Silence of the Pigs?

Let us consider the pig. Unctuous. Delectable. Possessing an uncanny ability to caramelize on the outside while remaining soft and succulent on the inside. Umami incarnate.

Which is why so many cultures treat swine as comfort food. Americans love bacon. Cubans revere their roast pork. In the Czech Republic, a plate of “vepr-knedlo-zelo” (pork-dumplings-sauerkraut) warms a winter night.

But for me, that warm fuzzy feeling implodes with pig face prosciutto. At the truly fabulous CIA-Greystone conference on street food this weekend we watched Chef Maricel Presill — who recently cooked her signature Latin fare at the White House — help flay a suckling pig head and rub the mask-like remains with a garlic marinade. After pulling the ears through the eye holes and plumping the snout with the tongue, the mask was then rolled up. A little too Hannibal Lecter for me.

And the prosciutto? It was okay. A little salty. Its greatest asset was that it assured no part of the pig would be wasted, which is admirable. But I’m not sure I need to eat it — or see it — again.