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THIS THANKSGIVING, my grandma's table will be topped with yams, baked macaroni, collard greens, lima beans, stewed tomatoes, turkey and too many other offerings to name.
That Butterball will be fat, juicy and stuffed with dressing, but it won't be the star of the show.
Nope, not for me.
My taste buds are set on some good ol' chitlins. The formal name is chitterlings, but nobody calls them that.
I eat 'em fried or right out of the slow cooker--seasoned with salt, vinegar and mustard.
Mmm, just the thought makes my mouth water.
Some people claim they don't like chitlins, even if they've never had them.
Most are turned off by the foul smell during preparation or by knowing exactly what they are.
Yes, the rumors are true: Chitlins are pig intestines. And I love them.
You can buy a 10-pound bucket already prepared or you can get them from the butcher.
If you get them from the butcher, they need to be thoroughly cleaned by hand to remove any fat or fecal matter before cooking.
I can't explain the taste, but they can be a little chewy depending on how you cook them. My grandma cooks them in the slow cooker for several hours on Thanksgiving Day. The next morning, she fries up any leftovers for breakfast. I like them that way best.
For me, chitlins are a symbol of comfort. It's the one food that I eat only when I'm surrounded by family. We eat them every Thanksgiving and Christmas as a family tradition.
This year, I hope to learn how to clean and cook them on my own, so I can continue that tradition when I start my
Pig intestines may not sound like the most appetizing of foods, but animal innards are a delicacy in various parts of the world.
Culinary historian Linda Stradley, on her Web site whatscookingamerica.net, says the national dish of Scotland is haggis, or sheep stomach stuffed with the animal's minced heart, liver and lungs.
Tripe--cow or ox stomach--is popular throughout Europe and parts of Asia.
And French chefs serve dishes that feature cow brains and kidneys.
So, it's not just my family ingesting animal insides.
I've eaten chitlins for as long as I can remember. But I don't think I could stomach a cow's brain or a sheep's heart.
That would gross me out.
I don't touch pig's feet, either.
My grandma cooks those, too, but I just couldn't see myself sucking on Porky's toes, even if they are smothered in barbecue sauce.
My grandmother said her mother raised hogs in the backyard, and since the family was poor, they didn't let a single ounce go
Long before their time, in slavery days, cast-off pig parts were pretty much all that was available to blacks in the South.
The back and sides had already been taken for bacon. The thighs were gone, too--used for ham.
Therefore, pig intestines, feet, stomach, neckbone and ears helped slaves survive.
For that, the pig deserves a lot
Think about it. Pigs give us bacon, sausage, ham and pork chops. Hot dogs and bologna owe their existence to that pink, curly-tailed, snout-nosed swine.
My love for the incredible, edible pig isn't coincidental.
My name, traditionally spelled Portia, derives from the Latin word porcus, or pig. It is said
So every Thanksgiving, I pay tribute to my namesake--the pig--by eating its intestines,
And I'm bringing my own mustard and vinegar.
To reach PORTSIA SMITH:
Email: psmith@freelancestar.com
