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Photo: Claire Lower When I was but 10 tender years old, I saw a trailer for Bed of Roses , a Christian Slater vehicle that—at the time—seemed to embody the absolute height of romance. (I was not allowed to see the movie, as it was rated R. Oddly, I was allowed to see Jerry Maguire that same year.) According to the preview, which I have just rewatched for the first time since going through puberty, a florist (played by Slater) sends a woman he does not know a whole bunch of flowers because he saw her crying in a window while he was taking a walk. As a divorced woman in my 30s, I now understand that this is not a romantic love story, but a horror film, but the phrase “bed of roses” still speaks to my inner pre-pubescent. Roses are shorthand for romance, the perfect thing for a lazy man to give to his romantic partner when he is short on both ideas and time. And yet, I am charmed by roses. I love walking around the various rose gardens in Portland, and I love receiving bouquets of them, no matter how last-minute they were purchased. It should come as no surprise then that I am similarly enamored with meats that are fashioned into roses, like the prosciutto in this Heartcuterie box and the salami roses you see at the top of this article. (Perversely, the man I am currently involved with hates giving roses because it […]