Ike runs the country, and I turn the pork chops.
Cooking certain dishes, like roast pork, reminds me of my mother.
I've wined and dined with kings and queens, and I've slept in the alley eating pork and beans.
Ours was a pork-free household. The rules were arbitrary but strict: No pork in the house, ever. Except for the occasional pepperoni pizza. Or maybe Hawaiian.
I'm kosher except for times where I eat pork and shellfish.
Think schnitzel, and you usually think veal or pork: pounded into tenderness, battered, and fried to a golden magnificence.
Long live sausage! Long live salami! Long live pork, coppa, and pancetta!
