Prosciutto

I’m not vegetarian but I’m easily grossed out.  As we were guided through the process of salt-curing pork hind thighs, to make prosciutto, I saw the exposed cartilaginous femoral heads, torn away from their acetabula and the thick layer of subcutaneous fat slowly retracting back with the salting and drying process, revealing the fascial lines between individual muscles.  Surprisingly Daniel, who doesn’t like to eat red meat, happily ate several pieces of the product when offered and I could only squeeze my eyes shut as I tried not to imagine the fresh yellow slightly blood-tinged adipose from the newly salted meat in the freezer behind us.  I politely declined, the only person in the tour group not to dig in.  The South African married but politically conservative gay couple loudly tore into their thinly sliced cured meat.  I tried not stop imagining the smooth texture the freshly exposed femoral head cartilage offered, as it glistened under the fluorescent light, dripping with salty meat sweat running off the sparsely haired pig skin above it.  I drank some water.  Then I tore off a tiny bit of Dan’s second helping.  It was not dry and not too salty.  It was delicious.
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