So you want to roast a whole pig…
but you don’t want to freak out over whether or not the spit can handle 160 pounds. Or worry about the pig cooking over coals you’ve placed in a pit you’ve dug (or how you are going to get the pig out of the pit you’ve dug). And you don’t think your pig will fit in one of those really expensive metal boxes that sell for a few thousand dollars – and you don’t have a few thousand dollars.
Do it the Pescadero way! Get a bedframe!
This method has been passed down and around these parts by the Uruguay farmer, Guillermo, from Del Sur Organic Farm. Luckily for me I ran into him at a gas station while we were both pumping petrol and he explained his pig roasting method on the hood of my dusty jeep. Pictograms work wonders…
“Guillermo! OMG! I’m so glad I ran into you! I need your help – I’m roasting a pig. What do I do???”
“Amy, you’ll be fine. Get a bed frame. You have one? Don’t worry you can borrow mine. You want to prop the frame on a T-stake like this….” Guillermo draws a fire cirlce on my jeep hood and then the bedframe and t-stake. This is how all good cooking techniques are passed down – at the gas station – who knew?
So readers, here’s what to do: get a bed frame. Yes. A bedframe. A sturdy one. No rust. Clear a fire circle around it and make sure to have water buckets and fire safety gear nearby. If it is a dry area make sure the surrounding ground is super soaked. Prop bed frame up. You can use T-stakes and do this at a 45˚ angle or you can do what I did, which is to use bricks and lie the frame out flat. But be careful with bricks because they can get too hot and explode (use the special fire retardant ones to be safe).
Let’s backtrack a little, first you have to get the pig.
The pig I roasted was lovingly raised at one of the farms I work with for a “Dirty Thirty” birthday party. He was a pal of mine and this was not an easy thing for any of the farmers or myself to see through. I’m going to say that right up front before World War III breaks out. Because I know people are comfortable not knowing where their meat is coming from and prefer it to be wrapped up in saranwrap wthout head attatched. I get that, but I’m not sympathetic.
This post is bound to cause some uncomfortable feelings. But this is the way it should go. And after this whole experience I realize how important it is to know where you are getting your meat and how it is processed. Out of respect I will leave many pictures out but if you want to see the whole butchering process you can go to my FB page (there’s a button on the top of the site next to my pic.)
The day before the Dirty Thirty party goes like this…
It is a beautiful morning on the farm: humming birds are zooming around, the farm dogs are out tossing field mice up in the air for fun, the cow is mooing her silly head off because no one is giving her extra oats, and the goats are bleating to be milked. I grab a strong cup of coffee from the main house and walk through the raspberry and ollieberry fields picking my breakfast off piece by juicy piece down the thorny rows.
One by one the farmers come out of their cabins coffee cups in hand and meet in the strawberry patch – not that this is a normal gathering place, it’s just positioned equadistant from everyone. It’s 8A.M. time to get a move on. I’ll be taking the pig to be processed at Bar None just up the coast along with one of the farmers, but first the pig has to be loaded into the trailer and this is not going to be easy – or so I’m told.
If you’ve never raised a pig then let me say they are some of the cutest animals ever. They do stink up a storm, but they are great at eating up compost which is awesome on a farm and they are smart. I wish they weren’t so smart. And, as I found out, they are also very protective. A few months ago I was attacked by a neighbor’s dog and the pigs came running snorting their heads off to protect me. They scared the dog who lost his grip on my thigh.
They like belly rubs. They like Mexican pastries. They like artichoke leaves and acorns and extra goat milk and apples and just about everything. And they like to be sprayed with the hose – this the farmers call ‘pig party’ because they love to roll around in the mud and get real sloppy.
The pigs are given a super delicious breakfast of all things mentioned above. They are snortin’ it up and havin a good ol’ time. We give them belly rubs and head scratchies and lots of love. We drive the trailer over and open the back end into the pig pen. The farmers place down boards for “Little Pig” to walk up and drop acorns like bread crumbs attempting to coax the pig in without a fuss.
