There is a scene that continues to enter my mind. It’s a picture of my childhood pet Millie, on her back, with each of her four little feet clenched into post mortem, post fry-o-later fists. Her skin is as crisp as a roasted duck and she lies peaceful in a bed of lettuce. Imagine this little vision popping into your head as you scramble for a seat on the subway or apply toothpaste to your brush at night and you understand what I’ve been going through. In ten days I’m going to Peru, I’m a food writer, and in Peru they eat the pig. The question is, do I eat the pig, too? I will not even attempt to answer this question right now. I just want someone to tell me what it tastes like.