The Kid loves pig. It's become a family joke. Sausage, salami, prosciutto, ham, bacon--if it used to "oink" he will eat it with gusto. All we have to say anymore is, "It's pig! You like pig, remember?"
He comes by it honestly. His dada and I used to celebrate every Friday night with a bottle of wine, a hunk of cheese, and a quarter pound of prosciutto. It's probably too simple to call a "meal", but nevertheless it's our favorite one.
One of these days when we have our imaginary farm in the country, I think a pig or two may have to be in the animal rotation. In the meantime, this past weekend, when Nice Father-In-Law said, "Here, take a few [three foot long batons] of these dry-aged salami I made home with you to try," I heard, "Here, take a few of these bars of gold home with you."
It's true, we love the pig.