This month it was my birthday and also my husband's. Chivirico decided we should throw a surprise party for the husband, and determined we should eat a spit roasted pig, which would be cooked in his house so that it would be a surprise. Spit roasted barbecued pigs are the standard fare for celebrations here. I went to his house and spoke to his grandparents who said they would be delighted to help and assured me they knew exactly what to do. They told me we would need a 20 kilo pig.
Personally I much prefer buying my meat in plastic trays from the supermarket, without thinking too much about what happened to them before, but in this country, especially in barrio land it just isn't possible.
Stepson was dispatched to get the pig on Thursday from around 10 miles away. On the scooter. He returned with pig, which had somehow grown from 20 kilos to 50, and a letter of permission from the local mayor to confirm he had bought the pig and hadn't stolen it. Costs were already increasing as the pig was twice as big so cost twice as much, and the letter cost 100 pesos. Then we had to buy a sack of charcoal, the seasoning, and various other bits and pieces. All afternoon I had people at the gate asking me what they should do, and it appeared that although I had been told they knew what to do, no one had a clue. I was beginning to think that his birthday present would be a live pig and not a party.
Anyway, I checked on line and it said the pig had to be cooked for 24 hours so I gave strict instructions, the pit was dug, charcoal lit and the cooking began at 6 pm Friday night.
All appeared to be under control as the barrio filled with smoke that night.
The next morning I went over to check on progress. The pig was in the kitchen. Grandmother assured me it was cooked but I was pretty sure it wasn't. It later appeared that they had run out of charcoal and she was fed up with all the smoke in her house so they just took it off the fire. More charcoal was bought and the cooking started again.
The party began at 6, with the invited Dominicans turning up slowly, but by 9 pm the party was in full swing.
Chivirico was barman, which he was a bit too efficient at, as the gallon of rum disappeared in no time. He borrowed my belt to stop his trousers falling down, but unfortunately it didn't work too well.
The pig was delicious, far too much of it,so we are having pork every day, and Chivirico had a great time, even though his trousers kept falling down.
As for me, I have decided that the next party will be cheese and pineapple on sticks.