To Kill A Pig

The main product on the farm in Lutina is chestnuts. However, Jean-Mathieu also has a herd of around 100 pigs. These pigs are "free-range," meaning that most of the time they roam the moutainside and they can disappear for days at a time. During those sojourns, the female pigs would mate with male sangliers. The half-breed babies born from the wild boar fathers sometimes join Jean-Mathieu's herd. If not, they remain in the woods with the sangliers and Saturdays and Sundays they have to avoid the hunters. It seems that every Corsican is a hunter - fatigues and shotguns are in everyone's closet and they come out on the weekends.


Slaughter season in Corsica lasts from November until April or May, occuring about once per week. I arrived a fews days after the first slaughter and a few days before the second. The first slaughter is a big occasion throughout the country. Corsicans wait months and months for the arrival of one of the types of sausages - figatelli - at the beginning of the season. Restaurants on the mainland bring in patrons by hanging the figatelli in the doorway and front window.


When it is time to slaughter the pigs, Mathieu rounds them up from the mountainside and gathers them into the pen. It may take several days to gather them all, especially if the sanglier are mating with the female pigs; the fierce sanglier are protective of their mating partners and don't let them leave. I got to be a pretty good pig caller at the farm. In the US, pig callers are known to say "soo-wee, soo-wee." In Corsica, there is no "soo-wee," but rather "caw-caw-caw," repeated multiple times until the pigs are rounded up to enter the pen. I mostly rounded up the porcelets, as the piglets were more easily able to stretch under the gates and were more adventuresome and mischievous. Also, they were incredible cute. The other volunteers and I tried not to get too attached to them - so we gave them names like Hitler, Pol Pot, and Sarkoszy.

After rounding up the pigs into the pen, Mathieu, his friend and neighbor Jean-Andre Lefevre, the volunteer head Felipe, and the farm oddball Gerard had to grab each pig ready for slaughter and tie it up. This was the hardest part of the slaughter process. The pigs fought against this, squealing, struggling, and running away. Although they might not have known they were about to be slaughtered, they naturally do not want to be restrained.

Once the pigs have been restrained, a process that may take 30 minutes, the actual slaughter is quick. The pig is tied up spread eagle with the legs above the head. Mathieu shoots the pig in the head from close range. Then he slits the throat and drains the blood, which he then uses to make blood sausage. The pig is then untied and brought to the ground. At this point the animal still looks like a pig. Then comes the flamethrower. The stench of burning flesh makes it clear that this piece of flesh before you is no longer an animal, but rather a piece of meat. One person holders the torch over the body, while another uses a shovel to scratch away the hair from the body. The nauseating smell pervades the air for what seems like an eternity, but eventually the animal is shaved and it can be restrung.

At this point Mathieu slices the belly down the middle from top to bottom and the innards bulge out. Over the next few hours he meticulously cuts, sorts, and cleans the organs. Some will be marinated, cooked, and eaten. This meant many meals of lung and testicles for me when I was on the farm. Other organs are used to make sausage - the famous figatelli. When the body is gutted, the head and legs are removed and then the cuts of meat are prepared. These are sold to friends and at markets, or bartered for other goods and services.

The next full day is spent preparing sausages, some of which are cured for days or longer.

In my last day on the farm we had a barbecue of pig ribs made from the pig slaughtered the day before. Even though I don't like eating pig, the fresh ribs were delicious. I had not eaten pig for about 10 years before arriving in Lutina. The taste of swine usually sickens me. In fact, after eating almost nothing but pig for several days on the farm I was laid out in my bed for about 24 hours. While the pig served on the farm was tasty, I do not plan on eating pig again any time soon. Daily helpings of pancetta and lung are too much for me.

Far worse than the slaughter of the pig was the castration. The males are castrated some time between reaching adulthood and slaughter. The castration makes them grow faster and improves the taste of the meat (as the hormones can alter the meat's taste). Also, it can lessen hostility among the male pigs. The process of castration is the same as for the slaughter up to the point of stringing up the pig. Instead of shooting the pig, Mathieu, takes a knife and slices off the relevant areas. This is done with no drugs for the pig, so it squeals and struggles during the whole process. The squeals make me squirm because I don't want to think about what the pig is losing and the pain it is suffering. Surprisingly, within 15 minutes after the pig is released it seems to have adjusted to its state, expressing no pain or discomfort and resuming its place in the pen.

The evening of each slaughter, Jean-Mathieu goes to the pub to celebrate. The pub is in the town of Ghiucatujhu, 2 kilometers from Lutina, and only opens for about four hours a night. Being in the pub is a true Corsican experience. Men and women of all age groups gather and discuter beaucoup. Unlike some areas in the Mediterranean, it is common for women to visit the bars. Amid the smoke and pastisse, four men play cards together. The game is not known to me. For four hours, the slaughterers drink together to celebrate, or perhaps to forget about the trauma of the slaughter. Mathieu is extremely professional in all he does. Regarding the slaughter he says, "c'est la vie." He understands that in order for us to eat, these animals will die. He kills the pigs quickly and with the least amount of pain possible.