My happiest food memory
Eating whole spit-roast piglet directly off the spit, ripping the rich dripping cooked flesh off with my teeth, burning my tongue on the hot bits, trying not to singe my eyebrows in the flames.
I have before-and-after photos of the piglet. Firstly, running around my feet in the volcanic highlands of Virunga as sold to me by Johnny Walker (his English name), and secondly a few hours later with a spike up its bum and out its mouth, slowly caramelising and rendering in a circular fashion. An animal that most certainly did not die in vain.
And it was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike Soylent. Who am I kidding? Completely unlike Soylent.
Biting the hand that feeds IT