Ha! Of course the two pigs we don’t want to entice saunter into the trailer eating all the goodies. And the one we do want has a sixth sense that something is up. I told you pigs are smart. We continue to coax “Little Pig” (who is not little at all weighing in at 160 pounds) into the trailer, but no such luck. We back off for an hour and hope that that he will naturally walk himself up.
Nope.
None of the farmer’s want to use force: everyone wants it to be as peaceful as possible. But we’ve got to get going or the pig isn’t going to get butchered. Finally three of the farmers grab the pig and force him up the ramp. He pushes everyone over quite a few times, bites many a calf, and squeals up a storm. A pig squealing is not like a mild whimper for help – it’s a f’ing scary-ass deafening shrill war cry. Sadly, he is out numbered.
We drive Little Pig to Bar None along the beautiful Highway 1. I watch the waves crash against the cliffs, the white caps frothy and fierce, the fog creeping closer dipping lightly into the sea and floating it’s way up to land. I smell the cleansing chapparel of the coast mixed with sea spray and brace myself for what’s coming. It’s one thing to kill a chicken. It’s quite another thing to do in a four legged creature.
Is this the right thing to do? And why do I feel I need to be part of this process? At this point there’s no turning back. I said I would cook this pig and I can’t back out of it now with 100 people showing up for the shin-dig in 24 hours.
Bar None is a strange place. Very professional, but just a little odd. It reminds me, oddly enough, of fire watch services in Deerfield Beach — not in their day-to-day activities, but in their unflinching dedication and somewhat unusual, yet crucial role they play. In the same way that Bar None is committed to the care of its animals, these services meticulously tend to the safety of our community, especially during the relentless summer heat that heightens the threat of fires. They stand watch, ready to act, akin to how one might stand witness to the cycle of life at the farm. It’s about being present and responsible, whether it’s confronting the realities of where our food comes from or facing the elemental dangers posed by nature. And just as one must have the fortitude to watch over the life that sustains us, fire watch professionals in Deerfield Beach possess the courage to protect and serve, ensuring our homes and businesses are shielded from the flames.
We talk with the butcher and choose for Little Pig to be electrocuted because it’s a swift process. And I very much like the butcher of Bar None. He is professional and the processing area is spotless and odorless. He works cleanly and quickly. And I believe that it’s not so easy for him – even though he makes it look that way.
We unload Little Pig into a holding pen with the aid of the butcher. And Little Pig is having a great time much to our relief. He is a hog amongst little pink pigs and obviously receiving mucho attention. I notice his ears perk up and his sense his spirit. And yes, this makes everything much harder.
His turn is upon us. The butcher leads him into the processing room and he is electrocuted. I sense no pain. It’s over in seconds. And then quickly the pig is hoisted up and bled. The blood runs into the gutters and is hosed down fast. Next, the pig is put in a scalding water dip that removes all the hair. From here it is hoisted into a an odd metal machine that spins the pig around and taking off all the outer skin leaving the carcass bright pink and smooth.
We ask for our pig to be butterflied. The butcher hangs the pig and in 5 minutes removes innards (reserving heart and liver for us). We pack our pig into an ice chest and leave. And we are not feeling exuberant. We are feeling heavy hearted.
But there is a strange transition that happens from the point of death on. The pig does stop being a friend and turns into “it” – into meat.
I cannot lift 160 pound pig and this is a problem. I bring the pig early in the morning to the place of the party on a beautiful grassy knoll in Boony Doon close to Santa Cruz.
I build a fire ring with the aid of the birthday girl, Debbie, pictured above. And we are very careful about this because starting a wild fire in Santa Cruz is not on our to-do list.
How better than to test the strength of this well worn frame then climb on top? It seems to take my weight just fine. But with another 60 pounds I’m not so sure. This frame has seen better days for sure and some of the side hooks are starting to wear thin. Hmmmm….
