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

Por 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. Nós tínhamos acabado de se mudar a partir de 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, direito? With a group of friends coming for the holidays, Alan decided it was the perfect time to indulge his pig roast fantasy.

Semanas antes do grande evento, Alan began scouting out supplies. At a butcher shop on Granville Island, ele ordenou que o porco. He rented a massive outdoor rotisserie. Ele dirigiu por toda a cidade, 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, perguntou, "Tem certeza que você realmente quer que essa coisa?"Nossas crianças viram os olhos para o pai, who had clearly lost his mind.

Alan started marinating the pig, que foi agora espalhados nos em nossa mesa da cozinha. 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. Ele calçou as botas e parka, grabbed a cold beer in his ski-gloved hand, e começou a trabalhar, feeding the fire and basting the slowly spinning pig. It was a laborious process, desde que a neve manteve apagando as brasas. Eventualmente, 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, gritando "no seu quintal! There’s a fire!"

“Um, sabemos, obrigado,” 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, foi delicioso.

The prize for the winning story? A copy of the cookbook Barbeque Segredos de luxo, a bottle of Natural Campeões molho de churrasco, and a personal visit with Canadian barbecue guru Rockin’ Ronnie Shewchuk.

And I won!

Happy Father’s Day!

Photo Albert Alan ©