The other day, my wife and I were in Trader Joe’s and saw this display. As a good ol’ Vasco who loves chorizo (see my previous post), it just felt wrong to see soy chorizo.
(At left, chorizo filler meat.) If you go to any Basque event in the US, one thing you will always find is chorizo. In Boise, instead of hotdog vendors, they sell chorizo on the street corners. And there are a number of meat packers that mass produce Basque-style chorizo. But, in my opinion, nothing beats home-made.
My dad has been making his own chorizo for maybe 20 years now. He never had time when I was a kid, but once I was off to college, he started making both chorizo and ham, in the jamon serrano style. Both are excellent and he and the guys he makes them with have gained a reputation. The annual chorizo-making effort has grown and is an event in and of itself.
(The vets — Tony, Ramon and my dad Pedro — with the final product.) Even though I’ve had the luxury of feasting on dad’s chorizo and ham for a while now, I’ve never actually participated in helping make them. This year, during the Christmas holidays when we were visiting Idaho, I finally got a chance. A six-man crew, including my dad, Tony Larrocea, Ramon Ocamica (the veteran crew), Steve Zatica, Rick Uria, and Stan Zatica, met at Rick’s shop. A few days earlier, they had mixed together the meat. I unfortunately missed this all-important step, so I don’t have a good feel for what the “secret” recipe is. Suffice it to say that I did learn that they use the legs so as to ensure that there is enough meat in the filling. On the day I showed up, they had 5 buckets of filling ready for stuffing in the casings. And away we went.
Tony and Stan, at left, manned the stuffer, filling the casings with the chorizo meat. Rick, Ramon, and Steve tied the filled casing into sausage-length segments with string. I helped a bit with that and with poking the casings with a safety pin to release any trapped air. My dad, as his legs were bothering him, began preparing the feast we would enjoy afterwards.
I don’t remember now how long we were there, but it was the better part of the afternoon into the evening. I’m guessing I was there for something like 5 hours (and I arrived a bit late too). I think, all told, they made 300 pounds of chorizo, about 60 pounds each (I think Tony donated his services for the evening). Once we were done, we had a feast fitting of the Basques, consisting of port ribs, solomo (pork loin prepared Basque style), home-made bread, courtesy of Teresa, Tony’s wife, and stew, all accompanied by good drink. We topped off the meal with several desserts, courtesy of Rick’s family. It was an excellent way to end the day and celebrate our efforts.
(The full crew — Tony, Rick, Ramon, Pedro, and Steve, standing, and Stan, kneeling — at right.) Once the chorizos were finished, they let them sit in the shop, slightly heated (maybe 70 degrees, I think), for a few days to dry out. Again, I was lucky enough to still be in town to get to try a few, just a few days after they were made. And they were excellent! One of the best batches yet. Dad made sure to send me home with enough to tide me over until the next time I make it back to Homedale.
The whole experience was great. While I’m a carnivore, and enjoy meat, I’m not a hunter, and have never really participated in any way in the production, if you will, of the food I eat. So, it was a good experience for me to get into the nitty-gritty, at least a little, and help make one of my favorite foods. They always say that one thing you should never observe is how sausage is made. And, while I missed the step that is most likely the origin of that saying, I definitely became even more appreciative of chorizo and what goes into making them.
Eskerrik asko, jaunak! Thanks for letting me take part!
This morning (11AM Bilbao time), ETA set off a car bomb at the headquarters of EiTB, the Basque radio/television company. It appears that no one was hurt, as there was a warning. More information can be found on EiTB’s website.
I can’t understand what would motive such an attack. EiTB is one of the most important institutions for the promotion of Euskara and, while they maybe could do some things better, they are also crucial for the survival of Euskara. I just don’t understand.
My thoughts are with those of EiTB. I hope that this does not deter any of them from their important work.
Some of you may recognize the name Mikel Morris. He has written the definitive Basque-English dictionary, the Morris Student Plus. Mikel, born in the United States, has lived in the Basque Country since 1978. As part of his efforts to live in Euskadi, he created the Morris Academy, an English language school in Zarautz.
As a foreigner who has immersed himself in to Basque culture and Euskara, he has a unique perspective on the language. In this interview, Mikel describes his tribulations in getting his dictionary published, shares his thoughts on the Basque government’s policy regarding Euskara, and teases us with hints on his next project, the Morris Magnum, which promises to be the largest bilingual Basque dictionary yet.
Mikel is very blunt in his observations of the state of Euskara, not because he is in any way anti-Basque, but because of the opposite, because of his love for the language, because of his desire to see Euskara not only survive but thrive.
This interview is the first in a series of interviews with Mikel.
It is nearly time for the next edition of the Buber Sarriak, honoring the best Basque related websites. This year, the ceremonies will be held in the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao! Pretty exciting! To learn more, including what sites are up for the honors, visit the Buber Sarriak website.
I found this in Eclectic Magazine Foreign Literature By John Holmes Agnew, Walter Hilliard Bidwell. I imagine it is a well-known song in Euskadi, but I hadn’t come across it before. This is the Basque perspective of the events portrayed in the Song of Roland. I don’t know how old this is, but I thought it was interesting.
The Song of Attabiscar
A cry is heard
In the Basque mountains.
Every etcheco-javna [master of a house], standing before his door,
Listens and cries, Who is there, and what seek they?
The hound which was sleeping at his master’s feet,
Rises; and his deep baying resounds through Attabiscar.
There is a noise on the hill of Ibaneta;
It echoes, as it draws near, between the rocks.
It is the dull murmur of a coming host.
Our men have answered it on the mountain-tops,
The warning of their horns has been heard,
And the etcheco-jauna sharpens his weapons for the fight.
They come, they come! What a hedge of spears!
Banners of all hues float in the midst,
And a dazzling light flashes from their arms.
How many are they? Comrade, count them well.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
Twenty! aye, and thousands more.
It would be a waste of time to count them.
Let hand join with hand, to uproot the rocks,
And hurl them down from the mountain-summits
On their heads,
Till they lie crushed and dead.
What would they with our hills, these men of the North?
Wherefore have they come to vex our peace?
When God made these mountains, it was that men should not pass them.
But the rocks fall, and smite down their hosts.
The blood flows in streams, the mangled limbs quiver.
Ha! for the crushing of bones! Ha! for the sea of blood!
Fly, ye who have strength; fly, ye who have horses!
Fly, King Carloman, with thy sable plumes and scarlet mantle?
Roland the Brave, thy loved nephew, lies dead;
Thy bravery hath been of no avail for him.
Now, ye Basques, leave these rocks,
And shoot down your enemies in their flight with your arrows.
They fly, they fly! Where is the hedge of spears?
Where are the banners of all hues that floated above them?
No dazzling light flashes from their blood- soiled armor.
How many are they? Comrade, count them with care.
Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen,
Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
One! there is not even one remaining.
All is over. Etcheco-jauna, thou mayest go back with thy hound,
Embrace thy wife and thy children,
Furbish thy weapons, hang them up with the horn, and then lie down to sleep beneath them.
The eagles will come in the night to feed on mangled flesh,
And the bones shall bleach on the ground for evermore.