I don't know why, I just did.
I had it in my head that I wanted to roast a whole hog. I had never done
it before, so, why not? And anyway, the gang was all for it.
Several months prior to the event, the advertising staff organized to
trade ad space for the major expenses, such as a grill with a rotisserie large
enough to do the job, a keg of beer and a roughly 150-lb. pig. I might have
asked for expertise, but no, we had the Internet and various books on the
subject and felt prepared.
June 1, was the big event, held in our office parking lot. Scores were invited. It was 95 degrees
outside, with a heat index that nearly matched the temperature inside the
grill.
Well, the little piggy - Petunia, as we named her - turned out to be a
180-lb. hog. More than we bargained for to be sure, but we got her
stuffed with veggies, wired shut, and spit-mounted. She went on at 6 a.m. sharp for what we
thought would be an electric eight-hour ride around the fire. The invitation
read "dinner at 3".
All was smoky and fine until 9:30, when our not-so-petite Petunia
decided enough was enough and that she didn't want to cooperate any
longer. She tried to wiggle off
the spit, which caused grill to jump and stomp in ways much unexpected. Her
efforts were half-successful.
When we got the power shut down and the grill lid open, we found our
beauteous beast with her behind smoldering in the coals, and her
vegetable innards spewed but roasting nicely on the bottom of the
firebox.
Think fast! Call it a day and buy a box of frozen burgers and add
grilled veggies to the menu, or somehow salvage the sow?
For some then-unknown reason, I had packed a hacksaw in preparation for
the feast. We cut her in half right there on the spit. Lifting her off was not
an option because we needed a crew of four to do that and only two of us were
on watch. A quick call to the nearest crewman gave us manpower and the three of
us wrestled her, or what was left of her, to the ground.
By 11 the fire was once again hot for cooking and a grate was in place.
Poor Petunia had been hacked far beyond her former identity. Now she was huge
hunks of partly cooked pig parts.
But, she fed us at 5. The beer was cold, the corn was sweet and the cool
watermelon provided the perfect end to a less-than-perfect beginning. The crew
was content; my job was done.
That pig was worth the wait; the amount of effort she took is another
question.
Lesson #1. It's not at all
unreasonable to take a hacksaw to a cookout, because you never know.
Lesson #2. If you think you
want to roast a whole hog, go lie down until the feeling passes. This is
called, "expertise".