Invasion of the Hungarian Pigs
Travel Blog • David Farley • 04.03.09 | 12:15 PM ET
There are several different types of pig species (or, if you will, sub pigs). The bearded pig is one I’d certainly hate meeting in a dark pig pen. The Indo-Chinese warty pig is another ominous-sounding swine. In all, there are over two billion pigs on the planet right now (and if they’d ever join forces with monkeys, we’d be in big trouble). Most of the pork we eat comes from the generic domestic pig (or sus scrofa domesticus) and, thanks to mass breeding, its offerings have taken on rather bland notes. Not that we’d know it unless we began eating another species of swine. And, in fact, some restaurants around the country are letting diners do just that.
Enter the Mangalitsa. This curly-haired pig from Hungary was once the go-to beast for lard in the Habsburg Empire. But after World War I and the importation of cheaper, less-fickle pigs, the Mangalitsa declined. A couple decades ago they were almost extinct. They’re now making a comeback and, according to a couple chefs in the United States, the meat is divine. Deven Knells, who mans the stoves at the French Laundry (in Napa) told the New York Times that Mangalitsa meat is marbled and dissolves on the tongue. He said it’s softer and creamier, like Wagyu beef.
Pig-loving foodies are licking their lips while you read this, awaiting the site of Mangalitsa on menus. And maybe this will breed pig connoisseurs who became experts in eating different pig species. Crispy bearded pig belly, anyone?
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David Farley
Darrin DuFord 04.03.09 | 3:20 PM ET
Sounds good to me. I’m always amazed with how domesticated animals (chix, pigs, you name it) often end up tasting blander than the wild, or even feral, variety. Flavor gets factored out in favor of docility, low fat content, and growth speed. I’ll take a saino steak from Latin America over an American pork chop any day. Sure, the chickens in rural Panama aren’t exactly wild, but they roam around the villages on their own, eating whatever bugs they want, and even choose their own mating partners (violation of careful breeding—gasp!). Their owners just have to take the time to find them and round them all up at night. And would you know it, they taste better.