One day last November, I found myself swabbing a large black pig with a blow torch, taking orders from a Swiss butcher named Francois Vecchio. I had come to his slaughter and sausage workshop to research my novel, but I was quickly drawn into Vecchio’s spiritual crisis. Days earlier, this master craftsman and impassioned critic of commodified meat had been asked by Tyson Foods, one of the largest commodity meat producers in the world, to develop a line of European-style salami.

If Vecchio says yes—he still hasn’t made a decision—he risks muddying the distinction between slow food and fast. Commercial pork stands at the end of an agro-industrial supply chain built on unsustainable practices, including monocropping and heavy use of environmental toxins. No matter how Tyson produces its European salami, and no matter what standards it foists on its suppliers, the company is unlikely to free itself from that supply chain. Vecchio might help Tyson beard all the unethical and unsustainable practices that happen upstream, which could hurt boutique producers.

Nevertheless, I think Vecchio should work with Tyson. The company processes well over three hundred thousand pigs every week. If he can convince it to raise some pigs even a little more humanely, or less carbon intensively, the good to the world will probably outweigh the harm. This, I think, is what progress will have to look like: uncertain, incremental, and a little bit icky.

Comments

This essay complements my personal statement by focusing on someone other than me, and by making an argument instead of telling a story. At the same time, it emphasizes my expressed interest in food policy. I wanted to make myself memorable by becoming the ag-law guy.

The essay follows a debate-inspired structure: I lay out the question in paragraph one, consider the negative side in paragraph two, and come down on the affirmative side in paragraph three.