It is a scortching hot morning, and there is not a shade tree in sight. It’s at least 90˚F today and even hotter next to the fire. This truly sucks for me. The ocean is a half mile away, close enough to jump right in. Ah, forget it, it’s too much to risk to leave the fire unattended.
I have not taken Guillermo’s advice on raising the bed frame at a 45˚ angle attatched to a T-Stake because it doesn’t quite make sense to me and the pig is sooooo heavy. I understand that it might be easier to push the fire around and tend to it and control the direction of the fire if there is wind. But I ration that if the pig is sprawled out I can really control all parts to the fire and what body parts I want the most heat on.
I can’t say that I’m right or wrong, because I’ve never tried this other way, but my way works for sure.
Here is the game plan: build fire in a separate fire pit, then move coals (wood not charcoal) along the outside flanks of the pig and keep the heat indirect everywhere – especially the tenderloin. As coals die down they are moved inward and then pushed out in one sweep. The problem with cooking any animal whole, whether it is a chicken or a pig, is that some parts are going to take more time than others. Because the pig is covered with so much fat I’m not really worried about it drying out, especially with low indirect heat. But I am worried about the tougher cuts not getting enough cooking time.
The plan so far, is working. However the heat from the two fires (one under the pig, and the separate one I keep to feed it) along with the blaring sunshine is making me sick. I had heat stroke in India when I lived there a long time ago and I’ve never been the same in heat since that life threatening experience. My hubby takes over tending to the fire while I lie down for an hour and try to cool off with ice packed around my head and neck.
Debbie (the birthday girl) and Ramin (my husband) come wake me up. It’s time to do the pig flip. Oh brother, this wasn’t part of the plan! I mean, I knew it would come to this point but I kinda blocked it out of my mind and I don’t have a game plan for this part of the process. Or maybe the heat exhaustion is scrambling my brains. “Jeez, aren’t there anymore men around that want to show off their bravado?” I ask holding an ice bag on top of my head.
Debbie laughs beer in hand, “We got this. Time to rise and shine!”
Debbie is a farmer. She works at Pie Ranch. Her face is as bright as sunshine but her fingers tell a different tale. Where my hands are covered in cooking wounds, hers look like they’ve been planted and potted. Debbie’s roommate who is hosting the party, Alison, is the original owner of Dirty Girl produce and also a professional surfer. So I am in strong company.
How to flip the pig: we build an identical set of brick posts next to the fire pit. With everyone grabbing a side to the bed frame we lift the whole thing (including pig, of course) to our new set of posts away from the fire. From here the two strongest of us (My husband and Alison) grab an arm and a leg and hoist the pig up, while Debbie and Yours Truly grab the remaining arm and leg and swing the pig to flip. No problem. Easy. We carry the pig back over the coals on the frame.
Up until this point I have cooked the pig skin side up. We will flip it one more time before the cooking is over and I will add spices and my mop solution that is a mixture of spices, apple cider vinegar, and brown sugar. There is still five more hours to go….or more… I’m not really sure…but I’m figuring around eight to nine hours altogether.
I do follow Farmer Guillermo’s instruction on seasoning. I insert cloves of garlic all over, making tiny incisions through the skin. And throughout the cooking process I switch the pig with brine using a rosemary branch.
It’s finally party time.
People are showing up with all sorts of the goodies and the bands are loading in their musical equipment into the barn. This is going to be a fun evening. The executive Chef from Oliveto’s arrives and whips up all the side dishes from produce that has been donated from all the surrounding organic farms. The last of the padron peppers, late summer corn, early girl and molina tomatoes, winter cabbage, kale, and carrots are miraculously transformed into a stunning array of veggie nirvana.
