On Sunday I was one of 20 bloated and increasingly desperate judges sequestered in an empty ballroom at the The Drake for Cochon 555, trying to evaluate over thirty five separate pork preparations–terrines, patés, ribs, rillettes, headcheese, carnitas, soups, doughnuts, sausages, porchettas, testa–arriving on tiny paper plates faster than we could finish them. Organized by Atlanta’s Taste Network, this was the seventh of ten traveling events that pit five local chefs against each other, each given a heritage pig and directed to make the most of it. The winner, dubbed the Prince of Porc, is chosen partly on the votes of the 20 judges and on those of the paying crowd mobbed up around tasting stations in a separate ballroom. The winners go on to compete against each other in a national competition (yet to be announced).
