Charles Lamb, who is probably looking at a pig off to the side of the sketch artist.A couple days ago, we posted our history of bacon and interventionist manifesto, which ended with the demand that, going forth, we simply “let bacon be bacon.”But before that, there was my review of Lecosho–Matt Janke’s new operation down on the Harbor Steps–which brings the love to many strange corners of the culinary universe but reserves its most tender affections for the pig, its namesake and trademark beast. Apparently, between those two pieces, we inspired one well-read fan to go back through the dusty stacks of culinary lore and find an essay, by English writer Charles Lamb circa 1800, on the subject of Confucius, the Chinese legal system, King Lear, and the accidental discovery of cracklings–or the crisped skin of a roast suckling pig. This, from reader John Nance: “I read with interest your article on Lecosho and about your fondness for pig. It has long been noted to be a mammal of superior flavor as written about in this article by Charles Lamb . . . If you have not read it, I hope you enjoy it. It is not politically correct, but entertaining nonetheless.”And Nance was right. The essay is Lamb’s love letter to the roast pig, as purple of prose and passionate of phrase as anything written from a man to a woman.An example . . .”There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, crackling, as it is well called — the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance — with the adhesive oleaginous — O call it not fat — but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it — the tender blossoming of fat — fat cropped in the bud — taken in the shoot — in the first innocence — the cream and quintessence of the child-pig’s yet pure food — the lean, no lean, but a kind of animal manna — or, rather, fat and lean (if it must be so) so blended and running into each other, that both together make but one ambrosian result, or common substance.”And honest to Jesus, that’s a fairly tame passage.Lamb goes on to scorn boiled pig and sausages, to cast dispersions on any preparation of the pig, ancient or modern, that doesn’t result in a roast suckling before him on the table with cracklings intact. And while the history stated in the first half of the essay might be somewhat suspect (really, an accidental fire set by a Chinese boy named Bo-Bo?), it closes with a culinary mash note of the highest, most literary caliber.”Pig — let me speak his praise — Is no less provocative of the appetite, than he is satisfactory to the criticalness of the palate. The strong man may batten on him, and the weakling refuseth not his mild juices.”For those of you who are interested, the whole essay can be found here (complete with an embedded ad for iPads, which Lamb probably didn’t write), and my thanks to Nance for bringing this one to my attention.