Walk into a remarkable number of L.A. restaurants these days, particularly on certain chef-designated nights, and you’ll be overwhelmed by the ode to pig that is porchetta. Read the menus, calligraphied on beautiful paper or scrawled on chalkboards, and you’ll find that rustic Italian dish of long-roasted pork perfumed with fennel and garlic, with a burnished carapace of insanely tasty, crispy skin. Somebody’s pig, your epiphany. See also: Porchetta Hits L.A.: The Mysteries of Pigsburgh
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