Hormel tour an ode to pork

Klecko—you all know Klecko, right? Saint Agnes Baking Co.’s production manager?—called me the other day to catch up. I’d been out and about, most recently to the Hormel production plant in Austin, Minn.

“If you ever get a chance to finagle your way into a tour, do so,” I said. I managed to weasel my way in (us journalist types like to do that) with the Minneapolis ACF chefs, who are kind enough to allow me to infiltrate their meetings and get a grasp of the culinary world. Jim Lund, executive chef at the Wellstead of Rogers and the chapter’s vice president, had been prodding Hormel for more than a year for a tour.

We saw just about everything to be seen at the plant, including the production line, where the headless, split and gutless carcasses hung from their rear hoof (or tendon, actually, as we learned later) on a hook scrolled in on the line from an unseen room I assume was the cooler. “These pigs were slaughtered yesterday,” our guide told us, a wonderful woman who taught me more about pork in 20 minutes than I had known in my previous 36 years.

“So, was it one of those deals like people say, that you won’t eat pork for a week after seeing that?” Klecko asked.

“No,” I had to admit. “I’m not sure what this says about me, but I was actually hungry.” Klecko burst out laughing. But it was true. I was starving. Perhaps it was because the lunch hour was approaching—we were wandering through at about 10:30 a.m., and my breakfast hours earlier consisted of a cup of coffee and a croissant—hardly enough fuel for a fella my size.

At one point we were standing about one foot from the guy who expertly carved ribs from the belly of the carcass—a difficult cut, if it ain’t perfect, the ribs or the slab that becomes bacon are ruined—handed me that slab of bones I would have thrown them on the first available grill I could find. But, that said, who knows how I’d react if I actually saw the killing floor. As I’ve gotten older, road kill saddens me.

Lunch followed the tour, and consisted of a variety of pork products, a couple roasts, bacon and luncheon meats (I predict the most addictive pork product in the coming year will be cinnamon bacon), all expertly prepared by Hormel’s R&D chef team, headed by Thomas Dickhans.

Following lunch was a more detailed breakdown of the pig, away from the high-speed pace of the production line. Plastic was laid out on the counter, giant cutting boards placed on top, and then half a pig laid on top of that, and the lesson began. Our instructor was Chuck Anderson, foodservice national account manager for the company. While his schooling was culinary, he started work at Hormel in 1969 on the production line, and worked it for 20 years before moving to other departments in the company, his current one taking him around the world to where Hormel sets up a plant. Anderson sliced his way through the half carcass, discussing particular cuts from the popular to the obscure.

It was a fascinating tour (and one not granted easily since 9/11) seeing the whole process from carcass to product—everything from the raw cuts to Spam. The 1 million square-foot plant has about 3,000 employees and produces more than 1 billion pounds of pork annually.

A second helping of Chef’s Dish

This month’s Chef’s Dish features John Thompson, the executive chef at the Minneapolis Club. Most Twin Cities’ diners will never have the opportunity to taste his food. The Minneapolis Club, more than a century old, is a private club, and membership is limited. One doesn’t eat there unless they’re a member, or the guest of a member.

Thompson’s a veteran of that environment, though, as you’ll read in the article. It’s a kitchen that needs to put out the perfect cheeseburger and the perfect prosciutto-wrapped sea bass. I had the pleasure of trying Thompson’s wild boar chop, featured during the club’s “wild game week.” (Thompson contributed the recipe this month, also.)

Shoveling the chop, grits and kale into my mouth while standing over a prep table in the club’s kitchen, it was easily one of the best tasting meals I’ve devoured during the year, a great balance of flavors throughout. It’s a question that always comes up for food journalists, but perhaps should not: “Have you ever thought of opening your own place?”

Thompson deflected the question as deftly as anyone. “We’re (Thompson’s wife is also a trained chef) having a lot of fun spending other people’s money,” he said, laughing.

No, Thompson isn’t looking to open his own joint. He’s quite happy where he’s at. Truth is, he added, he and his wife had the opportunity to open their own place about two years ago—had the location and financing. “But, when it came down to it, I said, this isn’t right for me right now,” he said. “When we retire, maybe we’ll open a great inn or B&B, something to keep us going in later years to stay connected to the industry.”

Thompson’s career, as you’ll read, has been made at exclusive, high-end resorts and clubs with some of the most demanding—and unforgiving—clientele one could imagine. And he’s succeeded where odds were stacked against him.

It’s a question that one hopes doesn’t need to be asked in the 21st century, but still needs to be: Has racism ever had an effect on your career?

I can’t remember how it came up. It’s not the first thing on my mind. I’ve been fortunate to have an international upbringing, with family drumming into my head as soon as I was conscious that diversity is good and one shouldn’t fear the world. But there it was. He’s worked in an upscale environment that has, particularly in the South, been dominated by white members. Thompson is black. Yes, racism is out there, he said, and he’s caught a share of it during his career. “At the last club in South Carolina, there were things said that were unsavory,” he said. “At my interview for the job, an ex-president asked how I dealt with being black. I said, ‘I don’t understand the question.’”

The ex-president kept repeating the question, and finally Thompson said to him, with humor, “Being black most of my life has had nothing to do with why I’m sitting here before you. I’m here based on my performance through my career. …I’ll deal with the job and hopefully successfully as I have like everywhere else I’ve been.”

Another board member, who was embarrassed at the former president’s question, shrieked in approval of Thompson’s answer, he said.

Minnesota and the Minneapolis Club are much different from the high-end clubs down south, he added. The membership here is “extremely diverse,” and the overall attitude of the Twin Cities is appealing. Does racism exist up here? Sure it does, Thompson said, as it does everywhere to some degree. “But it’s not the first thing on my mind. … It’s not a factor for me for what I do on a daily basis—a lobster doesn’t care what color I am.”