The King of Beef Does Porchetta

Viva la Ciccia… E chi la Stropiccia!

Dario has always sung the praises of beef. The hallowed halls of his macelleria (Italian butcher shop) are decorated with paintings and sculptures. Each in some way pays homage to the king of meats:

Beef.

On a normal day, beef is all he deals with. You won’t find chicken or fowl in the display case. You won’t find a lamb carcass hanging in the walk-in. You want a pork chop? He doesn’t sell those either.

People travel halfway around the world to feast on the Bistecca alla Fiorentina at his table. He ships these same steaks to many parts of Europe. Even though he is known for his beef, Dario is also a master when it comes to pork.

Dario uses pork in three of his dishes:

A massive ball of whipped Lardo.

• Burro de Chianti - or butter of Chianti is a seasoned pork lard. Dario spreads it lavishly on crostini and baked potatoes. I’m in love. After having tasted burro de Chianti, I’ll never ruin another baked potato with butter again.

• Tonno de Chianti - or Tuna of Chianti are pork hams that are salted, then braised in white wine and liquids. Tonno de Chianti is a component of the Accoglienza plate at McDario.

• Porchetta - a boneless pork roast where the body of the pig is de-boned, seasoned, rolled and cooked. Porchetta is another component of Dario’s Accoglienza plate.

On day three of my staging at the Celle, Samu taught me how to prepare the porchetta for Dario. We each grabbed a knife and a side of pork and got to work. Samu began by cutting just beneath the spare ribs and eventually worked his way up to and around the vertebrae – he was left with a beautiful, boneless pork loin and belly. After a few extra minutes, I finished up with my side of pork. Samu said our work, for the most part, was done so we loaded the pork sides into the refrigerated Mercedes van and made our way back up to the macelleria.

The master took over from there – with a high-output torch. Now don’t confuse this high output torch with a puny, little creme brulee torch.

This baby could burn down a house.

Once the hair was scorched from the skin,  Dario turned the sides of pork over and gave them a heavy dusting of seasonings:

• course ground sea salt,
• a variety of fresh Tuscan herbs,
• and a copious amount of crushed garlic - Dario likes his garlic!

I think we have enough Rosemary...

Behind the seasoning, he rolled up the sides of pork into what I can best describe as a cowboy’s bedroll. As he rolled, he scored.  He cut long incisions down the length of the carcasses, allowing for a tighter roll.

Then when everything was nice and tight, he hand-tied butchers string along the length to keep everything in place for cooking.

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After 4 hours in the oven at a high temperature, the two rolls of porchetta came out with a beautiful,golden-brown skin. We placed two bricks at each end of the rolls to elevate them above their drippings to keep the skin nice and crispy. That night, Dario’s diners enjoyed some of the freshest and most savory porchetta in all of Italy. I’d like to think that I was a small part of this Italian culinary tradition.

And of course, olive oil.

It's a Long Way to the Top

I find it funny how many Italians can’t speak English, but if you throw on some bass-driving AC/DC songs, they can sing every word to perfection. So my first two days at the Celle (Dario's meat lab) we rocked to Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap and Highway to Hell instead of That’s Amore. Truth be, I don’t care what’s on the playlist – whether it be Dino or Angus Young.  I am in Panzano, Italy, home of Dario Cecchini, one of the most famous butchers in the world and all I want to do is suck the marrow from the bone. I want to learn everything. I know it sounds crazy, but I do. It’s all part of this culinary adventure I’m on – to travel the world, stage with the best butchers and learn all I can from them.

In New York, I worked with great instructors and we processed a lot of lamb – something you don’t really find back home in Texas. Then in the French countryside, I learned traditional French charcuterie and came away with new found knowledge of pate de tete, or headcheese, blood sausage, and Noir de Jambon. Now in Italy, I am learning the ways of the master. I am learning Dario Cecchini's method of butchery.

