I’m in the mood for comfort food. I always am, of course; aren’t we all? But this week, there’s nothing terribly wrong with my world except some unpleasant weather and perhaps a bit of early Spring malaise, nothing, in other words, that can’t be put right with a sip of something strong and a bite of something wonderful. I’ve been craving something comforting, and for me, comfort is pork. Comfort is a slice of cold smoked pork shoulder.
Though it may be no comfort at all to the pig, I believe I can say without reservation that a smoked shoulder is my favorite of all pork cuts. And, since pork is my favorite of all meats, it stands to reason that a smoked shoulder is my favorite cut of meat, period. Bacon, sausages, pates, roast duck, braised lamb shank, a grilled backstrap of venison…all evoke wondrous and savory visions in my mind. But for me, nothing combines scrumptiousness and nostalgia in such perfect measure as a simple smoked shoulder.
Yet it’s a cut that has perhaps fallen so far out of fashion that it now needs defining. Simply put, it’s a shoulder of pork (typically a Boston Butt but potentially a lower Picnic Roast) cured and smoked like a ham. It’s wonderfully basic. But a smoked shoulder transcends it’s humble nature: while a ham is a lean cut with little marbling, pork shoulder its lovingly laced with ribbons of inter-muscular fat, and fat, as every ardent carnivore know, is the bastion of flavor. The marbling of a pork shoulder is what allows it to shred apart into carnitas or pulled pork with long, slow cooking, but it also is perfect for absorbing the salt from a cure and the smokiness from the smoke-house. It is almost as excellent a vessel for the process as bacon, and that’s high praise. The marbling also keeps the shoulder moister and more toothsome than ham, though it makes the cut less conducive to a long drying process such as with prosciutto or jamon Iberico. Longevity aside, however, a smoked shoulder is a excellent if overlooked choice, particularly if it comes for well raised and well fed heritage breed hog. When I took one of our last groups of pigs to the butcher, I made a point of reserving nearly all the shoulders to have smoked. There were more than a dozen, and I stashed them greedily away in a freezer, terrified of the day that I might have neither pigs nor pork readily at hand. It’s not a cut I ever want to go long without.
My history with smoked shoulders dates to my childhood, when it was one of my grandmother’s signature dishes. It was a cheap cut, flavorful and filling, ideally suited to an Old World mentality and a depression era frugality. My grandma’s shoulder dinners were boiled affairs, pots of potatoes and carrots and cabbage simmering along with the brown and unassuming lump of pork. Leftovers became hash, or stuffed cabbage (pigs in blankets in our parlance), and would sustain us for days. The magic of the shoulder was in its giving nature, its ability to impart flavor to its fellow pot-mates, to be stretched into meal after meal, to elevate the ungainly, pale green, fart-made-substance that is cabbage. Smoked shoulder was utterly unprepossessing, and completely unforgettable.
Still, I went years without it. After her death, no one took up my grandma’s mantle of shoulder-cook, and the dish might have been consigned to the fond but evaporating mists of memory had I not took up farming. But I did, and gradually all things porcine became my metier. Rediscovering smoked pork shoulder was one of my rare moments of genius. The shoulders I produced now were not the inexpensive, industrial cuts from my youth, but products of good husbandry and care. The meat was fattier and more flavorful, the preparation done at a small, local German smoke-haus, and the pigs who gave their all were raised on pasture for their entire lives. My first taste of our smoked shoulder after years without was revelatory. I’m not sure Ive ever had a single bite that was so evocative, that both transported me back in time and made my present seem worthwhile.
I’ve cooked a great many shoulders since, though not usually in that old boiled dinner fashion. A smoked shoulder, like an unsmoked shoulder, does best in a low, slow oven. It doesn’t need as long of a cooking time, since the meat is well smoked already, but you want to let the muscle fibers loosen and the fat that runs through the cut to yield. Even then, slow roasted, it will never be an elegant dish, but it doesn’t need to be: it’s a brick of salty unctuousness, a peasant’s idea of perfection. You want to slice it thin, and you want some hearty accompaniments. When I cooked my most recent shoulder this week I served it with roasted baby potatoes and some glazed parsnips, nothing too fancy. The shoulder itself does best with a bit of good dijon mustard, a few lovely little pickled onions, and a stein of pilsner or perhaps a glass of Gewürztraminer. It’s the sort of meal you want to enjoy by the flickering light of a kerosene lantern while seated on a old steamer trunk after a long day at the plow.
Yet as good as shoulder is as a hot meal, I believe it’s at the hight of its powers the following day. As a leftover roast, a smoked shoulder is without peer. Cold, the marbling of once rendered fat becomes mouth meltingly yielding. Sliced thinly, eaten standing while bathed in the cool light of the open refrigerator, the shoulder becomes the perfect quick hit of comfort on the go. And pressed into service between two slabs of country bread, topped with mustard, a dollop of mayonnaise, and a fat slice of sweet onion, a cold smoked shoulder makes a superb rustic sandwich. I’ll find myself heartened for days by the presence of a leftover shoulder in the icebox, and when i’ve sawed off the last hunk, I’ll think fondly about roasting another just to be once again provisioned. As someone who neither purchases or consumes conventional deli meat, and who misses it dearly, cold shoulder scratches an itch that is not easily scratched, at least not ethically.
It’s silly, of course to wax poetically over a chunk of smoked pork, but this what appreciation looks like. To respect one’s food is to be occasionally caught in its thrall. In these trying times, comfort food is more important that ever, and for me comfort is a slice of cold, fatty ham. I won’t apologize. The cut, smoked and salted, seasoned well with memory, fills me with hunger and nostalgia in equal share. It’s a dish of my humble past and my happy future, and I suggest you seek on out and give it a try. As for me, all this useless typing has worn me out; I believe I’ll head to the fridge for a bit of cold pork with mustard.
The Edible Complex 