“Hurt Into Poetry: On Poetry and Greece”By Stephanos Papadopoulos
"And so, when the bartender in Cuenca set the plate before us and we beheld a huge pig mask — with holes where the eyes and snout used to be, and glistening pockets of fat beneath the cheeks — Leah and I were instantly and irrevocably converted back to what we really were: Americans. We wanted to eat it, or at least wanted to be able to say we had. Yet one tentative bite revealed grease, and gristle, and — ick — a few charred, bristly hairs. We each choked down a mouthful, then pushed the rest away. 'You don’t like it?' asked the bartender, sincerely surprised. Defeated, we admitted that we did not, and slunk out of the bar. Do I have to say it? We stopped for pizza on the way back to the hotel."
— Lisa Abend, Food and Wine Magazine