Women know this well: Men can easily be turned into slobbering idiots. As if they were meant to disprove Darwin, such subjects suggest the devolution of humanity to a state of savagery lower than that of wild animals, incapable of coherent speech or upright ambulation. Though various means can accomplish this change, nothing is quite as effective as roast pork.

In these parts, the principal agent of such a transformation is bůček, a thick cut of pork belly usually composed of several inches of pure, glistening fat above a sliver of extremely tender, slow-cooked meat. On Dec. 31, 1999, at a New Year's Eve party in North Bohemia, the unexpected arrival of bůček caused a group of erstwhile intellectual young men to grunt, growl and drag their knuckles like troglodytes. One was an architect. One was a professor of Czech literature. One was a banker. Bůček is powerful stuff — the Bohemian mojo, gris-gris and moly at once.

Unfortunately, the bůček at the Prague 8 restaurant Kobyla is not of the same potency. It's not thick and shimmering like jelly, but is served instead as a plate of thin slices much like beef carpaccio.

Instead of the thick layer of glistening fat, each slice has only the thinnest remaining evidence: a crisped, bacony edge along the top. In fact, the whole thing is actually quite lean, like a tender, slow-cooked ham served with fresh bread, horseradish and mustard. If you're into meat and mustard, it's a great starter and a good deal at 47 Kč ($2) — but don't get your hopes up. You'll probably be able to maintain a normal conversation while eating it.

If pork-induced devolution is your aim, Kobyla's žebirka are far more efficacious. A plate of pork ribs which have been slathered in honey and slowly roasted, this dish should come with a warning: It weighs a full kilo (2.2 pounds) with bones, and is probably most of a pound in meat and delicious, salty-sweet chunks of fat. Even ambitious eaters will have trouble finishing this one. But that can be good news, as the remainder makes a great lunch the next day (and possibly the day after that).

Less impressive is the pork tenderloin. Though the meat itself is near perfect — moist and butter-knife sliceable — its accompanying pepper sauce lacks bite, resulting in a plain, if lightly green-pepper-scented cream sauce. It might be tempting to order this with a side dish of spinach in order to have something non-porcine in your diet. Abstain. Kobyla's side of spinach is a garlicky, smooth, dark-green travesty — much like phlegm, only less appetizing.

Not everything at Kobyla is cooked hog. Among piscatorial plates, the fried trout in batter is pretty good. Along with tench and pike-perch, trout ranks as one of the best domestic finny tribes, and Kobyla's version is clean, well-cooked and fresh, flaking off beautifully into thick white chunks. But once again, the accompanying sauce is just OK: a mix of cream, lardons (aka more pork) and white onions, though the onions when I tried it were barely cooked, not yet translucent.

Food, however, seems to be a second thought at Kobyla, as this is another Pilsner Urquell tankovna and most people come here to drink beer. At just 26 Kč for a half-liter, it would be foolish to drink anything else. And the unpasteurized tankovna version is generally far fresher than the pasteurized Pilsner Urquell in kegs.