Soon the waiter returned
carrying a plate on which there lay a thick greyish-white slab of something
hot. “But this is absolute heaven!” Lexington exclaimed. “What an aroma! It’s tremendous!”
“Look,” he said. “If you will tell me what this delicious dish is made of, and exactly how it is prepared, I will give you a hundred-dollar-bill.” - “It’s pork.” “And exactly what is pork?” - “It’s pig,” the waiter said. “You just bung it in the oven.” - “You mean that this is pig’s meat?” - “I guarantee it.” “Lead me to the kitchen,” he said. “Introduce me to the genius who prepared this meat.” - “You got to get a good piece of meat to start off with,” the cook said. “That’s half the battle. It’s got to be a good hog and it’s got to be butchered right, otherwise it’ll turn out lousy whichever way you cook it.” “Show me how,” Lexington said. “Butcher me one now so I can learn.” “We don’t butcher pigs in the kitchen,” the cook said. “That lot you just ate came from a packing house over in the Bronx.” “Then give me the address!”
The cook gave him the address, and our hero, after thanking them both many times for all their kindnesses, rushed outside and leapt into a taxi and headed to the Bronx.