Slow-roasting is the cooking method of the gods. Anything that sits in an oven for hours, seeping in its own juices and fat is destined for greatness. Exhibit A: the porchetta sandwich (pronounced pork-etta, which sounds like it could be an Italianism for a hunchbacked, barrel-chested matron), whose namesake is shared by the newly-opened East Village restaurant that specializes in this meaty, fatty Italian rendition of pork roast. After reading positive reviews of the sandwich in both the New York Times and Serious Eats: New York, I decided to head over to Porchetta to try this tasty little morsel.

At Porchetta, the small menu isn’t the only thing aimed at emphasizing its slow-roasted star. The restaurant’s tiny, counter-seating-only interior is decorated modestly in white tile and warm wood, its golden-skinned, attention-grabbing flair resting peacefully behind the glass heater. Besides the porchetta sandwich, cooking greens, beans, crispy potatoes, and a mozzarella and sun-dried tomato sandwich are available. I ordered the porchetta sandwich ($9) and the crispy potatoes with burnt ends ($5). Beware: for those of you who’d prefer to down Porky in peace, the cashier is a chatty one and will recommend the coffee shop on the corner all of fifty times to you. I’m convinced he’s receiving some sort of compensation and/or one of the baristas working there is his suga’ daddy. For me, spending my days at a pork-perfumed eatery surrounded by a fat man’s supply of tender meat would be worth well more than any of the bling or free coffee that man may or may not be receiving.

The porchetta is served sans-garnishing on crispy Sullivan Street Bakery bread and packs about as much salty flavor as a pastrami sandwich as Katz’s Deli. Roasted for five hours in garlic, sage, rosemary, and wild fennel pollen, the pork’s seasoning was absolutely perfect. Its texture, though not dry, could have retained just a bit more moisture. Sautéed with wisps of the meat and its skin, the potatoes are hot, crunchy, and coated with glistening, porcine zest.

The expensive price tag of the meal makes it a dangerous one; it’s so delicious that it had me counting pigs in my sleep last night. For $9, the sandwich could have been more generous, though that fat swine does stick in your gut for some time.

Photos by Allix Geneslaw