So on my second day at Celle, I was finally given the opportunity to pull out my knives and get to work. We suited up to You Shook Me All Night Long and then Jadava slid me a shank from across the table and told me to debone it. Back in New York, shank meat was simply removed from the bone and set aside to grind into hamburger. There really wasn’t a specific method to deboning shanks – just get as much meat off the bone as possible. And so I did. I split the two main muscles off the shank like I had done so many times before. And then,

Que Catzo?!

I heard Jadava boom from across the table. He hurried around the butcher block towards me, apologizing for not being more specific.

No, no! Maestro Dario makes steak out of shank muscles. See, like this. Capisci?

Si, si. Dario wanted everything taken off in one smooth piece. Jadava explained that when he first started, he cut shanks for four months before Dario ever let him touch another cut of meat. He said if Dario wasn’t happy with your work, you were gone. It was Dario’s way or the highway. He deboned another shank to demonstrate and then I got back to work. This time, with much more precision and attention to detail. Now I was cutting a steak – not making hamburger.

All that day I was the ‘shank man’. Every shank that came through the processing room was mine. I was ecstatic to be back cutting meat and silently smiled to myself when next on the playlist was, It’s a Long Way to the Top.

Yes, indeed it is.

Viva La Cicca!

Monday morning, I was in Antica Macelleria Cecchini at 7:55 sharp with my knife roll in hand and ready to cut meat. Slowly, employees donning the signature red Dario Cecchini shirts and jackets trickled in. I was introduced to Samuel (Samu) and Jadava, two young butchers that would be teaching me this week and after a cup of mocha from the kitchen, we gathered around the meat case to receive orders from Dario. My Italian was non-existent so I didn’t pick up much of the instructions, however, I did notice that Dario uses his hands to punctuate his dialog and he loves to use the word "allora"  – meaning “so.” Jadava translated the day’s instructions to me as we filed out of the shop and headed to the laboratory – Dario’s meat cutting facility that lay on the outskirts of town. Jadava gave me a quick tour and then got to work. I watched as he and the other butchers began breaking down rounds (back leg of a cow) and after observing for an hour or so, I offered to give them a hand with what I thought was some simple, basic cutting. Jadava then told me,

No, non fino a domani.

No, not until tomorrow would I be able to cut. That’s like telling a six-year-old he can’t unwrap Christmas presents until December 26th.

A peak inside Dario's walk-in cooler.

While Jadava broke more rounds down, I eased over to the next room to watch Samu cut porterhouse steaks the old fashioned way – with the use of a meat cleaver. Dario is all about getting back to the traditional way of butchery and that means using as little modern machinery as possible. The “small” steaks Samu cut were a custom order for a butcher shop in Berlin, but he said,

Wait until you see the ‘Steak of Dario'.

T-Bone Steaks at Dario's.

Lots of beef loins are needed at Dario's.

I saw what he meant. Kim, Dario’s wife, invited me to the Officina Della Bistecca, the crown jewel of Dario’s three restaurants that evening. While I waited to be seated, I mixed and conversed with a few American couples. It felt good to hear a familiar tongue and to get a little break from Italian. We were seated upstairs near the grill – a perfect place to watch the show.

Before the dinner rush at Officina della Bistecca.

One evening's meat allotment.

Dario’s experience at Officina Della Bistecca is like no other - It consists of a six-course family-style meal entirely devoted to beef. It takes place directly above the butcher shop in dining hall heavily adorned with local Tuscan art. In the center lie two great grilles and a butcher’s block. This is where the magic happens. When at capacity, which is usually every night, the dining hall is capable of hosting 60 people.

The Dario experience went like this:

• The first course was the Sushi of Chianti - a very simple and plain beef tartare. It's not dressed up like those you might find in French or American cuisine. The absence of other ingredients allows you to really taste the meat.

• Next was the Carpaccio de Culo – the “ass of the cow” as Tommaso, the master of the dining hall explained.

