Sausage Party, or the Stuff FDA Nightmares Are Made Of

Mon, 24 Jan 2011 14:09:53 -0500

Still foggy with sleep, we tumbled off the bus to see two wood-fired cauldrons, belching out clouds of smoke and steam in a medieval fashion. The air was filled with the finest perfume any gastronome could wear: the scent of pig lard.

I found myself on yet another of northern Italy’s ubiquitous small-scale farms, surrounded by idle farm machinery, deadened remnants of the fall harvest, and the sharp smell of pig shit. This trip had been touted on the syllabus as a visit to an “artisanal butcher,” but we were about to see that this butcher was one of the more minimalistic variety.

Head-to-Tail on adventures of an omnomnomnivore in NYC

Sausage Party, or the Stuff FDA Nightmares Are Made Of