Penni, your post reminds me of the time I actually cooked a roast suckling pig. It seemed such a Norman Rockwell Holiday kind of thing to do. Not that it was ever a tradition in my family growing up. Heaven knows we were subjected to such delicacies as tongue, frogs legs, snails, oysters, crawfish and the like, but never a whole pig of any size. A side of beef on a spit to be sure or scads of chickens slow basted in a smoke pit, but never a whole pig. Always a huge turkey at the principal holiday meals.
So I thought that cooking up a suckling pig, would bring a rich new experience. I thought it would be an opportunity to experience the holiday fare of my ancestors long gone by. I think I know now why my mother specialized in turkey.
The first step of course in cooking a suckling pig is to actually have one. But where to find one. Not without some sense of irony, I went to a nearby Piggly Wiggly, but you surely know, as I did not then, that they are not for sale there. Thankfully the butcher there knew a place . . .
When I arrived at the specialty butcher's, I discovered that I had a choice. They were already in body bags stacked in the display case. After looking them over, I ended up taking the runt of the litter as the larger ones looked suitable for roasting on a spit, not in my oven.
After I got the little guy home, I opened up the body bag and I discovered to my surprise that my little porker had been considerably off it's feed. Rather than a rounded plump little Porky pig that I expected, I had something that looked more akin to a greyhound with shorter legs. But it was a pig all right - snout and washboard mouth and all. I figured I had some kind of refugee pig. It had a mouth that looked barely able to open wide enough to hold a cherry tomato much less an apple. I settled on an apricot and some oral surgery.
I stuffed and trussed and arranged the pig in a roasting pan, then indeed, I had difficulty just getting the whole thing in my oven. But after a few minutes of effort, I had a my little piggie looking out the oven window with his little foiled ears. (It was a good thing there were no kids in those days to see this as I can imagine the nightmares. "Piglet's dead.")
None of my guests had ever had roast pig before, and when it was ceremoniously served with all the side trimmings, it looked quite impressive and it was quite good, even if I do say so. They were delighted. There were no leftovers, but what scraps there were made a great split pea soup.
I've never cooked it again, though. It too closely resembles cooking small pets. But I hasten to add that I am available to be invited whenever it's served, so long as I don't have to prepare it. |
