“Well, sure I do!” Wade said. “I never forget the face of an angel.” Wade was grinning ear to ear as he took Rose’s hand and kissed it.

An image of Rhett Butler flashed in Rose’s mind. She smiled, but didn’t blush. It was a cliché response, but an appropriate one just the same, she figured. And it was a nice thing to say.

“Why do they call it a dogtrot?” Rose asked.

Wade turned and pointed his arm through the breezeway that ran from the front porch to the back porch. “Dogs were free to just trot down this here breezeway,” Wade said. “Unless you lived out in the sticks. In that case possums might run through here so some folks call these homes possumtrots.”

Rose smiled in amusement.

“Of course this is a modernized dogtrot,” Wade continued as he pointed out the accordion glass doors framed in rich mahogany that could be closed to secure the breezeway and protect the six-inch heartwood pine floors that ran throughout the house. The enclosed rear porch had both skylights and ceiling fans that made sitting comfortable in the cushioned wicker furniture. The rear porch was crowded with the members of 50-Forks who had been invited to gather two hours earlier for their business discussion and introductions.

“Well,” Wade said, “Mighty happy you both could make it. Y’all go now and enjoy yourselves.”

John and Rose smiled and walked into the breezeway, taking in the lingering aromas of roasted meat and, Rose thought, candied yams. To the right and left were the main rooms of the 1830’s home. The entrance to each had been enlarged to impart both the feel of separation and of being in one large room that swept the house.

In the breezeway all eyes were directed to a centerpiece table. High above the table hung four beautifully cured whole hams, each hanging by its black hoof. The star attraction on the table below was a whole roasted pig’s head on a platter, eyes and teeth intact. The platter was stylishly decorated with forest flora and acorns from the north Georgia mountains. On an adjoining table behind the head was a fifth ham resting on a Salamanca, hand carved and made by Nick’s own father. In true Spanish artistic design, the two-inch hardwood base of the Salamanca itself had been carved in the shape of a ham leg. A heavy, stainless steel open ring, secured to an arm that rose and curved a foot higher than the base, formed a cradle for the ham hoof. The butt portion of the ham rested on its own hardwood cradle on the opposite end.

About thirty guests stood around the table and in the breezeway, watching a very serious man expertly shave razor thin pieces of the ham with a long knife. Nick Vegas walked up beside him as he did so and held court as cameras zoomed in.

“This is an art form!” Nick began. “The man who wields the knife has to know precisely how to do this, how to shave thinly along the grain to extract maximum flavor. In Spain this man is known as a Maestro Secadero and he oversees the entire process of curing, grading, and slicing the ham,” Nick added as he flashed his smile for the cameras.

By now, both the front and rear porches had emptied and Nick was surrounded in the packed breezeway by almost fifty guests, each of whom, other than John and Rose, had written a check for $75,000 to join Nick’s exclusive 50-Forks Sales & Marketing group. “Look how thinly he slices it,” Nick said, as he rolled his arm toward the ham in the manner of a maître d’.

Nick held up a translucent slice of ham and looked through it. Then, he rolled it in the shape of a cigar and savored it, kissing his fingers to his lips as he rolled his eyes. “Mmmmm!” he said, as he waved for his servants to plate small samples for each guest. “Sliced in this manner, at room temperature, the marbled ham will literally start to melt. Go on, taste it for yourself.”

“Is this mold on the side?” one woman asked, pointing to a white powder that lined the edge of some of the slices. “Is it safe to eat?”

Nick smiled reassuringly.

“Yes and it’s fine to eat,” he said. “You’ll be getting a lot of mold tonight. We have local, raw milk Camembert cheese featured in the first course and a local, organic blue cheese we’ll use for the dessert course.” The woman and a few other guests took the slice close to their nose first and inhaled the meat and mold as if their nostrils could instantly confirm Nick’s stamp of approval. The cameras panned and zoomed, capturing the expressions of the guests, who both wanted to act as if they were the recipients of culinary bliss for the camera and, literally, were overcome with the explosion of delicate and complex flavors on their palates. The phrases uttered through the mouthfuls of one of the world’s most prized meats varied, but conveyed the same satisfaction.

“Oh, wow!” one woman exclaimed as her husband simply mumbled, “Jesus!”

Another lanky man held his mouth open with apparent disbelief at the explosion of flavor. “Holy cow!” He said.

“No, this is no cow,” Nick said with a smile. “It’s a pig!”

The cameras caught the laughing faces as the group discussed the intense flavors and marveled at how very little salt they could taste compared to any ham cured in America. They walked closer to the centerpiece and pointed to the ham leg, asking questions of Nick as if he were a curator at a culinary museum. With everyone intoxicated by the taste of the delicacy on the table, Nick shared his vision for introducing a food culture to Georgia and the southeast.

“These hams, along with Kobe beef and Beluga caviar, are among the most prized foods in the world. The problem is that the real Jamón Ibérico de Bellota hams are only available in Spain and not available in the U.S. due to your U.S.D.A.” Nick made sure he pronounced the U.S.D.A. as U.S. “duh” for the camera, eliciting a roaring response from the group.

“The U.S. duh does allow one company to export a cheap knock off from Spain, and they charge a hundred dollars a pound for that!” Nick said. “But it’s garbage compared to the real thing. You see this black foot? You won’t see that on their ham, as the U.S. duh forbids it to be imported anywhere in America.” Nick pointed to the black hoof that pointed up to the ceiling from the Salamanca. “That black hoof is the only proof that you’re eating the real thing,” Nick added. “That you’re getting the real pata negro or black-footed Iberian pig that grazed freely on acorns, or bellotas as we say in Spain.”

The guests hung on each of Nick’s words and marveled at the dark, ruby red slices of ham, seeing it not merely for what it was (the leg of a pig) but rather an exquisite human accomplishment of mankind, in a class with the Egyptian pyramids, Picasso, or even the space shuttle.

“We have taken a beautiful animal, a pig, and made it into so much more. Something far more elevated than what nature created.” Nick said. “We have taken it and created art!”

“I’m not so sure the pig, or P.E.T.A. for that matter, would agree with that assessment, Nick,” one of the unsmiling faces said. Nervous chuckles surrounded the centerpiece as eyes fell to the floor.

Nick turned his gaze to the man and then cast a mischievous smile. “I’m all for P.E.T.A.” Nick said to the shock of his guests. “People Eating Tasty Animals, right?”

The group roared as the camera panned back from the lone vegan in the group to the carnivorous frenzy surrounding the pig’s head.

“If the U.S.D.A. doesn’t allow the black hoof to be imported, then where did these come from?” a woman asked. She was a senior vice president of marketing at IBM, and the $75,000 membership fee to network with so many other high ranking marketing gurus in this intimate setting hadn’t been an afterthought in her multi-billion dollar budget. Nick had known that would be the case for each of the contacts that Wade had cultivated from his executive recruiting days, and that once a tipping point of membership was achieved, everyone would want in. That’s exactly how it had played out, with all ten 50-Forks Clubs selling out within six months, each with its fifty paying members. Using the existing restaurant staff he had in each city, and with virtually no investment in the private meeting homes, Nick would rake in over $37 million dollars in membership fees the first year alone. He could afford to splurge on celebrity keynote speakers and extravagant dinners to create an over-the-top experience.