Any celebration of the pig and its meat must mention crackling, that gloriously crisp, golden and chewy layer of skin with melting fat that is so cherished by the British. The French as good as ignore it. The fools. Yet a plate of roast pork is unthinkable without it. And I cannot be the  only person who tears a strip of crackling off a cold roast to chew while I read the paper. (lk 102)