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Excerpts from Abe Peña's  Memories of Cibola

All material used with the kind permission of the author, given to me personally.

from AT THE MOUTH OF THE CANYON
"'Go invite Don Desiderio to la matanza,' said my mother. Pig killing was not only an important source of villagers' food supply, it was much more--a social event, a working feast, and a ritual in San Mateo and other villages in Cíbola County. Don Desiderio García, an old widower, was considered an expert in bleeding the swine to produce tender and flavorful pork and properly rendered lard.


Almost all the villagers had pigs, fed the leftovers from our tables, but most importantly, corn. Generally the pigpen, built of pine logs or heavy lumber, was adjacent to the corral where the milk cow and other livestock were penned. The chicken coop was nearby also. The animals were kept about 200 feet from the house, far enough away for hygiene but conveniently close for doing chores. The average sow gave birth to about eight pigs in the spring. Pigs were butchered at various times during the year for meat, but la matanza, for lard, was the big one in the late fall or early winter, in preparation for Christmas. It yielded as much as 150 pounds of lard, enough to serve the cooking needs of a family for several months.


Pigs selected to be fattened were generally two years old or older. The heavy corn feeding started with the corn harvest in September. A couple of pounds in the morning and a couple in the evening was increased gradually to as much as the animal could eat. By November or December, they were sometimes so heavy they couldn't rear up on their hind legs. It was time for la matanza. The day before we would hand carry water in 2-gallons buckets from la acequia and fill two 50-gallon drums, which rested either on a stand or on large rocks. Then we would arrange firewood under the barrels. Even before daybreak the firewood would be lit and the water heated to a boil, before Don Desiderio and the other invitees arrived. At sunrise the pig would be walked or hauled in a wheelbarrow to the butchering platform constructed nearby of planking elevated about a foot off the ground.


With the blunt heel of an axe, the pig would be struck hard between the eyes and knocked out. Then Don Desiderio would take his special sharp, long-bladed kitchen knife, saying, 'Jesus y Cruz,' and pierce through the breast to the heart. A bucket or large pan would be held to catch the gushing blood, which would be made into morcilla, a fine food rich in proteins and minerals. The pig would then be rolled onto the platform and after boiling water was poured over the animal, it would be covered with gunny sacks. In a few minutes the hair would loosen and could be pulled off easily with razor-sharp knives. The naked pig shone like a freshly shaved face.


The animal would then be carefully cut open and the internal organs removed one at a time. In a very fat pig this would be quite a task, because the fat layers would keep covering the organs. It was especially important to remove the gall bladder intact without spilling the gall, or the meat would take on a repugnant bad flavor. When the liver came out, it would be cut into large slices and roasted over the hot coals, turned with a sharp-pointed stick or long forks. The smell of the roasting liver would start the gastric juices flowing, and all the killing crew, usually six or eight, plus the children, would have their first taste of the well-fattened pig.


The blood and some meat would be sent to the kitchen crew, and the cooking of red chile with the fresh meat, the central activity of the matanza feast, would begin. The killing crew sometimes helped the kitchen crew cook the chile in large Dutch ovens over the coals, while the kitchen crew made piles of blue corn tortillas on the wooden stove in the kitchen.
When all the innards had been carefully removed and sent to the kitchen, the lonjas would be removed and hung on a clothesline. Lonjas are 2-inch strips of skin with about a 3-inch thick layer of fat, cut lengthwise; the pig butchers would literally skin the pig in strips. While the lonjas hardened, the crews feasted, joked, and visited. Most of the talk would be about the fine pig, and the guessing game would be on. How much lard would it render? Stories of legendary pigs that rendered up to 200 pounds and the men who raised them were told and retold. Some would even boast of having heard of one that rendered 300 pounds!


In about an hour the lonjas would harden and the stripping of the fat from the skins would begin. The crew would sit around the planking and dice the fat into about one inch cubes. Large cast-iron or brass ollas would be filled with diced fat and stirred and stirred for about two hours over the fire, to render the precious lard.


Then the distribution of the food would start. Children would be sent in all directions throughout the village to deliver food in botes de cinco--some chile, two or three tortillas, and a handful of chicharrones, and sometimes a small strip of meat. We would deliver food to different houses according to the instructions of the kitchen crew. Some trips would take longer than others, as we crisscrossed the village delivering the bounty. By the end of the day most of the pig would be distributed and shared by the village, except for the lard. It would be stored in botes de diez o de viente, 10- or 20-pound tins, and carefully put away in a storeroom.


Others in the village would also have matanzas, so there would be a constant sharing with each other in the fall and winter. In this way the meaningful custom of sharing was not only carried out at Christmastime but all year long. Hardly a day passed when we would not be sent somewhere in the village with a container of food to someone who was sick, or had visitors, or had a baby, or who simply liked our mother's sopa or panocha.


Today there are still some matanzas in our villages. However, there are fewer and fewer, as the lifestyle of the village is changing. In most of the households, both husband and wife are employed; the supermarket is not far away, and it's a lot more convenient in today's busy and hurried world, where sharing with others has been almost forgotten."