on marlow & daughters: the text.
Joe Saenz was accepting a delivery when I walked in. He hurried past me carrying what appeared to be a bloody, skinned carcass towards the back of the shop. Marlow & Daughters, the famed butcher shop in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, is tiny and in the tight quarters, Joe brushed up against me as he passed. His recognition of me was in hindsight, calling as he disappeared into the freezer: “I hope I didn’t get blood on you!”
He quickly returned, wiping his hands on his apron before extending them out for a hug. “Lets see if we can break something open for you today.” I figured that he did not mean champagne, I heard him and his lead butcher, T.J., chatting about which animal hanging in the freezer would be cut into pieces that day.
They decided on a side of veal. After giving us a quick run-through of the walk-in cooler – which animals hang where, showing us steps in the dry-aging process – they hauled the veal to the main cutting table. Hanging next to the table was an array of tools – knives, as would be expected, but also hand saws and various other cutting instruments.
Joe pulled a white washcloth from a side shelf. Carefully folding it into fourths, meditatively, he spoke, “You need to ask an animal permission before you start. You ask them how they want to be cut and then they guide you in spirit.” People have been eating meat forever, but it is important to preserve the sacredness of such an act. “The animal gave of his life; it is our job to celebrate that.” At Marlow & Daughters, they do butchery differently. They try to preserve whole pieces of the animal – for example, an entire muscle fully intact. They believe this gives the most dignity to the animal. More than dignity, however, they believe that doing butchery this way is more beautiful. Each piece of meat is fully formed and cut to precision to celebrate the life and beauty of the cow, sheep or pig.
The process of cutting down the veal took the better part of an hour. Joe chatted with us during some cuts (presumably the easier ones) and then fell silent at other times, staring intently at each slice.
That this is an art form will come as no surprise. But, while many might think of the craft as a visual art – moving from a side of animal to perfectly sliced pieces as a sculptor might adapt marble or clay, I realized watching Joe, that it was actually a physical art form. Joe is not a small guy. At over six feet, and with some nice padding around him as well, he nevertheless moved as a dancer might: leaning into each cut, carefully holding the meat. With some of the harder cuts, he leaned his whole body in, his face almost grazing the animal. It was modern dance at its finest. The beauty of butchery is the interaction between butcher and animal.
Needing a break, he wiped the knife on the white towel and stood up straight, rolling his head around his neck for a quick stretch. I told him he was brave to be cutting with such watchful eyes on him. I inquired how many times he had cut himself, knowing it must be a hazard of the job.
He laughed and said, “well, it’s a good thing I have some weight on my bones. When I first started here, I was performing a particularly challenging cut and my hand slipped, sending the knife straight into my abdomen.” My jaw dropped. “Did they rush you to the hospital?” He chuckled. “I was too embarrassed to tell anyone so I just slipped into the bathroom, put towel compresses on my belly and went back to work.” My jaw dropped further. “Were you okay?” “Well, I soaked through four shirts that day, but we get used to blood around here.”
