There’s a place back in Toronto called Porchetta and Co. that serves what was, up until now, the best porchetta that I’ve ever had. I had kind of assumed that it was porchetta perfection; I honestly didn’t think it could be topped.
It has been topped. Sorry, Porchetta and Co.: your porchetta sandwich is officially garbage.
I wasn’t even planning to eat at Baccanale; I was actually on my way to another restaurant, but then — wait, what’s this? Oh, that looks good.
Andrew Zimmern signs off every episode of Bizarre Foods with “if it looks good, eat it.”
I try to live my life by those words.
So yes, I ate the porchetta sandwich, and its deliciousness shot through me like a lightning bolt.
The porchetta was everything. Every element of it was almost upsettingly good. It was porky, salty, herby, fatty, crispy, tender goodness.
Here’s another picture, closer to the middle of the sandwich that gives you a better idea of what the porchetta distribution looked like. The pork was an amazingly well-balanced mix of thinly-sliced lean pieces and thickly-cut fatty pieces. It was tender and amazing, with just enough fat to keep things interesting, but not enough to overwhelm.
And the crackling. Oh, the crackling. There was enough of it that every bite had some, and it was so intensely flavoured and perfectly crispy — but not overly crunchy — that it defied logic and reason.
The flavour almost bordered on too intense — too herby and salty — but it never was. It was perfect.
I mean, the whole damn thing was perfect. I’m being ridiculously effusive here, but how could I not? It was all so good.
The bread was pretty great too: hot and crispy on the outside (they put it in a panini press to order) and fluffy on the inside, with just enough heft to hold up to all that amazing pork.
The only downside? I used to love Porchetta and Co., but it’s ruined now. Absolutely ruined.