Walking around Beverley yesterday, I was shocked to discover that John Hillman, the butcher who ran Ye Olde Pork Shoppe, had died. I didn't know him very well at all but I liked him: the way he didn't say much; the way he had supreme confidence in the meat he sold; and the way he always seemed to mistake me for someone else whom he'd been keeping things aside for.
The longest conversation I ever had with John was about forerib and how nice it was. It was a short conversation, just a few quiet grunts, a few nods, and a universe of enthusiasm.
So thanks for all the beef, John. And thanks for letting me in on the joy of pig tails.