Precision December 7, 2010

I imagine the look the beast would evoke once its brought to the table. I often have an excited bristle of electricity, a commanding concentration and wonder at the gravity and opportunity before me. The arduousness of the investment to just bring it to the butcher always amazes me. A chef I knew described it as giving death. I have no such illusions and remember how it made me feel, all those years ago, far afield with my father and uncles. Taking its life, honoring its death, making sure above all that no part is wasted. A beauty that demands respect. The metallic sound of edge as it slides against steel to hone itself for the task. Honing: such an apt expression for a butcher, especially one who seeks to become more and more precise wasting nothing, using all.
The steady hand that is watched switches modality, grabbing the handle shank to shoulder using the blade as lever and as scalpel. The visceral nature of incision can mesmerize, the fingertips pulling back to reveal the next step, the bone, the sinew. The terminology to describe it counters the actual act. Fabrication; a composition of what, an assortment of cuts for the chef? A transformation of beast to braise? All those things, the act of butchery itself is tantalizing; whether cutting across or around the beauty of it can only be matched with a hard kiss of dry heat, followed by a slow simmer in its own unctuousness.