the top 10 countdown begins, and boy, do we have a doozy to kick things off! porchetta, porchetta, oh, wondrous porchetta, you seductive pieces of gutted, deboned, herbed, fat-layered, spit-roasted suckling oinker. i fell in love with you at di palo’s, and now, i want to elope with you and consummate our sizzling love affair. seeing you sitting there, stuffed in between a crispy ciabatta roll, waiting expectantly for me to devour you lovingly–i shiver at the sight. who needs lettuce, tomatoes, or any other silly fixings? i only need you and your salty, peppery, fatty, succulent self, all to myself. it takes two to tango; let’s get it on.