In the Midwest, where I grew up, the milestones of life — 40th birthday parties, 10th anniversaries, an honorable discharge from the military — are observed with a pig roast. The words alone invoke casual pleasure: the taste of draft beer, the smell of wafting smoke, the feel of a greasy T-shirt and the sound of flip-flops.
But this casualness should not be mistaken for nonchalance. Pig roasts are elaborate communal affairs requiring ingenuity and copious amounts of elbow grease.
Since moving to Brooklyn, though, I had suffered three years without a single pig roast.
A Pig Roast or Bust - NYTimes.com
I have never heard of anyone back home home roasting a pig in the ground. I suspect that there would be many worries during the first attempt and that it would become the preferred pig preparation process. Who has the guts to try this with me?
There is a wonderful slideshow paired with the article.
Source: The New York Times