Dario in the middle of his famous "presentation of the ribeyes"

• Then, mid-way through an incredibly thin and delicious slice of Carpaccio, the hall was suddenly drowned with the sounds of a horn - Dario was entering the room. With two massive rib-eyes held in his outstretched hands, he thanked everyone for joining him in his booming voice. Next, he introduced his staff and then at the top of his lungs, he presented La Costata alla Fiorentina. It gave me chills – I had watched Dario’s famous presentation on YouTube many times, but now it gave me goosebumps to get to hear it live. Then after shaking a few hands and kissing a few babies, Dario descended to the butcher shop once more.

• The rib-eye was followed by the Bistecca de Panzanese(Steak of Panzano), which is an invention of Dario's that comes from the top round or the heel, located adjacent to the bottom round.

• By this time, most of us were already bulging from consuming so much food, but we still had yet to try the Bistecca a la Fiorentina (the Porterhouse), which is the pride of the restaurant and the entire region for that matter.

• And of course, throughout the entire meal, we were showered with garlic bread, fresh vegetables, and amazing Tuscan beans.

So what’s the big deal? Anybody can sell a steak, but the “maestros” sell the sizzle. Dario sells the sizzle better than anyone else. He presents each steak, giving thanks to his crew and the animal for its sacrifice. You can see he is truly passionate about his work. He might throw a few lines of the great Tuscan poet Dante into his presentation as well, but he always ends his presentation the same –

Viva La Ciccia

…E chi

La Stropiccia!”

Roughly translated – long live the meat and he who creates it.

Lastly, He asks,

To beef or not to beef?

Believe me, I beefed hard!

It’s Crazy What Can Happen in a Year

Just a short year ago, I was staring down graduation from Texas Christian University. I had just told my family and friends I was turning down the job offers, turning down the new luxury car, and turning down financial security. I saw raised eyebrows and some crazy looks when I apprised them I was ditching it all and going to chase my passion – I was going to be a craft butcher.

A butcher?

Yes, a butcher. But not just any butcher, I explained, I wanted be like “the” butcher.

Of course, words failed me in describing “the” butcher so I turned to the videos - the same ones that inspired me to ditch the American dream.

Dario Cecchini is described as, "...a personality, a celebrity, and a butcher extraordinaire.  A theatrical host, a show-stopper, and an artist."To me, he is the rock star in the butchery game. He is an 8th generation butcher and his family's shop has been open for more than 250 years in the small town of Panzano, Italy. 

Dario manning the counter of his butcher shop.

Dario embodies everything I want to do:

• Educate,
• Satiate,
• and Entertain.

He is the reason I picked up the cleaver.

Tonight, as I write this post, I have freshly arrived in Panzano, in the Tuscany region of Italy. The small ancient town sits atop a good sized hill, surrounded by vineyards and olive trees on the rolling hills as far as the eye can see. I am setting at a small bedroom window overlooking Antica Macelleria Cecchini. I am watching "the” butcher welcome guests with a warm smile and open arms. Here, the meat is plentiful and the wine flows profusely.

Dario taking a quick look down the street that runs directly in front of his shop.

Tomorrow morning it will be my honor to stage with my idol for a week.

Again, words escape me.

I am truly blessed.

We have an AMAZING God!

Dinner with Dario.

POS Meat Grinders

POS - P.O.S.adjective, slang

1. An acronym commonly interpreted as “piece of shit.” It can be used to describe something as worthless or invaluable.

You know those days where nothing goes your way? The average Joe’s bad day might consist of running out of coffee, getting a speeding ticket on the way to work, and violently puking on his boss after a bad a batch of tuna from the night before…I’ve never done that; I just have a random imagination. You know, one of those days you wish you could crawl back under the covers and hit the reset button? Let me tell you about one that involved neither speeding tickets nor bad batches of tuna:

Did you know the job market is tough for a butcher in Texas? I’ve been applying to shops with no success.