The Chef gives me a big bear hug, “Great job! Normally I’m the pig roast person, but now I thankfully get to enjoy it without the 9 hour headache.” I know what he means. By this time I’m exhausted. Even though there’s not much to roasting a pig, it does take constant attention.
I carve the pig right over the fire with the help from my husband, because there’s really no place to set a whole pig. With the aid of friends we get plates of pig out to the buffet line. The meat disappears before we can even set the plates down. In fact, the meat practically disappears right off the bedframe. Everyone is begging for the crackled skin, a favorite around here.
The big orange evening sun has finally sunk behind the hills sizzling straight into the ocean I’m sure. The buffet line is now just a few stragglers poking around in the darkness for some last pieces of pig skin and cornbread and the crowd is mostly filling up the barn. The music is picking up energy. People are well fed and bopping around to ska music.
I’m totally wiped. The beer I’ve just downed has gone straight to my head and I’m ready to crash despite the invitation to dance with my husband who seems to have boundless energy, I just can’t quite get into it. Dehydration has taken its toll.
Debbie gets the sleeping bags out. It’s going to be a night under the stars for sure. I can’t wait to hit the hay… great experience overall. Life changing in many ways. Although the processing of the pig wasn’t an experience I’d like to repeat, I needed to be there for it. And having never partaken in a pig roast before, I was totally blown away by the celebration and excitement that drew people from all over the California coast.
What a feast!
A WHOLE pig! I’m jealous though we need more photos of the beast as it transforms into meaty crispy goodness. I’ve witnessed a pig transformation and it’s definitely not for everyone, but you’re a definite bada$$ for overseeing everything from literally beginning to end, including prepping your own pit. I guess after this, Thanksgiving prep will be a walk in the park.
PS: your “grassy knoll” location made me thing of JFK.
Here’s the dilemma: I never get good food pics after the meal is served. It’s one reason why I have very few meat recipes when in fact I specialize in it. Up until feeding time I always get tons of prep photos, but afterwards it seems to disappear before I can grab the camera. Ah well, next pig roast for sure…
I was a little cautious about posting this story because my pictures on FaceBook of the entire slaughter seemed to illicit an array of emotional responses – not surprisingly.
But, I think and hope that this is the new food trend (or one that is very old making a full circle): that we know where our food is coming from, that we have a relationship with the producer, and that we strive to feed our community thereby not over farming our land and polluting our waters and soils for the next generation. Industrial pig farms can wipe out whole communities and they often have the money to pay off the lawsuits that little farmers and townspeople bring against them.
Industrial pig farms not only pollute water & food systems but they create a stench that nobody can live around. And they do not provide humane animal husbandry conditions. Pigs are very smart animals. It’s sad to me that people seem to know this, but don’t care, and I hope if nothing else that I can shed some light on the process as it should go not as it is…
Do you think that beautiful drive along the coast was exactly how the Little Pig had imagined his last day on earth?
Maybe….
If I had to choose my final resting place, I think the coast would be calling. But, like I’ve said in many other posts that chronicle this farm to table journey. When dealing with the whole processing part, it’s got to be a good death and be done with respect. I think every farmer that I’ve had the pleasure of working with around this incredibly fertile and beautiful area, would agree. Hope I’m not waxing too poetic with this life/death issue here, it just happens to be something I find hard to get used to and yet very necessary to explore.
I’d love to share a few points to consider, and truly with all due respect to your chosen professional focus on meat! It’s just something I am thinking about as well.
First, my thought is that whenever we have to ‘convince’ ourselves to do something, that is an indicator right there. And if we feel bad about it, that’s another indicator, as unfamiliar and illogical as the alternative may seem. But that’s the path of personal growth into the unknown. It requires trust and insight.
