If Safeway wants to sell pork, it runs ads with images of grilled chops or some such. The response of those of us who eat meat is almost Pavlovian: we feel hungry, our mouths start watering, we start the grill and run on down to the supermarket.

Images like this really reach their target market.

The one below targets Mexicans, apparently successfully, because you see pigs in pots everywhere. I found this one in the Yucatán.

Frankly, it doesn't do anything for me. Yes, this image succeeds in coveying the message, "Carnitas sold here." But it doesn't stimulate my appetite, at least not directly.

It's almost as if the cartoon is a familiar joke: a smiling pig enjoying the pot. With dainty eyelashes, waving "hello." The Mexican equivalent of "Eat at Joe's and Get Gas."

(Guy could use a copywriter. "Quality and Price." Not a lot of zip there.)

Anthropomorphic food isn't just a Mexican thing. The French, when they're not eating cheese, have a thing for happy pork. And check out this image from an American chain of barbecue joints.

The pig in the pot theme crops up here in San Miguel, too.

This sign is on the door of a van. Valentín Alazañez may not even have a storefront. Here he's advertising home delivery. Same old pig in a pot, although this one doesn't look quite as happy about it.

To further whet your appetite, he offers chicharrones—crispy fried pig skin—what used to be marketed in the states as "pork rinds." (As if skinning a pig was like peeling an orange.) They're more than just a snack here. Street vendors sell single-serving plastic bags of them with sliced onions and peppers and spicy tomato sauce dumped on top. Chicharrones are also used in soups and stews.

His other featured item, cuero fresco, is another matter. Cuero fresco is fresh pork skin. You buy it if you want to make your own chicharrones. What's the advantage? Well, my friend Patty says fresh skin comes with fat attached, so you get lard as well as chicharrones. Great, if you're looking for lard.

Over in Delores Hidalgo is my favorite carnitas joint—Vicente.

At least his sign doesn't illustrate pigs being boiled alive. These fellas are singing to the accompaniment of a muchacho playing his guitar. Vicente trades on a little gratuitous patriotism, what with the red, white and green serapes and sombrero. His ad is no more appetite-inducing than the others, but at least it doesn't push raw pig skin.

The singers' expressions almost look angry, leaving me with an uneasy feeling. That is, until the smell of carnitas hits me. The savory odor of well-done pork and fresh corn tortillas is Vicente's best advertisement.