I've been intrigued by the pigs head for a while. After watching
Tim Hayward's video piece for the Guardian back in August last year I've been fascinated and waiting for the opportune moment to have a go. There's a problem in this adventure though. My wife has absolutely no inclination to try or be around the decapitated head of a pig. This posed a slight problem. I had originally planned to braise then roast the whole head, I would need someone to share it with as the whole point of this exercise is to use a part of the pig that would otherwise be wasted. If I was to only pick at some of it then have to "feed the rest to the birds," then that would defy the whole point and I would be back where I started. After scouring the various forums and discussion websites online I decided I had procrastinated long enough and went down to see my friends at my local butchers. I took home a fresh pigs head, the tongue had been removed, for just £3. I cleared the kitchen table, un-bagged the beasts head, poured myself a cup of coffee and stared at it resembling a twisted Smith and Jones sketch, while I pondered on what potential meals this face will provide. First, of course, the swine needed to be clean shaven, I took a plastic lady-shave razor out of the bathroom and set about shaving the coarse ginger hair away from my new friend. The eyebrows and corner of the eyes in particular were incredibly dense and stubborn to remove. Following the shave I rinsed the head thoroughly in the sink, my piggy now looking much more fresh faced and ready for the larger task at hand, the de-boning. Starting in the middle of its bottom jaw, I cut from the neck up to where its front teeth are. Working close to the bone in small, neat cuts with the tip of a knife, I slowly brought away the jowl.
If trying this at home be aware of the cheek bone as this is a little fiddly and you don't want to damage the lovely cheek meat. Just take your time and keep your eye on what is going on and the definition of the skull. Once over the tricky cheek work your way down and underneath the upper lip and stop about 3cm away from the snout. The eye area can also be a bit difficult but don't worry if you cut through the skin here too much as there is little between the skin and the bone here anyway. Once you can see half of the face de-boned it's time to turn it over and repeat on the other side. Eventually you should be left to separate just the area between the eyes and down the nose which is relatively simple and then chop off the snout. So I was left with a scary looking skull, eyes looking at me and once turned over an equally as scary mask. Bookmark this for next Halloween and freak out the kids.
I put the skull in the oven to roast, then put it in a pan with some onions, carrot and garlic and water for stock. Only half the head would fit so I made sure the back half was submerged where I guess there must be more flavour.
I cut away the snout and ears and wrapped them in foil and popped them in the fridge to tackle another day. Fergus Henderson's Pea and pigs ear soup might get tried in the next few days. I separated the two jowls and carefully removed the round cheeks. The two muscles alongside the snout were also removed. The thin, fatty skin from beneath the forehead area was dropped into my simmering stock for good measure and I was left with a small piece of forehead. I went out on a limb here and heavily seasoned it with salt, pepper and lemon zest before rolling it tightly in muslin, tied with string and poached it in simmering water for about half an hour. I let it chill and have left it in the fridge for a few days in the hope that It should be nice sliced thinly with some bread and salad.
My dad has agreed to come over in the next few days to help me polish off one of the jowls and the pigs ears while I plan to make Guanciale from the opposing jowel and I am yet to decide with what to do with those gorgeous cheeks. I had the whole kitchen sorted and disposed of the skull before my wife returned and I had the richest pork stock I've ever made. Perhaps I'll braise the cheeks in some. When I was questioned as to why on earth you would choose to eat the pigs head I thought for a moment and then gave my answer. To quote the great man himself, Fergus Henderson, "it's only polite."
Guanciale, or guancia is an unsmoked cured bacon-like product made from the jowls or cheeks of a pig. I had made an attempt at guanciale earlier this year when I hastily came home from our butchers with a pigs head, much to the bewilderment and shock of my wife Emma. Something went very wrong last time though, I think I had left them for too long before I started the cure and the god awful smell emitting from the jowls prompted me to abort the process and bin them. Some time has elapsed since then and I thought it high time I re-attempted guanciale. At only £1.68 for two plump pig jowls it seemed rude not to.
The first stage was the cure. A mixture of sea salt, sugar, peppercorns and thyme was massaged into the meat on all sides for several minutes before each jowl being laid on a bed of the remaining mixture in sealed tubs then placed in the fridge. Each morning the liquid drawn out of the jowls was tipped away, there was no funky smells this time, all I could smell was pungent thyme with a faint whiff of pepper. After a week there was little, if any, liquid being tipped off each morning and so began the maturing process. Plan carefully where you will hang your guanciale to mature. You need somewhere with air flow, out of direct sunlight and at a cool temperature no higher than 60F. A corner of my kitchen was just fine. This is something which I should have planned in advance as Emma now dances on the fringe of vegetarianism, don't worry we have had words and meat is still firmly on the menu. The problem began when I served dinner one evening. Emma sat down to her meal and dangling from the shelf above the table, at eye level and about eight inches from her face were my two guanciale. I was quite proud of my charcuterie whilst Emma was a little put off her food. In fairness the Guanciale were looking sweaty and some beads of guanciale juice had dripped onto the table by her knife. We ate dinner in the lounge for the rest of the maturing period though the trouble didn't end there. My guanciale was the subject of a few lovers tiffs during the three weeks, unfortunately I had absolutely nowhere else to hang them, I am now putting a rail up in a storage cupboard in the hall and finding homes for all the junk in there. This will become my cellar of sorts as I plan to get into charcuterie even more, though a fear of botulism has me re-reading a lot of books at the moment.
Today I had my first sample of home cured guanciale. I cut a few slices off and placed them in a hot frying pan, the ribbons of fat started to melt and quickly turned translucent. The sizzling meat gave off the most amazing smell with strong thyme and pepper notes. I ate a few slithers on their own whilst I quickly assembled a bacon sandwich with the guanciale, better than any bacon buttie I had had in years. I used no condiments in the sandwich and simply let the fat soak up into the bread. The meat has a deep, rich flavour and the fat is simply beautiful. It melts away and leaves a refined porcine taste in your mouth. The pig is still, unquestionably, my favourite animal to eat. Just do yourself a favour and make sure its not maturing near to where your loved one eats their dinner. For any other culinary related relationship advice, just drop me an email. 