None. Hell, one even told me to apply, then told me they had no room after I applied. Frustrated by the lack of work – or maybe just plum stir crazy from being cooped up in the house - I decided I needed to release some frustration and do what any normal butcher would do on a Saturday night: make sausage.

Now given the right tools and excellent pork, this process can take very little time in an outfitted shop and can turn out some damn good sausage. This Saturday night “home” test run would give me a good idea if I could make the same end product without $100,000 worth of commercial sausage making machinery. Armed with two different meat grinders, two sausage stuffer attachments, a package of fresh hog casings, and my knives, I felt like there was no way I could fail.

The entire family was out of the house. I had the kitchen to myself. I dialed in my soft jazz playlist on Spotify, sharpened my boning knives, and began to de-bone the pork shoulders. At this time of uncertainty in my professional career, I really needed a moment like this. There, cutting away on some pork in my kitchen, jammin’ to some Miles Davis, I knew I had picked the right profession. This butcher thing is pretty awesome.

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Well, that was the high point of my night. I wish the rest of the evening was equally appealing, but it went downhill from this point forward.

Tonight, I was giving the hand-cranked, Weston grinder a shot. You last saw this guy used when I made tamales. It made quick work of the slow cooked meat and I would definitely recommend it for that task, however I do not recommend it for raw pork cubes. I bolted it to a cutting board, then after a long brainstorming session, I bolted it to a folding chair to stabilize it.

Yeah, I'm not sure what I was thinking.

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After running a pound of meat through it, I had to stop and clean the plate. The holes were so clogged with pork sinew that nothing could pass through. Again, I tried to grind pork cubes and once more it clogged and was inoperable.

Dang, I realized I had an POS grinder and only 1 pound of ground pork to show for my efforts.

Did I mention I had cubed 24 pounds of pork and it sat bagged and stacked consuming all the free space in the fridge?

Yeah, I needed to get this pork ground and cased before the family got home and… produced a chicken from their rear end, if you get my drift.

Next to Plan B: the Kitchen Aid Grinder/Stuffer Attachment.

Previously, I had ground a pound of beef for a meat loaf with this easy mixer attachment and I thought I could do the same with the pork cubes. This attachment was smaller and it would take more time to run 24 pounds of pork through, but I was relieving my frustration and the methodical repetition of feeding meat into the hatch would be soothing.

I cannot describe how slow and exasperating this process was. Back at Fleisher’s, the grinding and mixing was done in roughly five minutes and that was in 50 to 100 pound batches. After 3 hours, I had only managed to grind five pounds of pork and nearly burned up the motor on the Kitchen Aid mixer.

Just shoot me!

Usually, sausage meat is ground then seasoned before being ground a final time to ensure a thorough mix of seasonings. Was I going to run the five pounds of ground pork back through back the Kitchen Aid?

Hell no! And honestly, I don’t think the meat needed to be ground a second time. Those home grinders almost emulsified it.

I poured in my seasonings and massaged it into the ground meat with my hands. Back to the Kitchen Aid mixer I went, hoping the sausage stuffer would work better than the grinder….

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Let me just save all you DIY sausage makers out there some time:

1. Don’t use either of the grinders I’ve listed.
2. Don't use either of the stuffers I've listed
3. The Weston grinder might have worked, but I believe the blade was too dull.
4. The Kitchen Aid grinder attachment… would be better off in the trash.

Yes, it’s possible to grind meat with both appliances. I know all you Paul Bunyan’s are griping and calling me a pansy, because you all can do it while pounding home-brewed moonshine.

Well, I can’t.

With over 4 hours into this project and not a single link of sausage to show for it, I made the remaining seasoned meat into patties for morning breakfast and ordered me a super grinder and sausage stuffer from Amazon.

Sausage patties

I let you know how they work.  Until then, If you have any questions, comments, or you know exactly what I did wrong and want to email me and call me an idiot, hit me up!