On Porchetta and Aging

It was 78°F (25°C) today.It made me realize how much I have missed the sun.

Until I stepped outside, I couldn’t really remember what it felt like to be warm.  Winter is strange that way– that way it makes us forget.

I suppose that is a round about way of trying to say: I am floating a bit right now.

The sensation surely has something to do with the upcoming calendar milestone dangling on the horizon. (There is nothing quite like a birthday to make you take stock).

And when you are floating, there’s nothing quite like crispy, fatty, herby porchetta to bring you back down to reality.

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The first time I ever ate porchetta, I was a wee child of 25.  It was my first week in Italy, and my professor had suggested the class take a break from economics to drink wine.

We acquiesced, naturally.

We imbibed. Oh, how we imbibed.

We drank from a literal fountain of wine. Wine flowed, we staggered, and eventually I found myself sitting on a step shoveling porchetta and pizza bianca into my face.

In that moment, I thought: THIS is Italy. Italy is wine, and porchetta, and sometimes maybe, rarely, other commitments.  

But mainly wine and porchetta.

I was young(er) and naive… and not entirely wrong.

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Sometimes you just need to add in an XL supplì or two.

Actually, not two- just one. One carbonara supplì.

Egg and bacon and cheese. Heavy enough to stand up against the porchetta.

Weighty enough to dampen your self-pity at the thought of getting older.

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Older but wiser– which is why tomorrow I am smart enough to be off to Spain for a week of cava and celebration.

You can catch all that on instagram.

But for the porchetta, head here:

I Porchettoni (San Lorenzo)
Via dei Marrucini, 18
06 87860066


One thought on “On Porchetta and Aging

  1. Pingback: 4 Best Festivals (Sagre) Near Rome – An American in Rome

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