Secret Pigscoff!
I’ve just got back from Corsica, what a beautiful place.
Among its many charms are fine cheeses and charcuterie regarded as amongst the best in France if not the world. Here the pigs roam freely over the mountains, snuffling around in the wild myrtle, thyme and rosemary and are traditionally fed on local chestnuts (this bit is called how I nixed any mental dissonance.) The famous Figatellu sausages aren’t made in summer but the local jambon is a year-round staple. When in Italia….
An early morning sortie to the local market saw my first taste of meat in almost two decades. Standing in line and contemplating my minor transgression at the boucherie stall felt a little giddy but any doubts were swiftly put to bed as a couple of deft slices were cut by the hand of an artisan.
I’ve eaten a lot of smoked, salted and cured fish so it wasn’t so startling to have so much flavour concentrated in such thin, delicate slices but what was surprising was the striata of velvety fat running though each sliver. It has a mouth-feel that has been generally absent from my diet for a long time and each slice was cut to the perfect thickness so it melted on contact. Couple this to the local cure of those aforementioned mountain herbs and some fresh bread and this made for a very fine breakfast. I might not leave it so long next time.
(Corsica is lovely, rugged and wild, we had the best time rattling around on rickety trains, stopping off at any beach that took our fancy...
..there is also a Corsican Electrical Audio of sorts but where the one in Chicago is staffed by world-class engineers and boasts an impressive collection of microphones and acoustically perfect rooms, this one sells a few buckets and spades and the odd beach football.)