How about a roast suckling pig dinner one of these nights?

The view from the balcony dining room at The Breslin looked right down onto the table facing the open kitchen – a whole suckling pig, roasted golden brown, sitting on a cutting board and surrounded by a rowdy group of diners. From my high perch, I sniffed at the gluttony, at the same time wondering when the waiter would bring out the Pig’s Foot for Two – stuffed and fried. And this was after the amazing apps – a scotch egg (wrapped in sausage meat and fried), scrumpets (shredded lamb shaped into sticks the size of steak fries, fried), and sweetbreads (the glands of some animal… also fried).

By the time the foot arrived, I was already regretting the order. On a plate the size of half the table, the stump of a leg was ceremoniously surrounded by a field of vegetables drowning in some sort of a cream sauce, as if threatening to say “You dare me to add a couple more figures to the calorie count?”


The foot was left looking very much similar to the way it arrived. Minus the vegetables, eaten in a last attempt to incorporate some sort of fiber into an otherwise artery clogger of a meal.


Lesson learned: the wiser Me would like to either remind Future Me, or go back in time and warn Past Me to never (again) order the pig’s foot. This carved out, stuffed then sewn back monstrosity, which tastes of pure fat, should only be meant for those with a death wish. Also not impressive? The broccoli (although you might be asking yourselves why anyone would go to the Breslin to order this, and you’re looking at the answer: me, veggie lover) which was drenched in an acidic and salty tomato sauce.

As much dessert as I can fit into my belly.

Very unlike my usual self, I skipped dessert, having been absolutely stuffed full and uncomfortable from the fatty foot. I’d come back to try the much raved about lamb burger and prime rib (and I noticed a good number of both making their way out of the kitchen), but foot? Never again.