Join a chef on a road trip through the foothills of Northern California, where old-vine winemaking meets Old World charcuterie.
I must confess, I love a good meat market. Whenever I travel, I get off the big freeways and hit the back roads because small towns in rural areas always show me the agriculture of where I am. Small-town meat markets in particular are looking glasses into the past. The styles of fresh or cured sausages immediately tell the story of the cultures in that area. Fresh chorizo? It’s a Latin community. An array of styles of bratwurst? There was a German settlement here. Dry-cured sausages with fennel and red chile? Italian immigrants, whose history in some parts of the country can date back nearly 400 years, are the source for those.
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Beyond that, I just love sausage. I have cooked professionally almost all my life, and as a chef, I believe that sausage-making, whether fresh, smoked, or cured, is an art that more people should know well and understand. Sausages come from using the entire animal; they embody a kind of respect for the life the animal has given us. As you put those rib eyes, filets mignons, pork chops, and any other prime cuts on the grill in your backyard, it’s good to ask: Where does the rest of the animal go?
Now hold that thought because I’m going to take a minute to talk about another one of my passions: wine. Particularly the wines from historical regions, like the areas that date back to the mid-19th century, when settlers first started heading to California’s Sacramento delta for the gold rush. Many of the vines here — in Lodi, in the Sierra Foothills, in Contra Costa County — date back that far, too.
A love for Lodi
Not long ago, I was invited to a tasting in Lodi by Tegan Passalacqua, winemaker for Turley Wine Cellars and also his own project, Sandlands. Both source grapes from Lodi and Contra Costa. Passalacqua is easily one of the most talented winemakers around and makes stellar wines from Zinfandel, Cinsaut, Mataro, Chenin Blanc, and other varieties. And he has a true love for Lodi.
Lodi has made its name with good-quality bulk production of Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, and Sauvignon Blanc, but that’s not what Passalacqua’s here for. What interests him more is that this region is filled with vines that have been in the ground since the mid-to-late 1800s, including a lot of Zinfandel, much of it planted by early European immigrants to California. That’s how the history and culture of both farming and meat markets tie together here, as he explained to me.
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Passalacqua looks primarily for dry-farmed old vineyards, ones that will echo in the wines they produce California’s deep roots of exploration, wonder, and hard work. To give one example, try the Sandlands Lodi Cinsaut, from Bechthold Vineyard. Those 25 acres of vines date back to 1886, and fruit from them produces light-bodied, brightly tart wine with delicious fruit-punch and baking spice characteristics. It couldn’t come from anywhere else.
You could say the same of the amazing sausage culture that has existed in the Lodi area for years. Passalacqua took me on a tour of the meat markets that form the backbone of the community, starting with a visit to Lockeford right outside Lodi, where Lockeford Sausage was everything I had hoped for: meat signs everywhere; sausages stacked beautifully in the display cases; fresh or smoked Dakota bratwurst; sausage varieties such as apple, bacon, “Hawaiian luau,” and jalapeño cheese; fresh chorizo. I love when another shopper is so excited about the products that they’ll share their favorite recipes with you unprompted — one man did exactly that with his favorite way to make fresh chorizo breakfast burritos. They inspired the chorizo tacos I now make.
From there we went into Lodi itself to check out Lakewood Meats & Sausage, which has been run by the Holder family for over 50 years, for bratwurst, weisswurst, and other German-style sausages. (I would be remiss if I didn’t mention their exemplary smoked Spanish chorizo and cheddar brats, too.)
Overjoyed in Occidental
Heading up the coast to Sonoma County — a long drive, so we made sure to buy some additional sausages to tide us over — we eventually got to the little town of Occidental. On the beautiful country roads leading into town, we started to see some small signs off to the side. The first said “Sausage ahead.” Then, “Steaks.” Then, “Hot dogs,” followed by “Panizzera Meat Co.” We hit the turn signal.
Panizzera Meat Co., a small butcher shop that’s been around since 1914, blew me away. Beef, pork, chicken, and lamb, sourced from small local farms and all broken down and processed on-site — it’s the type of place where you just have to go in and see what’s available. And at the back was a magical, backlit cabinet of happiness. Yes, it was just a refrigerator filled with packs of sausage, but to me it looked like the pearly gates: fresh chorizo, maple breakfast sausage, basil chicken sausage, and some of the best spicy Italian sausage I’ve ever tasted. The grind was just perfect, the percentage of lean-to-fat spot-on, and the amount of seasoning just right. I bought one of each and used the Italian sausage in a meatball casserole, with a mind-blowing result.
Hog heaven in Healdsburg
Since we were in Sonoma County, we then headed to Healdsburg. While there are plenty of great restaurants and wineries to visit, right off the main town square is one of the greatest discoveries that I’ve come across in the past five years: Journeyman Meat Co. From the moment we walked through Journeyman’s doors, I knew I was somewhere special. The focus here is on dry-cured salumi. Almost anyone can learn to make fresh sausage, but only a select few dive into upholding truly Old World ways of preservation.
Journeyman founder Pete Seghesio’s family came from Italy in the late 19th century and settled as farmers in Sonoma. They bought land, started growing grapes, and established a winery in 1902. I asked Seghesio what led him to create Journeyman, and he said, “I got into it first as a little boy making salami with my dad. It was just an Italian family tradition every mid-December. We’d cut up a whole hog. We’d trim out the tendons and fat and use the smoothest, best-colored meat of the hog, with its back fat, for the salami. Everything else went into fresh sausage.”
Seghesio’s shop is filled with different types of salumi ranging from pepperoni and soppressata to guanciale and ’nduja. I was back to being 7 years old in a candy store. Then I saw a poster saying “Salumi Club.” I signed up immediately. My wife looked at me when we walked out and asked, “Did you just join a salumi club?” and with overwhelming joy I said, “Yes, yes I did!” I might have even had a small tear of happiness form in my eyes. I can’t say she was surprised.
Whenever we talk about a harvest, we need to take a look into it a little deeper, whether in regard to the wine that we’re drinking or the sausage we’re cooking with. We need to learn and understand the people who produce each bottle and each link for us, to fall into their histories and cultures; then and only then do we start to have an appreciation of the work and traditions that have brought us what we’re tasting. Believe me: If you make that effort, everything will taste and feel so much better.
Fire up the grill, throw on some sausages from a real butcher, open a bottle of Zinfandel made from the fruit of very old vines, and spend the next few hours with friends and family, building your own traditions as you do. Because isn’t that what life is really about?
Let me give you a quick snapshot of what a 300-pound hog looks like, yield-wise. Once the animal is processed, its hanging weight is around 210 pounds. That’s when the breakdown goes into primal and subprimal pieces: shoulders or pork butts, hams for curing, bellies for bacon, ribs and pork chops. In total, that’s about 120 pounds, with the bones going for soup or stock, which leaves you with about 40 pounds of trim. That trim is what will be ground to make sausage.
Meanwhile, consider this: Just one of the largest pork-producing companies has the capacity to process around 35,000 hogs a day. That’s well over 1 million pounds of grind a day, from just one producer. This is why when I cook a pork chop for myself, I always think about what happens to the rest. Sausage deserves respect!