The foot of a pig is tricky business. I waver between never wanting to eat meatagain and only eating flesh; in the end, I am a creature who enjoys the carnival and the carnivalesque. As I sit at the Longo’s Wine Bar, I ponder if I will be able to suck up the feelings of guilt to go buy the beautifully rare trotters featured in the meat counter. What the hell do you do with pig’s feet?
To be fair, I have eaten trotters three times: twice in Barcelona at La Casa Brava and once at Au Pied du Cochon in Montreal. Both times were primal journeys into the uncomfortable…but I live to tell the tale and value the experience. So…here we are…to buy or not to buy. What goes through my head is the words of a friend who once ate dinner with me: “There is no other place in this city where I could eat food like this; no matter the cost.” No greater compliment has been given to my cooking, so Buttercup had better keep challenging himself to create art. One more glass of wine, then four feet, a pork belly and maybe even a rabbit will make their way into my bag for home.
Let’s face it…my ability to cook a superstar meal from nothing has kept me off the street, given me a way to survive when all else fails, and is the backbone of my photography business.