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ASPIRATION Chattanooga,Tennessee Farther south they call it hog jowl. Up north they call it salt pork. But we called it streakéd meat— the one Elizabethan elegance in a lexicon of liberries, chimbleys, y’alls, might coulds, and sherberts. On NewYear’s Day, for luck, my mother would slice it ten times the thickness of bacon, the salt in one slice enough to make a mouth shrivel for days. Far away, others were igniting sauces, shaping the daily tortilla, or boiling mussels from the river in coconut milk, but we were counting on a mess of black-eyed peas, a fried slab of pig fat, and the charm of a name, perfected.  ...

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