At the cafe just inside the entrance off 1st Avenue, you can buy rectangular pieces of pizza, as well as the day’s panini or soup. I went for the plain cheese slice, and while it was filling enough, it was more like bread than pizza. Too much dough, and not enough cheese and sauce for my taste.

Luckily, I love DeLaurenti for other reasons. The store is a great resource for chocolate, cheese, and charcuterie, as well as a good variety of other groceries. From DeLaurenti, I was headed to a barbeque party on Bainbridge Island, so it was a perfect place to pick up some prosciutto. I wrapped some paper-thin slices around figs, and the rest around Rainier cherries that I pitted and stuffed with just a little bit of thyme. After putting one of each on skewers, I grilled them just slightly – enough to warm up the fruit and get the juices (mine and the fruit’s) flowing. These skewers were such a hit that there was no opportunity to take a photo of the final product. Instead, pictured are the skewers ready to hit the grill.

Pardon the pizza, unless you like that particular style, but definitely include DeLaurenti as part of your Pike Place market shopping experience.

Until recently, you’d have to drive away from downtown Seattle to find a food truck, with most being taco trucks on the edges of the city. (I ate tongue and tripe tacos at one yesterday while heading home from Shoreline.) But now, a not-so-little pig has come to market: Maximus / Minimus is at the southeast corner of 2nd and Pike.

This eye-catching wonder is the brainchild of Kurt Beecher Dammeier, the man behind Beecher’s Handmade Cheese. His co-workers loved the pulled pork sandwiches he made them for lunch, and suddenly the concept came about, resulting in a pig-shaped truck often parked just outside of Dammeier’s office.

The name refers to the flavor profiles, with Maximus meaning savory and spicy, and Minimus meaning tangy and sweet. On the positive side, lapsang souchong tea contributes a welcome smokiness to the sandwich ($5.46). But beyond smokiness, I love heat, so I’m a bit disappointed that I can’t discern much difference between the maximus and the minimus sauces. Carry a bottle of hot sauce with you if an “extra hurt” order isn’t anywhere near making you scream out your culinary safe word.

As for the rest of the menu, I do like the beets as part of the vegetable chips ($4.55, or $2.28 as a side to a sandwich), and the slaw (also available in maximus or minimus flavors) is serviceable ($2.73, or $1.37 with the sandwich). Drinks ($1.82) are fun; I prefer the tart ginger lemonade (the maximus drink) over the hibiscus nectar (the minimus drink), which is floral and sweet. There’s a vegetarian sandwich available, though it seems silly to me to pony up to a pig only to be pork-free.

Then again, Dammeier loves the veggie sandwich, though he says the ability to have a pulled pork sandwich for lunch everyday was the inspiration behind Maximus / Minimus. Can a man live by pulled pork alone? Can pulled pork alone make a business thrive? With his track record of success, I wouldn’t bet against Dammeier. He can certainly diversify the menu down the line, and he also has plans to take the show on the road, parading the pig to different neighborhoods and showing up at special events. (Stay in touch by following Maximus / Minimus on Twitter.)

But I’m here for the food. Liza’s a kind woman who recommends the ribs. What portion? The rib basket ($8.95) will do, she says. It comes with three ribs (eyeing the half and full slabs on the menu, I wonder if that will be enough), two sides, and cornbread (jalapeno, thanks). No baked beans here, but Tex-Mex pintos are find. Liza then says I’ve got to try the mixed greens, and brings me a small dish. They’re great, and include black-eyed peas and tomatoes.

As my plate arrives and I pull out my camera to shoot some photos, the owner walks in and notices me, saying, “You one of those food writers? I’m Eric Gould, the redneck Jewish massage therapist.” Interesting character, as you can guess. He chats with me while I’m eating, and notices I’m having a rough time with one of the ribs. “Too bad you got a tough one,” he says, but doesn’t offer to replace it. Luckily, after a couple of bites it got better – much better: succulent, tender, and very meaty. I’m happy. Eric says he wants to franchise the business and then sell in ten years. Stick to the “stick-to-your-ribs” ribs, and he’s got a chance.

“Decent” is a decent enough descriptor of the BBQ pork loin sandwich, served with sides of slaw and fries. We know not to expect high quality BBQ, bagels and New York style pizza in this part of the country. Besides, Floyd’s is basically just a watering hole with frat house ambiance, a sports bar hangout with lots of flat screen TVs for those who don’t make it inside Key Arena, along with pinball and pool table diversions.

What intrigues us about Floyd’s is the rotating street sign: a dancing pig and cow beckoning our attention. Apparently we’re not alone. As we write this, we see that Floyd’s is featured in The Stranger story called “Suicide Food,” which local Ben Grossblatt describes as “any depiction of animals that act as though they wish to be consumed… actively participat[ing] in or celebrat[ing] its own demise.” Kind of like Larry Craig at an airport bathroom or Richard Curtis at an erotic boutique, don’t you think?

Are signs like Floyd’s promoting the notion of suicide food? Does it matter? Sometimes the signs are just misunderstood. The octopus hanging outside the much-missed Takohachi was more representative of the bald-headed father of the restaurant owner than of anything to be served inside. Besides, what’s wrong with a seeing the future food, anyway? Sea life swimming in restaurant tanks is a sign of seafood freshness. Meat is more than the bacon slices, racks of lamb, and soon-to-be-eaten (even by some 364-days-per-year “vegetarians”) turkeys conveniently awaiting us in our supermarket aisles. Ultimately, to the meat-eater, both a live lobster you hold in your hand until you deliver its death and a plastic-wrapped piece of prime rib are screaming “Eat Me.” Similarly, Floyd’s pig gives a preview of a pork loin sandwich inside – maybe not perfect, but promising.

Originally posted at Seattlest (where “we” = me) on November 2, 2007.

Whenever I’m lucky enough to drive into Saratoga Springs from the south on a summer’s day, I know to open my window and enjoy the sweet smell of PJ’s Bar-B-Q. There’s generally a line of people outside waiting to order, listening to oldies and checking the menu board to be sure of what they want. I’ve been there a few times, and on this particular trip I ordered the “Trifecta Sampler” (Saratoga’s a horse town, in case you don’t know) so I could sample a quarter chicken and a quarter pound of ribs ($11.25 for the meat, plus $3.10 for the two sides). Nothing fancy, but they’re cooked over charcoal in massive amounts, which might explain why you can smell it from well down the road.

A couple of weeks later, I was in Manchester, NH where someone recommended I try City Flame Smoke House. Here I ordered the Pulled Pork plate ($9.50). The pork shoulder is slow smoked over hickory wood for 16 hours. Nice and tender. In addition to BBQ beans and corn bread (not too sweet, thankfully), I really liked my side of roasted red peppers salad. Not something I typically see on the menu, and a nice complement to the other items!