A Pork Story (part one)

So hubby's friend K dropped off a piece of pork for him last week. Hubby got the idea of making roast pork. Neither of us have any experience with roast pork. To spare myself the agony of cooking the beloved character of Piglet from Winnie the Pooh for my carnivorous spouse, I asked if he would be willing to experiment with it on his own. He agreed. So two days ago, we took poor little Piglet (forget the fact that this was actually Piglet's mommy or daddy) out of the freezer in the morning, and placed him in a large bowl of steaming hot water to thaw out. We spent the majority of the day cruising the internet, searching for recipes of roast pork.

Seeing American and British versions seemed to discourage him, so I suggested we search for Trinidad roast pork, which was what he actually wanted. Thankfully, there were a few others who had queried the same thing. As I inspected every suggestion and recipe idea I came across, hubby grew restless, hungry, and cranky and so we had to run to the kitchen to see if Piglet was ready to cook.

Piglet was barely ready, so we organized something else to soothe hubby's growling stomach and cut Piglet in half so if this recipe didn't work, we could try again. I immediately began to prepare a sauce I had been concocting in my head since early morning.


HOW I MADE IT

I began with a roux, adding about three tablespoons of butter to about three tablespoons of melted butter, I mixed until the lumps were gone and it began to thicken. I threw in some chopped green seasoning (chive, podina, culantro) and about a head of garlic, minced, as well as two finely chopped pimientos. I added about two tablespoons of paprika and chili powder, followed by a tablespoon of Maggi (bouillon cubes) vegetable seasoning, parsley, oregano, onion powder, garlic powder, salt, back pepper, and sugar. I added about a cup of water as the mixture got drier.

*While making the sauce, my father-in-law informed us that gas might be low, so hubby rushed out to buy a tank of gas to come back.*

As the sauce was still watery, I added about a tablespoon of ketchup, a tablespoon of aromatic bitters (which hubby will now find out), three tablespoons of Worcestershire sauce, a teaspoon of brown sugar & hickory flavored barbecue sauce, a tablespoon of soy sauce, and two tablespoons of hot homemade peppersauce. I beat in the ingredients with a fork for about five minutes before leaving the sauce to simmer until I felt I had achieved the right thickness.

As I was beating the sauce, I tried to think up how exactly I was going to attempt to do poor Piglet justice. I put a few methods together, decided to take a couple risks with it, and had a recipe planned out by the time I was ready to wash the pork. I had called Daddy an hour before to ask the meat chef's (he claims he's not a pro; we all have reason to believe it's a lie) expertise. He had advice on stew pork, geera pork, barbecued pork, washing the pork, cutting the pork, but as for roast pork...nothing.

So I followed his advice and washed the Piglet with flour, not lime, and followed a random website's advice and patted Piglet as dry as humanly possible with a bunch of paper towels. As I waited for hubby to return, I realized I was most likely on my own with this, and would have to begin the process of cooking poor Piglet without hubby's valuable assistance. I put my sentiments aside, said a little prayer for poor, innocent, little Piglet, and took my sauce off the stove, as I got ready to prepare beloved Piglet for my even more beloved hubby (because I love him so much).

As I preheated the oven, hubby came running into the kitchen, completely out of breath, and told me to wait. I waited until he caught his breath and as he spoke my agonizing decision to make Piglet for him became complicated. A lot.

Hubby had met one of his friends, who was in fact the son of a bar owner who was famous for making roast pork. According to this friend, we should cover Piglet in oil and fry him, as putting him in the oven would do nothing but bake him. Hubby decided to follow his friend's advice, and so my excellent recipe idea was squashed. [DISCLAIMER: All actions from this point forward was not my fault. I blame PMS. I am innocent.]

So I stared at hubby as if he was talking another language (PMS glared at him, I just stared). I sighed (PMS let out a huge sigh and said "what?") and I agreed (PMS said "fine, whatever" with an attitude, not me). Remembering his eagerness to experiment on his own, I asked if he would be okay seasoning Piglet on his own, and he gave me his how-could-you-do-this-to-me face, so PMS gave him a you-are-so-not-serious-it's-not-even-funny-so-don't-even-start look, and I gave him a okay-fine-I'll-help-you-but-I'm-not-doing-everything-since-my-plan-got-cancelled look, and PMS gave him a you-said-you-would-do-it-on-your-own-and-now-you're-giving-me-the-look-when-I-should-refuse-to-help-you-but-I-won't-because-I-already-made-the-seasoning-and-your-look-is-getting-to-me-you-evil-husband-you look.

So I washed the stickiness of Piglet's dead body off my hands and instructed hubby to rub Piglet [as if he were massaging him, but firmer] with half a head of minced garlic and finely chopped green seasoning. After rubbing both sides, I poured in some sauce for hubby to repeat the rubbing process again, before remembering to tell him the sauce had pepper and might leave his hands burning. My guilt was replaced by evil PMS which was then pissed off because he wasn't bugged about it; he just said "Nah, it's okay". And he was humming. Happily humming. So the damned guilt returned. And then I remembered I loved him. So I gave PMS a time-out.

We covered the seasoned Piglet with Saran wrap, and put him in the fridge to marinate for about two hours. Then hubby heated up a tall pot half filled with oil, and we dunked the marinated Piglet in and covered the pot. You should probably know that dunking the saucy Piglet into oil created a lot of oil splashing. We left Piglet in there for about seven minutes or so, on high heat, The we flipped him (more splashing) and lowered the heat to the lowest heat and left him there for more than ten minutes.

We took him out and put him on the cutting board where I sliced him to see if he was fully cooked. He was not. So we dunked him back into the oil and left him for about eight minutes or so I think. We took him out and placed him on a paper towel to soak up the oil and I got ready to cut him for proper serving sizes.


REVIEWS

Hubby and I laughed when we saw how dark and firm the exterior of Piglet was when we took him out. Hubby ate Piglet with some oyster sauce I made. Hubby says it was good, not bad to say bad, but it could have been better, and the first word that comes to mind is "burn" (with a trini accent). It was afterwards I remembered to mention that I've never heard of bars serving roast pork per se, and that I believed the popular dish from bars was actually just fried pork.

The night ended as PMS took over again and boosted my ego by filling my head with the *fact* that my way would have been better than just "good". But that was what PMS said, not me.

NOTE: Hubby refused to let me take a picture of the pork. Use your imagination I guess.