Setting up the spit under cover.
Every August, my cousin Leif and I roast a whole pig. We buy it from a local butcher and cook it for about nine hours over hickory that we've chopped and dried just for our annual roast. We get a keg of beer and invite everyone we know to join us. In years past we've had close to a hundred guests, and this year would have been no exception--but for a hurricane.
The impressive (and, as it turned out, justified) media buildup to last weekend's inclement weather convinced all but nine guests to stay home. I fielded a lot of phone calls from invitees wondering if the festivities were still on. Short answer: they were.
We named the pig Irene.
And the roast was as fun (and the food as delectable) as ever. Leif made German-style potato salad and a huge pot of baked beans. We ate hickory-roasted pig until our guts about burst. Then we ate some more. After a few hours, I carved the remaining meat off the animal--enough to fill a dozen large containers. The nine well-fed souls who braved the storm will be eating leftover pork for a long, long time.
But after tacos and sandwiches (and hash and chili), what does one do with another 50 pounds of leftover pig?