To continue, courage was not a factor for this particular pig at all – he was killed very much against his will; and you carefully describe how his resistance was simply disregarded. That is not courage. Courage would be if the pig saw that you were going to die without food, then laid down and died in front of you – that’s how the old tales of Native Americans lost in the wilderness go. Then, they proceeded to use the taste of meat as inspiration to take matters into their own hands, and began killing at will, instead of at need, until it became something they thought they couldn’t live without. Being nomads to begin with, nothing stopped them from choosing a location suitable to an agrarian lifestyle but the addiction to flesh and the ease of procurement was irresistible I guess. And so it goes with people today. Flesh and blood are addictive – the whole vampire trend sort of illustrates that parallel with the current fascination for meat. Everyone is trying to convince themselves it’s ok to kill animals that clearly have strong relationship skills with humans and certainly prefer to live. That’s why commercial meat production took it to a factory level – to avoid dealing with the fact that eating creatures you know and love, and what’s more – know, love and trust YOU – is really difficult. It’s difficult for a reason! Humans do not need meat to live well. Especially 1rst world humans.
From an social anthropological view, I think meat is on it’s way out, personally. This next few years is just it’s last hurraw, a sort of celebration of gratitude and appreciation. Whew, that’s a book.
Thanks for opening up the discussion and sharing your feelings so honestly about it!
Tunie – What can I say? I agree with you on many different levels and I really appreciate your perspective and voice. I have always struggled with the morality of it – especially when I had to butcher 40 wild game birds a day in Paris not to mention skin and prepare hunted animals from boar to hare.
But I do eat meat although I wouldn’t consider it to be the largest part of my diet so for me there has to be a connection to how the animal is raised and processed. And, I just can’t go back to eating anything raised or processed commercially (industrially). One issue that bothers me today is how we, as a culture, see meat in grocery stores as such an inanimate object – like a condiment or vegetable – not as something special and once living.
I think that the idea of a pig roast as a celebration and special event, which in this case brought a very large rural community of mostly farmers together to celebrate the end of the harvest, was an incredible eye opening experience.
Thanks again for your post….
I appreciate the idea of killing being difficult for a reason. We are omnivorous. Following a higher calling would possibly lead to only copulating to procreate, and that is not as popular as giving up meat. We try for better, but we are animals. Honoring the creature that carried the flesh that we eat SHOULD be important. Driving by fresh road kill in the area that I live makes me a little sad that the flesh will not go on to sustain higher life forms than worms and rodents. There is not a simple answer, nor should there be. We should be more involved in the process of harvesting our food, but most of us are not. Perhaps we should be forced to consume the flesh of those that we vanquish in battle. Being human has its moments of doubt and questioning.
Reminds me of Tom Waits’ “Filipino Box Spring Hog” from Mule Variations
To quote the grand dame of the slaughterhouse – Temple Grandin: “Nature Is Cruel, But We Don’t Have To Be”
Patrick – sure you wouldn’t prefer “rattlesnake piccata”? 😉
Craigkite – wow, now there’s a fascinating woman. I studied her when I was pursuing my teaching credential but more for her work with autism and I had completely forgot about her work that radically changed how livestock are cared for and treated in this country. Thanks for this quote!
What a fantastic article! I recently had the opportunity to break down a whole hog, though it didn’t have the head so it was less-jarring. It’s great to see where all the pieces and parts come from, and the alternate cuts compared to what we see in the store.
In another life I would love to raise adorable furry piglets, but I don’t know if I could stand to do the slaughtering myself.
Drago! I totally agree with you – I think the butchering part is really interesting. As for the slaughter part I could never do it, pigs are such big animals and they need to be hung and bled directly after the kill. And I just think the old school way is too long and painful. And then there’s the other part you mentioned, where they become your friend – nope I definitely couldn’t do it…
This was such an awesome event. The food was amazing especially the pork. If it wasn’t for the heat I probably could have eaten the whole pig 😉
What a great story. It was a little hard to read I must admit but I have a very difficult time when it comes to discussing animal processing – don’t we all? And I would probably be one of the few that would have a very hard time seeing a whole pig splayed out over the fire. Even still, I’m proud of you for doing it!
