Why did you get a tattoo of a pig?!

by Kunal Chandra

There are two kinds of people when it comes to tattoos: those who have them and those who don’t. It’s that simple. Those who don’t have tattoos either don’t want one or can’t decide on their chosen ink. Some are reluctant because of the impending pain, some fear social repercussions and a majority are just unsure of the design that would become a permanent feature. I was a member of this group until a humble porcine being became an integral part of my life in Italy.

The pig plays a fundamental role in Italian gastronomic culture. The country, perhaps, makes the widest range of products from a single culling. Every part is revered, evident in the sheer variety of cured meats turned out by artisanal and large scale producers; culatello from the hind leg, capocallo from the shoulder, pancetta from the belly and guanciale from the cheeks. Pork fat, called lardo, derived from the back, effuses a meaty richness to any frugal dish transforming it instantly into a symphony on the palate. Then there are the ubiquitous ribs and loin or peculiar feet (zampone) cooked on the grill or in stews and braises. Every portion tastes better than the other.

These cuts support my belief in using the whole pig. With an increase in household incomes, consumers are buying costlier cuts of meat, typically found in top restaurants. The rate at which my friends consume tenderloin is both alarming and disturbing. But I question, isn’t it disrespectful to slay an animal just for a single need? It’s a similar perspective with ivory to elephants and fins to sharks. A few of my favourite chefs share a similar affinity for pigs.  Chef Fergus Henderson of St. John’s restaurant in London and Chef Andreas Dahlberg of the Bastard restaurant in Malmo are tireless crusaders of the nose to tail culinary philosophy, currently inspiring a new generation of carnivores to indulge in offal and entrails.

The location of my tattoo, on the lower rib cage, raised a few eyebrows and even more questions. Did it hurt? Are you crazy? Didn’t the needles sting you every time they reverberated over your ribs? The answer to all of the above is yes. But pain can be viewed as a positive feeling. Pain, in this context reminded me of how fragile life is, a part of being mortal just like the animals we enjoy eating. Call it sadistic or a triumph of empathy, but I wanted to feel a smidgen of the suffering felt by a pig as its death knell resounds midst its squeals. And the location close to my food friendly stomach was quite serendipitous.

The parts of the pig were written in Italian on the tattoo. This would ensure a lasting memory of the wonderful country – its language, the culture, the people, an incredible family of friends and life I have enjoyed. The words remind me of every slice of focaccia I have savoured with a cup of steaming espresso, each glass of prosecco had post work at aperitivo and platefuls of risotto with rivulets of unfiltered olive oil and an abundance of parmiggiano reggiano.

The tattoo was also an endeavour to help support local farmers, artisans and entrepreneurs. This piece of art was created by a local artist Elia (post consultation with a local butcher called Marco) who in the process of creating a customised work of food art has now reached out to over 500 students of my former university and even more gastronomes.

Lastly, every time I see myself in the mirror, the tattoo is a reminder of the moment I made a decision and stood by it. It resurrects the strength I have, the pain I can endure, the endless possibilities and beauty that lies beyond.

The humble pig may not be able to speak like Babe but it shows me the path to stay inspired each day and speak on its behalf to the food generation of today… or maybe until my next food tattoo.

Kunal Chandra is a recovering spice addict who has recently received a Masters in Food Culture and Communications in Italy and traversed the gastronomic pathways of Europe. He is back in India now on his latest culinary adventure. View his work at www.kunalchandra.com.