robertito
Well-Known Member
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Crocodile Dundee was a girly man next to my father's friend!
When I was in high school, my friend invited me over to see their pig, as they'd been raising a pig for a couple of months. I rode over one afternoon after school, but no-one was home and I couldn't find the pig. As I was riding back down their driveway (which was a couple of kilometres long and which ran though rugged bushland), I met them coming up in their old Willy's Jeep, with a couple of large, black plastic garbage bags stacked in the back.
When I asked my friend where the pig was, he pointed to the bags in the back of the jeep and said, "Here".
His dad had shot the pig that afternoon and they'd scorched off the hair and jointed the carcass, before taking it down to the butcher to be cut up into pieces.
My friend's mum made fresh pork sausages that evening, using the pig's intestines as sausage casings. I've got to say that those were the best damned sausages I've ever had - I can still remember the taste a couple of decades later.
Didnt you just kill the pigs only when the cold weather arrives? This is the tradition in the north of Spain. that I think it has celtic origins. In fact we have a saying that says ' every pig gets his Saint Martin days, that can be translated as 'Every dog has its day' Saint Martin days is 11 November that is the traditional day for killing the pigs.
Did your mum's friend made blood sausages with onions that day? This is the tradition for us and you can only taste this type of sausages that day..