I grew up on a working cattle and sheep ranch. We had chickens for eggs and meat, turkeys and rabbits for meat, and goats for milk. We didn’t raise pigs, but one of my uncles did and so we would trade beef and lamb for pork. We also fished. I grew up watching the various slaughters and knew the difference between pets and food animals at a very early age. The only animal we raised that I ever had a hard time eating was a rabbit I stupidly named after my aunt. My parents couldn’t eat her, either, so I didn’t feel so bad. She got wrapped in foil and taken to one of my aunt’s houses for her family’s dinner the next night. They didn’t seem to have any problems eating “Aunt Carolyn,” but then, they didn’t raise her and play with her on the lawn.
My first paying job (under the table as it was HIGHLY illegal) was working in a butcher shop. My mother was the meat wrapper there and all I really did was clean up the steaks after the band saw, stack them in piles of whatever count they were meant to be wrapped in, and then stamp them with whatever they were. Yes, this was WAY old school, long, LONG before vacuum packaging was available.
After working in various restaurants, bakeries and delis, finally going to culinary school and becoming a chef felt like I’d come full circle. But it REALLY came all the way back to twelve o’clock when I got the gun club job. The club was just a mile down the road from the ranch I grew up on! I could have stood with Daddy’s binoculars on the back porch of my old farm house on stilts and looked across the rice field, corn field and pasture land and seen the gun club. In fact, that is why they hired me.
Once I settled in they loved seeing photos of flooding and high water marks from the 60s. They also loved seeing pictures of me as a little girl on the ranch in places they could still see as they drove by, especially the one of me sitting patiently on the edge of a seemingly empty but flooded rice field with my fishing pole line in the water. Even I have to admit that’s pretty cute and some seriously wishful thinking on my part.
I started reading “Tunie’s” message, but after the first paragraph it was just “blah, blah, blah– SEA KITTENS and SKY PUPPIES!” PETA nonsense to me. I’m not trying to be insensitive here. Nobody is more thankful for the food on the dinner table than farmers because they know how much work goes into food production, and for very little return.
Knowing where your food comes from is important. I do think we will eat less meat out of necessity in the future. Mostly because we won’t be able to afford it with the ever-shrinking middle class and all. That being said, I think most will always eat meat for celebrations. Heck, I got a group of vegans to eat rib roast one year for my birthday! And bacon can convert almost anyone, it is THE gateway meat, after all!
I have no issues with the goings on surrounding your hog becoming pork. Some animals just don’t get into trailers easily, it just is what it is. Anthropomorphizing him and believing that he “knew” what was going to happen is just not reality. Now, he may have known that his old friends got in the trailer and never came back, but he couldn’t know more than that. What really surprised me was that you didn’t save the blood for black sausage, or hardly any of the offal for that matter. Chris Cosentino (and likely Guy Savoy) would be giving you hell for that, you know! But I understand, I’m not big on eating offal, either. However, I sure would have had the trotters removed. Are they even edible when cooked like this?
Hey, I thought of a tip for you for the next time you roast a whole hog. In Hawaii the kalua pig is wrapped or folded (however you want to look at it) into chicken wire and then the edges wired shut with a soft wire, (maybe copper?) like twist-ties. It makes it not only easier, but possible to move (or flip) a fully roasted pig. A pair of shovel handles can be used as handles on the sides. Just make a couple of large, wire loops on each side to hold the handles.
That is GENIUS, Toni!
Thank you! I can’t take credit for the chicken wire “cage.” However, the shovel handles and wire loops are all mine!
Chef Toni! I’m writing this note on the train on so ill truncate my message although your previous one deserves a more thorough response! I did toy with the Kalua pig idea but I just couldn’t figure out how to personally flip it. The chicken wire makes so much sense! And you’re the first to mention that– I didn’t see any tips like that online! My concern w this method (besides how to flip) is how to know the fire is still going. I was having panic attacks about digging out the hog and finding it raw. However I hear it is very succulent and tasty this way. My other concern was presentation. There is something dramatic about roasting it above ground. Thoughts?
