欢迎æ¥åˆ°æ¸©å“¥åŽ — Let’s roast a pig
获得一个新的国家定居总是涉åŠåˆ°ä¸€äº›æ„想ä¸åˆ°çš„波折.
åœ¨æˆ‘ä»¬åœ¨åŠ æ‹¿å¤§çš„ç¬¬ä¸€ä¸ªå†¬å¤©, one of these “getting settled” mishaps involved a suckling pig, an outdoor rotisserie, and a blizzard.
So this week, when åŠ æ‹¿å¤§å¹¿æ’å…¬å¸ç”µå°ç¬¬ä¸€ 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
å¡ç½—ç³ä¹™. æµ·å‹’
My husband Alan had always wanted to roast a whole suckling pig.
It was our first New Year’s Eve in Vancouver. 我们刚刚从波士顿æ¬åˆ°, where snow drifts burying the backyards made a midwinter barbecue an impossible dream. But here in the temperate rain forest, winters would be warm, å³? With a group of friends coming for the holidays, Alan decided it was the perfect time to indulge his pig roast fantasy.
å‡ ä¸ªæ˜ŸæœŸå‰çš„大事件, Alan began scouting out supplies. At a butcher shop on Granville Island, 他下令猪. He rented a massive outdoor rotisserie. 他开车全城, 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, é—®, â€œä½ ç¡®å®šä½ çœŸçš„å¸Œæœ›è¿™ä»¶äº‹æƒ…?“我们的å©å在他们的父亲推出自己的眼ç›, who had clearly lost his mind.
Alan started marinating the pig, è¿™æ˜¯çŽ°åœ¨å¼ å¼€äº†æˆ‘ä»¬çš„é¤æ¡Œä¸Š. 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. 他把他的é´å和皮大衣, æ¡ç€æ»‘雪手套的手抓ä½äº†å†°é•‡å•¤é…’, 并设置为工作, feeding the fire and basting the slowly spinning pig. It was a laborious process, 自雪的煤. 终于, 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, åœ¨ä½ çš„é™¢å里大喊“! There’s a fire!“
“Um, 我们知é“, 谢谢,“ 我回ç”. “It’s just my husband. He’s barbecuing.â€
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, 是美味.
The prize for the winning story? A copy of the cookbook 烧烤的秘密豪åŽ, a bottle of è‡ªç„¶å† å†›çƒ¤è‚‰é…±, and a personal visit with Canadian barbecue guru Rockin’ Ronnie Shewchuk.
And I won!
Happy Father’s Day!
图片©艾伦伟业
[…] holiday porkfest – when my husband decided to ring in the New Year by roasting a whole pig. I’ve told this story often, but if I haven’t told it to you, 请仔细阅读 […]
ç¥è´ºæ‚¨! I can picture the scene in my mind. Say hello to Rockin’ Ronnie for me.
å¦çŽ‡
伟大的故事å¡ç½—ç³. 获奖æå–œ! 猪是超总, 虽然.
-刘慧å¿