For Menasche, an alum of Angelini Osteria, La Terza, All'Angelo and Pizzeria Mozza, porchetta is beloved for its humble origins: "It's like a family gathering."
Menasche brines the Sonoma County crossbred pigs for 24 hours in a solution that includes orange zest, fennel seed, juniper berries, bay leaves and rosemary. The pig is roasted whole over wild fennel and garlic, in a white oak–fired oven, then carved on a board and served bone-in, the absurdly tender meat falling off the bone between bites of greenery, Anson Mills polenta, roasted apples and kumquats. But the best part is the skin, a mahogany cracker of blasted fat that crowns the dish like an edible lid.
Chefs Steve Samson and Zach Pollack serve their porcetto — note the spelling — in the manner of Sardinia at their Pico-Robertson restaurant, Sotto. "It's not a whole suckling pig, but it's closer," Pollack says, explaining the difference in spelling and genre. Their version is more an "homage" to the Sardinian version. They get pigs from Devil's Gulch Ranch in Marin County, deconstruct them into two pork bellies per pig, season and fire them at 500-degree-plus temperatures until the skin puffs, then roast them for four more hours at a lower temperature. Eventually the alchemized pork arrives at your table, but only during lunchtime, in sandwich form.
Mozza's Chad Colby tried more than a dozen recipes for his porchetta before settling on the one he serves at Mozza2Go — and, rumor has it, maybe at the upcoming Chi SPACCA iteration of the Mozza complex. Colby's porchetta is made from the whole heritage pig he gets in every two weeks — he's made porchetta with Gloucestershire Old Spots, reportedly the favorite heritage pig of the British royal family.
Colby deconstructs the loin and belly and poaches the intact piece before roasting the porchetta for 9 ½ hours in a convection oven. "It's a way to get the aesthetic of Mexican chicharron," he says. Colby credits inspiration for the dish not only to Mozza co-owner Nancy Silverton, who has long had a house in Umbria, and St. Cecchini himself, but also to the Oaxacan cooks at the restaurant. "You know how Italians are: 'It's not real!' But it's good."
At least one Italian couldn't be persuaded, even by the old-school version. Salvatore Marino says his late father, Ciro, who ran Marino's restaurant in Hollywood for more than a quarter of a century, never put porchetta on the menu, deeming it "too peasant" a dish. Not so his son. Marino has made it since 2007 at La Bottega Marino.
There, it's for sale by the pound or the slice, tucked into crusty, house-made bread in an approximation of the street food Sal Marino ate as a kid growing up in Naples. Marino's porchetta is pork shoulder, heavily seasoned and wrapped with belly, then roasted at high temperature for hours on large chunks of carrots and onions. "You just want to elevate it; if we could put it on rocks, we'd use rocks," he explains. A glorious, lacquered mosaic of pig, his porchetta, both street food and utter comfort food.
But maybe the best example of porchetta in L.A. before the Portlandia era of pig fetishization is the glorious plate borne aloft on Saturday nights at Angelini Osteria. Gino Angelini has had porchetta, in the form of a fennel-infused, long-roasted, whole leg of pork, on the menu for the better part of a decade. On those weekend nights it becomes a show, the crowded tables seeming to part as the server weaves and parries, coming to rest beside your table, where it is carved with midcentury flourish and presented like the answer to all your prayers. Maybe it is.
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