Getting settled in a new country invariably involves some unexpected twists and turns.

During our first winter in Canada, one of these “getting settled” mishaps involved a suckling pig, an outdoor rotisserie, and a blizzard.

So this week, when CBC Radio One in Vancouver ran a Father’s Day story contest called “Dad at the Barbie,” looking for tales of barbecue good and bad, I immediately flashed back on that ill-timed winter pork fest.

Here’s what happened:

The New Year’s Pig

By Carolyn B. Heller

My husband Alan had always wanted to roast a whole suckling pig.

It was our first New Year’s Eve in Vancouver. We had just moved from Boston, where snow drifts burying the backyards made a midwinter barbecue an impossible dream. But here in the temperate rain forest, winters would be warm, right? With a group of friends coming for the holidays, Alan decided it was the perfect time to indulge his pig roast fantasy.

Weeks before the big event, Alan began scouting out supplies. At a butcher shop on Granville Island, he ordered the pig. He rented a massive outdoor rotisserie. He drove all over town, looking for charcoal – though the difficulty of finding it should have been a clue that Vancouverites do not routinely barbecue in December.

On the morning of December 31st, we awoke to the beginnings of a full-on blizzard.

The delivery man, who hauled the rented rotisserie out of his truck and up our snow-slicked walk, asked, “Are you sure you really want this thing?” Our kids rolled their eyes at their father, who had clearly lost his mind.

Alan started marinating the pig, which was now splayed out on our kitchen table. By late afternoon, when the time came to fire up the backyard barbecue, several inches of snow had accumulated. And it was still coming down.

Yet Alan wasn’t going to let a few snowflakes put a damper on his pork extravaganza. He pulled on his boots and parka, grabbed a cold beer in his ski-gloved hand, and set to work, feeding the fire and basting the slowly spinning pig. It was a laborious process, since the snow kept putting out the coals. Eventually, he moved the grill under the eaves of the house to shelter it from the storm.

That’s when our neighbour came pounding on our front door, yelling “In your yard! There’s a fire!”

“Um, we know, thanks,” I replied. “It’s just my husband. He’s barbecuing.”

It was nearly midnight when we finally sat down to eat. Alan’s fingers were white with cold. But that barbecued suckling pig, marinated with snow and with optimism for our new Vancouver life, was delicious.

The prize for the winning story? A copy of the cookbook Barbeque Secrets Deluxe, a bottle of Natural Champions BBQ sauce, and a personal visit with Canadian barbecue guru Rockin’ Ronnie Shewchuk.

And I won!

Happy Father’s Day!

Photo ©Alan Albert