(Editor’s note: Seth Barnes is on vacation. The following was originally printed in the Daily Press in 2005.) THE SUMMER MONTHS ARE HERE. AS we speak, across our great land, Americans of all shapes and sizes will head outdoors to fire up the grill and enjoy the pleasant weather with friends, family and neighbors. In recent years, negative press about the mind-boggling obesity of many Americans and ethical concerns about eating the charred remains of what used to be lovable, breathing creatures have changed the timbre of many weekend barbecues.
In many ways, this is a positive. Previously, the average picnic line would have been stocked with slabs of sausage and pails of gooey potato salad. Now, you’re more likely to find soybean links and mounts of healthy grilled vegetables.For the heathens among us,a greasy cheeseburger probably can still be found.You’ll just have to bring your own bacon.
There is, however, one meat item, one flame-roasted beast that still demands our attention.
Are you an able-bodied, freedom loving American? Are you a true blue patriot, well-versed in the national traditions of food, folks and fun? Are you convivial to a fault? If these statements apply to you, I urge you to participate in one of the great rituals of modern times: The Pigroast. Simply put, The Pigroast is a festival to end all festivals, a feast of unmatched proportions. An unfathomable day of revelry and merrymaking. A day where you will gather with friends and loved ones in your backyard to slowly rotate a large mammal over glowing coals, until it is golden-brown and succulently delicious.
No, it’s not politically correct. It’s not even fashionable. But there’s something tantalizingly retro about The Pigroast, something that conjures up beer cans with pull-off tops, deviled eggs and off-color jokes told by balding men in polyester pants.
As things currently stand, you’ve probably come to a culinary crossroad. Your lack of creativity is stifling your inner beast. Perhaps you shop at Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods, filling your basket with reams of organic produce, the cost of which could relieve the debt of several Third World nations.You’re careful and contentious about how you shop for food, the choices you make say a lot about you as a person: Your attitudes toward agribusiness, your personal health, fair trade and equitable working wages.
But, admit it. Your inner beast wants to tear skin from bone and wash it all down with a bucketful of Milwaukee’s Best.
It’s time to add something to your repertoire, time to add a new weapon to your summer barbecue chow-down toolbox. Organizing a pigroast is simple. With a little elbow-grease, you can have an oinker simmering over a barely-in-control fire in a flash.
To set up your bonanza, you’ll probably need assistance from the friendly farmer who will provide your pig. If they’re in the business of Pigroasting, they’ll provide the massive oven, coals and roasting tools. They’ll also be able to lend a hand with cooking instruction (and, of course, you can head online for any number of helpful hints and tidbits).
As any veteran of the practice knows, roasting a pig takes all day. So the event is actually an excuse to sit outside in a Hawaiian shirt playing Frisbee with a cold drink permanently affixed to your free hand.You’ll probably want a boom box of some sort tuned to a ballgame. If you’re from the younger generation, you’ll want your iPod and a mobile wireless device.
Tiki-torches are a must. Since your pigroast event will be a true long day’s journey into night,you’ll want to make sure all the revelers can see properly when it’s time to tear into the beast. I don’t think I have to mention that tiki-torches are a genuine fire hazard, and seemingly contain an inbound homing device that makes them fall directly onto the most flammable item at your party (table cloth, stack of napkins, passed out uncle etc.).
When the glorious time comes to devour the prize, there’s a cardinal rule that must be adhered to at all times. You may not use utensils, plates or other culinary devices to eat of the pig. You must devour the meat like a deranged Neanderthal using nothing but your bare hands and gnashing jaws.
You may wake up the next morning with a bellyache and protein hangover. Perhaps you’ll never look at a pork chop or sizzling pile of bacon in the same manner. But as far as I’m concerned, each and every one of us needs to satisfy our inner beast at least once a summer. Oink.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on July 6, 2007. Read the original PDF.