So our little curly-tailed friend Franco is wearing his Italian glasses from a Fellini movie and walking through the forum contemplating his small pig existence amongst the great universal expanse. He knows it is time for him to meet his maker and he climbs all seven of the Seven Hills and hits the beach. He wanders in to dip his hooves, feeling the coolness of the ocean for the first time and smelling the freshness and salinity all around. As he dips into the watery blue fathoms of the sea, Franco draws his final breath and expires.
After spending over a year as a dead pig and eventually washing up on the beach, some industrious peasants eventually stumble upon Franco’s petrified carcass and have a bite. Prosciutto was born!
Isn’t myth so much better than a neglectful farmer who lost his pig, let it drown and some hobo is resorted to eating the bloated carcass, shrugged and said “Yeah not bad”?
Volpi Foods — American crafted since 1902.