When there's pig's head on the menu, you'd be silly not to order it. Cutting through this is like an essay on texture: first, the knife's deft pierce through thin ravioli skin releases a quivering egg yolk, then, a satisfying crunch through a crisp coat, and finally, the blade yields completely when it touches the lovingly braised and pulled pig's head. Every part of the head is in there, save for the eyeballs. Almost instantly, yolk meets meat, creating something far greater than the sum of its parts. If I had one way to describe it, I'd call it "essence of pig" - almost like every pig dish I've ever had put into one voluptuous, intense bite that etches itself into your taste bank, never to be forgotten.