But oops. The processor left the pig's head on, so Pat wacked it off with a chainsaw. I wasn't sure whether it felt like a scene from The Sopranos or Sling Blade.
But you know what? Pork doesn’t grow in plastic at the grocery, babe. Don’t like it? Don’t eat it.
And while yeah, I certainly don't advocate for bellying up to a plate of daily pork, Pat at least steers clear of packer hogs, as he calls them, or factory farmed animals. He chooses heritage breeds that actually grow up naturally with their hooves on grass (or mud?) rather than concrete.
Here's a glimpse of the shenenigans (minus the super-gory details) with Pat, his friends and photographer John.
More on Pat later in a story for The Tennessean. He’s one of 14 pit masters in the nation selected for the Big Apple BBQ Block Party in NYC in June. And as he puts it, his pork can “make a puppy pull a freight train.” Word.