This little piggy went to market

Under the knife of chef Adam Fuller at Great Bay

By CHRISTINE LIU

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The pig was to be delivered promptly at 10am.

In the relatively calm early hours of the kitchen at Great Bay, the air takes an anticipatory turn to the fleshy arrival: a 102-pound pig slung over the shoulder of Aidan Davin, co-owner of Stillman's Farm. Freed from its plastic wrappings, the animal emerges whole and shaved, soon relinquished to the long table along the wall. Executive chef Adam Fuller, who mere seconds ago composed an aromatic cardamom-, cumin-, cinnamon-inflected spice rub for cured pork belly, receives the animal and prepares for carnage with a grin.

An array of sharp tools—saw, cleaver, knife—lies innocuously nearby, atop a white cutting board that won't stay pristine for much longer. "Most butchers have a bandsaw," Fuller explains, laughing, immediately sawing noisily through the neck. "We don't have that luxury; it's more blue collar here."

Fuller stands as one of few ambitious Boston-area chefs who take their own knives to fresh, whole animals, using every last fleshy scrap for unctuous, inventive—and above all, delicious—dishes. Every other week, he gets a whole hormone-free, pasture-raised, grass-fed pig or lamb from Stillman's, concocting new variations on the meat each time. He estimates that about 95 percent of the pig is implemented—"Everything gets used and finds its way into something." Impressive return on investment. Miscellaneous bits can always make their way into confit, rillettes, sausage ... "Liver can get into mousse or sautéed," Fuller continues, "Heart, maybe marinated a day or two in flavored oil, then grilled really slow and sliced over crostini."

"Most chefs' favorite animal is pork," Fuller says, as the pig—about my size, really—slowly transforms from a lifeless creature to oddly familiar cuts of meat: ribs, loins, shoulder. "There's endless possibilities; it's so versatile. We can treat it in a way that people are excited about pork again." He muses about using the tail end of the loin for a cutlet Milanese, topped with a Moroccan green tomato jam; or vol-au-vent, aka puff pastry, stuffed with trotter meat and truffles. Even the fatty skin can be confited, chilled and shaved over dishes, an haute twist on everyday bacon bits.

As one might expect (or not?), the kitchen frequently gives names to the animals. "Wilbur, Morgan," recounts Fuller, tossing out titles of past sacrificial beasts. I suggest that our friend here be dubbed Francis, a tribute to His Honorable Sir Bacon. Responds Fuller, "Francis the pig ... I like that."

Although he's been using whole animals supplied and delivered by Stillman's for about a year, Fuller had yet to personally visit the farm in Hardwick. We set out together very early one morning for the scenic drive west, eager to witness the workings of Kate Stillman's and Aidan Davin's consciously raised farm.

Built in 1830, the Stillman house is surrounded by a green expanse, woodsy hillsides and an old, statuesque barn. If the John Deere in the driveway or satellite dishes along the house weren't clues that we weren't in Kansas (well, Boston) anymore, it was clear when we stepped out of our ride, promptly welcomed by a pair of lovable black-and-white sheepdogs named Bo and Luke and an undeniable sense of vastness. Fresh air. Clear light. Beautiful, unfathomable space.

But silence isn't necessarily part of the picturesque setting, we'd soon discover. Certainly the city's clamor of horns or cellphones is absent here, but as Fuller, Davin and I descend down into the grassy sprawl to meet some of the animals, the symphony began: the boisterous sounds of grazing creatures at home.

We visit the pigs first, a heterogeneous motley of shapes and sizes. From spotted to solid color, from a mammoth black boar to teensy scrambling piglets, they ramble about as if in a lively, eclectic porcine party. With a medley of snorts, grunts, oinks and squeals, they do what pigs do best—wallowing, uprooting, eating—while Davin rattles off some of the pig varieties: Gloucestershire, Yorkshire, Berkshire. Fuller points to a Berkshire trotting in view, explaining the breed's popularity with chefs: "See their rounded backs? Their saddles are longer there." The bacon-to-be wanders off with indifference.

As we make our way to the baaaaa!-ing flock of lambs (sweet, though not extraordinarily clever, animals), Davin explains how the pigs' diet ("whatever's seasonal") affects the meat, from summer's lettuce, kale or peaches ("they can't get enough of that") to winter's acorns, apples or root vegetables. "It changes texture and everything; it changes [the pork's] flavor throughout the whole season." The effect's much more noticeable in pig than in beef or lamb, and a chef's knowledge of the pigs' diet from the farmer can guide thematic cooking flavors. Dialogue is key.

Our relaxed visit veers from whooping, whistling animal calls to Davin's confessed penchant for country-style ribs, but he's soon to depart, making the two-hour ride (one way) into Boston to sell at the market. Before the chef and I leave the verdant pastures and the company of its squealing, bleating inhabitants (eventually seeking breakfast at a local diner in town where we, naturally, eat ham, bacon and sausage in good faith), Fuller puts it best, turning to Davin: "It's always good to put a face to a few animals."

Great Bay

[500 Comm. Ave., Hotel Commonwealth, Kenmore Sq., Boston. 617.532.5300. gbayrestaurant.com]

Stillman's at the Turkey Farm

[P.O. Box 373, Hardwick. 413.477.0345. stillmansfarm.com]

Find them selling at these local farmers markets:

City Hall Plaza, Mon/Wed 11am-6pm

Copley Square, Tue/Fri 11am-6pm

Brookline, Thu 1pm-dusk

Cambridgeport, Sat 10am-2pm

Somerville, Sat 9am-1pm