellow peppers & fermentitious cucumbers & fresh black radishes & savory lard truffles & fresh nettles and dandelion, luxuriously bilious sour tripe soup—are leaving from the left and from the right is coming the hot statement course with organ meat & connective tissue and skeletal connections in a series of rectangular glass bainsmarie on trivets beading up with condensation—shortshank, hindshank, steamship leg, porcine osso buco with rosemary, a porkbowel curingly tough and spicy with chilis & paprika & thyme & fennelseed, cubes of blood coagulation in a preparation with onion and tomato sauce, chitterlings and sourcream, braising the kidneys for cynadry, stuffing of abdominal membranes for drob—are leaving from the left and from the right is coming the maincourse with meatcuts on vermeil platters with restraint for inspection of the butchery most purely showcasing the simplicty of the meal's central ingredient—pork blade steaks with smoky catsup, ham, porkloin with lardons and rye croutons, picnic shoulder, tenderloin, leg sirloin—are leaving from the left and from the right are coming the intercourse removal introductions of saucy meat and vegetables or preparations whose conceptualization is dependent on the jus lingering in the empty halves of the maincourse platters—pork kebabs with hedgeapple & onion, kidneys & onions panfryingly soaking in Baldick oyster sauce, a boiling preparation of porcine maw full of barley & sawdust & nettles & garlicky collagen & bacon is fryingly indulgent with caramelization on bedding of yogurtstewy leafy fragrant greens, the casting of a carrot & brussels sprout & mashy potato trifle inside a porkheart, stewy lungs with plum dumplings, <<savoury ducks>> of sage and blackpepper seasoning porcine heart & liver mincingly frying in a sac of its own epiploon—its caul, its great omentum, its omentum majus—on a bed of fiddleheads, ear in bean broth, scrapple—are leaving from the left, the picturewindow is sliding ajar full of the fir filtration of neighboring neighborhood noises, the picturewindow is sliding sealing against its jamb and from the right is coming fresh cutlery with the respite and repose of the toddy and sorbet course—a vermeil goblet of fresh blood and mulling spicemix with frothy baconbits, a glass sundae cup of dandelion honey granita melting into sweet sow colostrum—is leaving from the left and from the right is coming the burdensome roastcourse is playing against the relief of the sorbet with wads of meat and organs in deep hot pans standing above the table in vermeil casserolecradles—sedimentary rashers of bacon barding a rayroast with rosemary & bay, immersion frying a foreshank is a crispy delicacy on a pike in radiating sheaves of crispy pigskin, porcine liver with onions, grilling kidney with carrot and peas, black pudding of spallings of particleboard & porcine blood in its own intestine—is leaving from the left and from the right is coming the deescalating refreshment of the saladcourse—palate cleansing with unctuous yellow marrow custard, black truffle shavings over dandelion greens, celery in baconnaise—is leaving from the left and from the right is coming the palate titillation and mild textural composition of the cold dishes, somewhat more tepid in their passage through the sweltering kitchen nook, sweating the same greasy perspiration as the gourmand at his table setting his butterknife into—tongue in flavorless aspic with mushrooms, piftie of legs and ears in garlic juice, garnishing a pâté of sow liver & lard & anchovies on rye toastpoints with fermentitious beetroot & cucumber & spicy mustard—and lolling the orbs of two eyes from a gelmold on the prow of his tongue gazing across the table at his dinner guests through the removal of all dishes and all accoutrements from the table where all that is abiding is the gray cataract of griminess occluding the woodgrain and upon this dull surface is the arrayal of the sweetcourse—bacon & lard truffles, peaches & candy porktongue in chartreuse jelly, sweet lard truffles, honeyroasting of porkfatback tart, soft warm apple roasting in a sow cranium with myrrh and cinnamon sticks in sweet whey—and from the right is coming the introduction of a distribution of cheeses in the vacant spaces of the sweet trays—pork cheese forcemeat, a platter of wild strawberries & fig desiccation with bacon stuffing & porcine whey cheese—, the tenant is silently weeping across the empty table the landlord is lollingly comatose with sausage digits and his countenance lying sideways on a broad white collar draping his offal body, the oiliness and spiciness of the bespoke meal permeates the room, gurgling snoring through lardthroat, the difficulty in the acquisition of all of these offals is their generally industrial dedication to catfood.