Pigging out: The week in pork

It seemed pigs were everywhere last week. On the cover of the Chicago Reader, in front of an old favorite grocery store and, most deliciously, in a glorious bowl of Udon noodles and pork broth in a wonderful new restaurant.

Writer Mike Sula is a self-proclaimed unrepentant omnivore. Working with Chicago’s leading weekly, the Chicago Reader, he undertook “The Whole Hog Project”—a year-and-a-half-long series in which he followed the progress of three young American mulefoot pigs from piglet to plate. Mulefoots, so named for their uncloven feet, are a rare breed; they numbered fewer than 200 just two years ago. Ironically, it is the farming of them for food that will ensure the breed’s continued existence. And it is farmers like Valerie Weihman-Rock in Argyle, Wisconsin, who are undertaking the task. As Sula’s article puts it, she reasons that “raising happy, free-ranging heritage mulefoot pigs for meat made up in some way for the millions of confined swine that live short, miserable lives before they’re churned into Smithfield hams and Spam.”

“The Whole Hog Project” isn’t always an easy read. Sula describes transporting the pigs, whose names he knows, to the slaughterhouse—a small, humane operation where the animals are handled gently, but a slaughterhouse nonetheless. He and others in the project witness their demise and butchering. Then they transport them to Blackbird, an elegantly austere restaurant on Chicago’s restaurant row along Randolph Street. Here they are destined to become a six-course dinner prepared by seven of Chicago’s top chefs.

For me, the central point of the article and the issue is that if we choose to eat meat, we should honor it. Sula references a New York Times op-ed by farmer and author Verlyn Klinkenborg about “the moral necessity of watching, if not participating in, the slaughter of animals he raises.” Reading Sula’s thoughtfully written piece has given a face to the idea of humanely raised meat, or three faces, to be more precise.

Before there was Whole Foods, before there was Trader Joe’s, there was Treasure Island. The venerable Chicago chain was opened in 1963 by the brothers Kamberos with the stated mission of providing “a supermarket that would combine the conventional with the best of specialty, imported and domestic products at competitive prices.” Julia Child dubbed their creation “The Most European Supermarket in America.” Sadly for us, Treasure Island had slipped from our radar screens for a while. Well, it’s back. And here are a few reasons why.

For starters, for the last three Saturday mornings in a row, we have been greeted by this unusual sight outside their Clybourn Avenue store. To me, it speaks to their commitment to the quality of food they provide their customers. As does the smell of orange juice being freshly squeezed in the produce department. As does the dazzling selection of exotic imported goods, cheek by jowl with the most mundane necessities of day-to-day life. Long before the term “carefully curated” was applied to retail, Treasure Island’s merchandise was exactly that. Poking around in the shelves and cases on a recent visit, frozen duck fat, ground ostrich and fresh oyster mushrooms made our shopping list sound utterly pedestrian.

Besides feeling undeniably European, Treasure Island feels like something of a throwback—or maybe a store on New York’s upper west side. They offer delivery, for one thing, and not like they’re harking back to “old-fashioned service”—it’s just what they’ve always done. And while they’re not exactly Aldi’s, their prices seem a lot more down to earth than I remember.

The roasting pig out front? The Clybourn store [and maybe the new Hyde Park store—in the Obamas’ neighborhood!] do this on a regular basis, to sell in their hot foods department. And come the holidays, they’ll be doing turkeys too. So yeah, they’re back on our radar screen. This time, I think they’ll stay.

Last Friday night, Marion and I wandered into Mantou Noodle Bar, the new Wicker Park/Bucktown restaurant in the short-lived ZKfood’s former space. The menu in the window promised a “well curated” selection of snacks, noodles, rice, sides, man tou [the steamed buns Chinese street food for which the restaurant is named] and, randomly enough, a raw bar. All reasonably priced—all entrees under $13. Sounded like exactly what we needed on a Friday night.

We started with some oysters. If I’ve learned anything about life with my bride, it’s that if there are oysters on the menu, we’re ordering them. They did not disappoint. They were fresh and briny and, as Marion said of one of the three varieties we tasted [sparkling wine was involved, names forgotten], it tasted “like the Atlantic.”

But nothing prepared me for the entree. I saw an udon noodle dish with Berkshire pork, vegetables and chili oil. Every boldface name chef mentioned in New York magazine who cooks pork seems to use Berkshire pork, so I figured it might be okay. Now in mid-November as we are, I think it’s safe to say that “it might be okay” will be my top understatement of the year. I saw Jesus.

The thick udon noodles were good, the vegetables satisfyingly crunchy. The pork broth was wonderful—flavorful and not too salty [Mantou uses no MSG]. But the big chunks of Berkshire pork, these were the stars of this dish. Oh, yeah. Too big to be single bites in any situation other than a competitive eating one, they weren’t just marbled with fat—they were riddled with it. And I mean that in the best possible way. In an age where the pork industry has worked hard to be the other white meat, leaner than chicken breasts in some cases, this reminds you what truly stellar pork tastes like.

Chef/owner Rick Spiros is wisely doing a quiet opening, working the bugs out, getting everything running smoothly. Go there now, before it’s hard to get in. This tiny spot is going to be big. Great food, reasonable prices, loungy atmosphere, super friendly staff… and omigod, the Berkshire pork.

Mantou Noodle Bar
1633 N. Milwaukee Avenue
Chicago
[773]772-8688