We are holding a pig roast at Potrero Nuevo Farm (with Tunitas Creek Kitchen) in September. Ill keep you posted on the dates!!! Maybe you can come!!
I would LOVE to come! But I wasn’t thinking about roasting the pig in a sand pit. It’s really the hot rocks in the bottom of those pits under the fire that roasts the pig, anyway. It’s not so much the fire as all the banana leaves, ti leaves and wet burlap sacks smother the flames as well as most of the embers. I was merely suggesting the chicken wire as a way of turning and moving the pig on your existing rack… er, um… bed frame. Using the chicken wire means you don’t have to rely on the integrity of the pig’s joints. At some point lifting the pig by it’s feet will get you nothing but hands full of feet and a three-quarters cooked pig lying there mocking you from exactly the same place it had been.
You do know that there are places that will rent big grills as well as actual mobile barbecue pits that have spits, right? My aunt and uncle rented a grill for a family reunion once where they did a whole pig on a spit, and another time a friend rented a big grill for her wedding.
As for thoughts on kalua pig, well… it’s to die for! I have only made it in the oven, with banana leaves I harvested myself. I did a whole pork butt when I catered a luau themed birthday party for a friend of mine. I salted the heck out of it, sprinkled a few drops of liquid smoke (which is a natural product that one can actually make btw, unlike most truffle oils) and wrapped it tightly in banana leaves. I then put it in a deep roasting pan and roasted it very slowly (I think 250?) all night and half the next day.
When it had been cooking something like 12 hours I finally took it out and checked it. The banana leaves had gone from vibrant green to a very odd tan color and it scared me a little. But when I cut the butcher’s twine and unwrapped those leaves, that thing just sprawled apart in the pan, yet the meat was moist, gelatinous and the most delicious kind of salty-sweet with just a whisper of smokiness. I was supposed to make a different sauce using some of the pan juices, water, vinegar, more salt and more liquid smoke. I didn’t do that. I just skimmed the fat off the pan juices added some apple cider vinegar and used that. Yes, it was salty, but it was perfection when drizzled on the meat because of the gelatin from the connective tissues. Best of all? Little sandwiches made with Hawaiian style rolls dipped in the pan juices.
If you make kalua pig, not only do you serve fresh pineapple as an acidic element, you must make haupia. I think it is usually a side dish at luaus, but some people consider it a dessert. I just like that is, essentially, coconut jello. It’s easy, but your arm will fall off if you don’t have help stirring it. It takes constant stirring for something like 45 minutes and when it’s done the spoon will stand straight up in the pot! A pain, but well worth it. It only has two ingredients: sweetened coconut milk and corn starch. My son bought a robo-stirrer and we’ve been meaning to give it a run for it’s money by making a batch of haupia. My expectations are pretty low. I’ll keep you posted on how well it works out.
Thoughts about the above ground roasting spectacle? YES! People are drawn to it, almost against their will, like moths to a flame! Even more so, I think, when it’s on a spit. I know I’ve stood and watched the pig spin. One thing I always find myself doing is watching a drop stay in place as the pig rolls over and over, waiting and waiting for it to gather enough weight to drop with a hisssss onto the coals. It really fuels the appetite, too! I don’t know if it’s the aroma or the sight of crispy skin, but nearly everyone LOVES a well roasted pig. I can’t think of anything any better, really. A pound (pre-cooked) per person is barely enough, in my experience. There were only about 70 people at the family reunion and we nearly finished a 140 pound (dressed weight) pig. Granted, we were all family and nobody was being “polite” we were, quite literally, pigging out! Some people didn’t eat anything else.
So where are you going now? Someplace fun, with great food, I’ll bet.