HALL OF FAME OF PORK (VII)

Behold the andouillette de Troyes. Rarely a crowd-pleaser, sometimes a room-clearer, and not to be confused with either the firmer, smoked French andouille sausage or its distant Cajun relative, a good andouillette is a fine and noble thing made of coarse and ignoble stuff. Specifically it is a loose assemblage of pig parts, roughly two parts large intestine to one part chopped stomach, stuffed into more intestine. Cut into one and—well, fragrant is the polite way to put it.

Ed Behr, in an excellent story about andouillette in the latest issue of his always excellent journal The Art of Eating quotes a former prime minister of France and mayor of Lyon who put it this way: "Politics is like an andouillette, it should smell a little of shit but not too much."

I first tasted an andouillette somewhere in Lyon about ten years ago. Half enjoying, half put off by the steamy funk, I liked it enough to eat them again every now and then in Paris since then. The flavor is…I was about to write "earthy" but that's wrong: it is deeply animal-y. I've had some good ones (and a couple of literal stinkers) but never a great one until last week, following Behr's suggestions, I made my way the tiny l'Estaminet d'Arômes et Cépages in the Marché des Enfants Rouge, a covered market in the Marais. The andouillette served here is from La Charcuterie Daniel Thierry, considered the best in Troyes. Grilled to a papery crispness on the outside, the smell was mild but the taste of the meat was deep and alluring. As usual Ed Behr gets it precisely right : "A good andouillette is rich, meaty, tender, and—almost like some distant, suspect relative of a truffle—highly sensual."

Funkadelic.

HALL OF FAME OF PORK (VI)

As promised, a return to the timeless, important topic. Here, a classic: The bacon appetizer at Peter Luger. Had it again on Saturday at lunch with my friend Val who was visiting from Chicago. Our next president is also from Chicago. Come to think of it if you turned the plate a little and cleaned up the sauce a bit and added a few more strips of bacon (and why not?) this would actually resemble the brilliant Obama 'O' logo…

HALL OF FAME OF PORK (V)

Fried cotechni with zabaglione. Let me repeat: fried cotechino with zabaglione. Hosteria Giusti in Modena, Italy. More than most things I ate two summers ago I can remember the precise taste and texture of this ridiculous, wonderful thing, or combination of things. BM had a chance to not only eat there but cook for a story a story (see *here*). Mario Batali called the proprietor of Giusti his "go-to man for any and all truths about pork." In The Food of Italy, Waverly Root quotes a 19th century satirical poet Giussepe Giusti, "the existence of Modena sausage makes up for the existence of the Duke." I say simply, respectfully: holy shit.

HALL OF FAME OF PORK (IV)

Those aren't big bats. This isn't a cave. And that's not my own raincoat. It's Spain and those are hundreds, thousands of legs of jamon iberico, the greatest ham in the world. This is where they hang the bellota to age. The disposable coat is for the visitor's protection: at room temperature, the fat drips down like sacred rain. Earlier in the day we'd run around with the very happy pigs, bloated and happy on acorns. Then of course we ate a lot of the stuff and it was of course really good. This is an old picture — wish I was there today but I'm in muggy NYC and who wants to see a picture of that?

HALL OF FAME OF PORK (III)

Lecherones, Huarocondo, Peru. This little town is outside Cuzco and is justly famous for its crispy-salty-juicy roast suckling pig. The guy posing next to the pork is Manuel, my excellent guide along the Ancascocha trail that extends from the Pomatales Canyon up into the Huayanay range and intersects the Inca Trail on its way to Machu Picchu. (1.28.05)

HALL OF FAME OF PORK (II)

Savory smoked-pork strudel. Restaurant Pretzhof. Tulve, Alto Adige, Italy. 2/2/08.

HALL OF FAME OF PORK (I)

My friend Mr. MARTIN wrote a great guest post over at EatingAsia about the babi guling from Ibu Oka in Ubud, Bali. I truly have no idea what any of those words mean and it is possible he just made them up. But it all looks and sounds delicious, makes me hungry, and inspired me to post some images and notes on Great Pork Things I Have Eaten. First in the series: the almost pornographically juicy rosso tonkatsu from Hirata Bokujyou, Tokyo. (More on Tokyo eats HERE and HERE)