The sturdy letter ‘A’ starts the alphabet and so we must begin with sturdy things. For a piggy alphabet ‘angel’ will not do. Instead we must go straight to ‘animelles’. Animelles are a part of the piggy but not a part of the sow. But more on this later, perhaps. It has been a difficult task to write a piggy alphabet after the virtuouso performance by Suzy Oakes of whatamieating.com shown in the sixth comment on the previous post. But here goes:
A – animelles
B – brawn (follows along nicely after animelles)
C – caul fat which I love or crackling bread which I may love even more
D – devilled, which is a method of cooking pig’s feet
E – et tu, brute which is what you should say when you meet a pig
F – fidget pies
G – gelee
H – humorous, because pigs are
I – intestines
J – James. Jane Grigson writes that ‘This bland combination of pork, prunes, cream and the white wine of Vouvray embodies what Henry James described as ‘the good humoured and succulent Touraine’.”
K – kidneys
L – lights and lungs
M – mesentary
N – nose ring
O – O! O oO! O! is the common sound made by someone the first time they taste a whole roast pig.
P – Pen
Q – Quiet, which a pig is not
R – Rooting
S – St. Anthony, the patron saint of sausage-makers
T – Tourtiere
U – Urban Foragers which is what pigs were, in the streets of New York City back in ‘olden times’
V – Vauban, who at one time calculated that in twelve years ‘a sow could accumulate 6,434,838 descendants‘
W – Wienerbeuscherl
X -Xanthippe, who married Socrates who wrote “It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied”
Y – yippeee! is the appropriate response when good barbecued ribs appear
Z – zabaglione is an excellent dessert to eat after roast pork.
Yes, the pig took wing. It was a stretch, but the alphabet is done.
Charles Monselet has a poem for us!
For all is good in thee;
Thy flesh, thy lard, thy muscles and thy tripe!
As galantine thou’rt loved, as blood pudding adored.
A saint has, of they feet, created the best type
Of trotters. And, from the Périgord,
The soil has blessed thee with so sweet a scent
It could have woo’d Xanthippe, all her anger spent
To join with Socrates, whom elsewise she abhorred
In worship of this lord
Of animals, dear hog: angelic meat, say we.