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My pork belly; I try not to think about … well, this cut of meat in relation to, um, MY belly. ‘Nuff said; just know that my mind’s wanderlust is twisted and obscure, and… right, ’nuff said. Anyway, you can see that the price isn’t prohibitive – whereas the fat content (all that lovely white stuff among the pink flesh) is extremely high.

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See? All the smooth, buttery white is melting fat, and the wee strips of pink represent the only sweet meat this slab of midriff has to offer. To my eyes, this is the swell of an Odalisque’s inviting white belly; the seductive mounds of Maja’s tender tummy; the luxurious folds of flesh Luncheon(ing) in the Grass. This is the idealized Botticellian belly that, in times during which my miniaturized voluptuousness mayhaps would have turned heads, such mature development of softness and latent energy was desirable and en vogue. (To most others these days, it is CALORIES. P’shaw, I say! Life’s too short…)

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I looked through many posts (starting with FoodGawker, then Googling, then Epicurious, then – heck, lots more choices), and found TONS of ways to make crispy skinned pork belly with meltingly tender meat. The Vietnamese refer to it as Thit Heo Quay; the Chinese (I think) call it Siu Yok or Sieu Yoke; the Filipino style is Lechon Kawali; and my peeps love their Chicharron. Some recipes call for marinating the meat with fermented bean paste and spices overnight before roasting; some call for it to be brined then boiled then dried then roasted; some for it to be boiled then dried then fried; and all sorts of recipes in between. I, er, sort of threw myself into random mode, and cherry picked my procedures based on my impulses, my ingredients, and my equipment. So I start

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