By MICHAEL PENNACCHIA
RICHMOND – My neighbors in Wood River Junction have introduced me to some of the peculiarities of country life – massive bonfires, road rallies, and now, the annual “soupy”-making ritual.
It was the day after Christmas on the river and Mickey, my dog, barked and begged me to throw a stick. Otherwise, the neighborhood was quiet. “What are you up to?” said Joe Mellor, my neighbor, breaking the silence as he crunched clamshells underfoot, walking up the road. “Wanna take a ride to Westerly?” he asked. “Gotta get some garlic and wine.”
I offered him a couple of garlic bulbs and a bottle of red, but he said he needed more.
“Making soupy tomorrow,” he said, referring to the spicy dry-cured sausage that the Calabrese brought from Italy to Westerly around the turn of the last century. And he began to tell me about it.
I’d heard about the soupy “cult” of Westerly and its environs. The town is now considered the world capital of soupy, and it lists soupy as the “town meat product” on its website. I had been curious to witness the ritual, the way an outsider enjoys a glimpse into the ways of the native.
Soupy is believed to be a derivation of “soppressata,” an Italian all-pork dry salami – from the Italian pressare “to press” referring to “pressing” the meat into the casings.
I’m no soupy devotee, but seldom pass up an opportunity for a slice with a rich provolone on a cracker and a glass of crisp chianti to escort it down. I felt privileged to be invited to this intimate, annual ritual shared among friends and family, so I agreed to pop in the next morning.
The pungent aroma of garlic filled my nostrils as soon as I opened the club’s kitchen door.
Sixty pounds of soupy meat, ground pork butts, salt as a preservative, a variety of ground peppers and paprika were in the early stages of preparation. The ingredients were procured from My Car Provision Co. in New London. Some soupy purists grind their own meat and spice accordingly.
Mellor was chopping the garlic, while his brother-in-law, Jeff Arnone, of Charlestown was at the sink rinsing and turning yards of cow intestine or “stendines” inside out to be filled later with soupy.
For his batch, Arnone chose the synthetic casings, which come pre-tied and clamped on one end and hold up to rougher treatment, though they’re not edible. Mellor opted for the natural casings and the accompanying hassle of occasional bursting when filling the slimy sheath.
For the uninitiated, the annual ritual of making soupy is one that requires careful preparation and attention by volunteer pokers, tiers, soupy stuffers, crankers and hangers. Timing is critical. The ritual usually takes place in winter, when cool basements or attics serve as “soupy cellars” to hang the meat. Curing takes about six weeks at around 48-52° with low humidity.
Soupy making requires team work and assembly-line attention to detail. The guys had recruited Darryl Baker and Billy St. Onge of Warwick, cranker and stuffer/tier respectively. Arnone’s nephew, Jason Arnone was primarily a tier, and Matt Cary was a poker. “I never had this job as the tier,” said St. Onge. “I used to be the pourer – of the wine.”
“Keep ‘pokin’ all the way around,” said Mellor, when the casing began to fill as Baker cranked the 100-year-old sausage-filling machine. “The more holes, the better.”
The poker is a handmade tool with a dowel handle and wooden disc perforated with nails. Arnone explained that the holes let the air out as the soupy shrinks, otherwise there will be big air pockets that can foster mold.
Drinking wine and sampling fried gobs of soupy go with the territory at the all male ritual. Women are sometimes included, but this one was for the boys. Conversation, lubricated with beer, wine and a few shots ranged from football, to work, soupy recipes and dirty jokes.
Roger Laskow, the senior member of the group was available throughout the process for consultation, teaching the tiers how to make a butterfly knot at the end of a filled casing and pitching in where needed.
“You want to make sure they’re tied tight,” said Laskow. “Because if they’re not tied tight, they’re going to be on the floor like a cow plop. You know what a cow plop looks like in the field?”
Laskow also shared some homemade musetto or “moojette” as he called it, on Italian bread with mustard. Musetto, ground up pig noses, ears and skin, is a northern Italian salami that is boiled rather than dry cured like soupy.
“Whenever you try a soupy,” said Mellor, “the first question is ‘whose is it?’, because everyone has their own recipe. I’ve settled on this one with garlic and cow liver.” Mellor also adds red wine both for taste and as a lubricant to more easily guide the soupy into the casings.
“This is my fifth time this year,” said Arnone. “We do about a thousand pounds - at least one batch a week.”
Arnone will return to the club daily to observe the soupy to ensure that it’s not getting moldy from inconsistent temperatures, that there are no “cow plops” and to test for doneness. “I put the date on them,” he said, “but can actually tell when they’re done by feeling them.”
By the time he finished stuffing 60 pounds of meat, Mellor had 50 soupy’s to hang in the basement. “If it comes out right this year, I’m all set,” he said. “I measured everything this time.”
“It’s not a trade. It’s not a hobby,” said Laskow, about the soupy ritual. “It’s a tradition passed from people to people.”
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