Where the Belly Meets the Plate

In a blind tasting, Kerney can distinguish between breeds, but he also believes a pig's lifestyle affects its flavor more than anything else. Manolatos, being both Greek and Southern, uses the example of figs to compare the flavor of naturally raised hogs, such as those finished on nuts, with that of industrial hogs.

"The underripe fig tastes like fig. But until the end opens up and that honey drips, it doesn't have the depth and complexity, the moistness and mouth feel of a ripe fig," he says. "It's the same thing with pork."

Brian Polcyn, chef and owner of Five Lakes Grill near Detroit, buys free-range hogs that are acorn-finished, like the legendary pata negra of Iberian cork groves. When Polcyn and Michael Ruhlman, authors of 2005's "Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking and Curing," first bought hogs that had been raised on apples, nuts and corn from the same farm, they marveled over the "dark pink, well-marbled muscle, deep pork flavor, and copious smooth, supple fat." Never before had they seen so fine a belly, "a good three inches thick," they write.

Besides offering pork belly and a vast array of pâtés and terrines, American menus now also proudly sport pigs' feet, organ meats and homemade sausages. Coming from the Deep South, I wonder when the chitterlings and pig's ears will appear.

At Cashion's, Manolatos hangs whole hogs for a few days and butchers them as needed. He always has a charcuterie plate on the menu, but it changes often. "Buying the whole animals allows you to do a lot," he says, carefully breaking down a 160-pound gutted hog one late December morning. "I'll make some sausages and smoke them over apple wood, and I'll make head cheese, which I couldn't do unless I bought the whole animal. With the fattier cuts like the belly, I'll make rillettes."

For that confit of pork, the meat is cooked in its own fat, pounded to a paste, then covered with fat. It is served cold with toast points and cornichons. Manolatos also often leaves some of the belly attached to the ribs for smoking, sometimes slow-roasts the belly to serve over grits, and uses the foreshank to make pork osso buco for two.

Most restaurant preparations of the fattier cuts of pork such as the belly are fairly labor-intensive, sometimes more so than many home cooks might abide. It's worth the effort. Brines and marinades not only add flavor but also improve texture; salt extracts protein from muscles, making them more viscous, while marinades tenderize even the most gelatinous cuts. An initial soaking is often followed by some smoking, for depth of flavor, and/or braising, slowly cooking the meat until it is tender and flavors have mingled.

Often, the meat is then pressed and refrigerated, then sliced and either grilled, pan-seared or broiled to add a crisp, bacon-like texture to the outer surface. Hence, the lowly belly is often paired with pan-seared scallops, as at Mendocino Grille on Capitol Hill. Or at Philadelphia's London Grill, where this modern take on surf and turf is gilded with a citrusy butter sauce, giving it a great balance of contrasts: crisp and pillowy, sweet and sour, bitter and bright, spicy and unctuous.

"These meats are so high in fat, it's important to add both acid and sweetness," Polcyn says. "From the cook's perspective, we're always trying to find balance."

John Martin Taylor, author of four cookbooks, including "Hoppin' John's Lowcountry Cooking," lives in Washington.