Vegetarians should look away now. Probably doctors too. The gusto (or gluttony) that was inspired by basing a dinner around pork was energetic, to say the least. Furniture was hired, rare breeds sourced, the best of the pantry considered. It was probably excessive to snack on pork crackling while sipping a welcome drink, considering the meal to come. Who can resist it though?


Not all our guests were immediately convinced upon learning what the cocktail would be. It was born from consulting with the sommelier at Marque restaurant and adding our own flourishes. Calvados, the French apple liquor, was obviously a natural pairing for pork and the addition of ginger wine gave the drink sweetness, depth and spicy warmth. Lurking in the bottom of the martini glasses were cubes of homemade ham jelly - savoury, a little salty and very slippery. For the garnish - or swizzle stick - Bangalow pork rind was cut into fine strips, caramelised in sugar syrup and twisted into a 'pig's tail' before drying to cracking crunchiness. It was certainly another powerful cocktail that no one really should have had two of, even though we all did. On top of the Kir Royales and copious amounts of salty, crisp Filipino chicaharones, you can get an idea of where this dinner was rapidly headed. It would have been caring and considerate to think about hiring a defiblerator at this point.

From here we moved to the table, and Blair's inaugural entry with pork preserved three ways. Of course, naming it this was all a ruse. The man had for weeks been intimidated by the culinary obsession on display by some members of this group, and had toyed with numerous pork products, including a modern twist on the classic pigs in a blanket (which this author enjoyed enormously). In the end, all it took was a careful visit to Norton Street Grocer - and a little imagination - to come up with a suitable entry. On the plate guests were presented with a pungent Gypsy ham, single smoked ham off the bone and (this is in dispute) serrano ham, all dressed up with Donna Hay's own flatbreads (from her July 2007 issue), tiny crisp cornichons and mostarda di frutta, or Italian mustard fruits. We paired the lot with a 2006 wild-yeast riesling from Eden Valley.

The salad was to offer at least a slight reprieve from the heavier elements of the meal while still revelling in and capturing at its heart the essence of pork. What better way to achieve this than with thin nutty, sweet slices of jamon? This Spanish ham was beginning to see more and more counter space at delicatessens and food halls across the country and rightly so. Having done the dash on prosciutto for such a long time, it was refreshing to see a cured pork product hit the shelves with such gusto.

Paired with bitter radicchio, tart, creamy goat's curd, sweet vincotto and toasted hazelnuts, the dish encapsulated a melange of salty, sweet, creamy, crunchy flavours and textures that offered a light break from the ensuing heartiness of the soup. In a way the salad was inspired by a traditional pairing of Italian prosciutto, say, with figs and blue cheese or melon.

The soup was as traditional as they come; peasant food at its best and most tastiest. Really, how can one go past the good old pea and ham as the evening's entry to the soup course? And it really was a simple affair that let the pig do the talking - a smoked ham hock from the Bavarian butcher in Sydney's Ermington, no less. It infused the soup of chicken stock, potato and peas with the most wonderful salty, smoky flavour. Surely a soup that will fix all that ails you and put us in good stead for the the remaining courses. Fortifying, to be sure.

Amelia came up with the idea of pursuing a Large Black Pig for the main, and with this in mind I googled for a breeder, finding one first in Victoria's Yarra Valley and gradually deciding on Highlands Heritage Pork. It was delivered several days before dinner, after being slaughtered only four days before.

The belly was braised first on a bed of tart Granny Smiths, thyme and garlic with Bulmer's Irish cider, then weighed down with tins of goose fat overnight to press it into uniform slabs before being finished in the oven before serving, with a blowtorch applied to ensure each piece was crispy and unctious. The loin was wrapped around thyme, basil, parsley and garlic stems before being flashed in a hot oven and blowtorched once more, so it was pink yet completely crispy on serving. These were paired with a cauliflower cooked in milk then pureed, and red cabbage braised in cider vinegar and thin lardons of smoked spec - after all, there were no rules on packing the side dishes with pork as well! The wine chosen to match this was a funky 2004 Jindalee Reserve Pinot Noir, from the Yarra Valley.

Dessert proved to be a tickler, but one that was immensely satisfying in the conceptualisation. Bangalow pork belly fat was carefully rendered to make a beautiful, pure white lard, which in turn produced soft sweet pastry cases. What else but apple to fill? The piece de resistance however, was the 'crumble' top. Eschewing great personal danger (ever deep-fried pig skin?) the cook made crackling, and instead of rolling in salt, rolled in cinnamon sugar. The crackling was crumbled to give 'crumble' topping at the last minute before serving, and a side bowl of vanilla ice cream was garnished with Chinese pork floss, or 'rousong', bought from an Asian grocer. A successful amalgamation of the pig into sweets! But we knew that would be the case, as pork is a sweet meat and its lard an undervalued commodity!

We ended the night with coffees and more pinot; much groaning was heard around the table, on the couch and the deck, despite the brisk temperature outside. It wasn't long before a few snorts were heard - from overindulgence no less - and like the animal we'd consumed it wasn't long before all of us again began to resemble the feature ingredient. In the same way the garlic dinner seemingly turned all of us into walking talking bulbs of garlic (at least as far as we smelt), so the pork dinner had made swine of us all. Oh the shame, the tasty shame.