“And I said no, no, no, no, I can’t take it no more…”

by Katie Pizzuto on April 8, 2012

in Barbecue,beer,Cooking,pig roast


Bob the Coworker: …you mean to tell me you’ve roasted a pig before?

Me: Yeah, dude, I’m Cuban. I’ve been roasting pigs since I hit the double digits. Why, you doing one?

Bob: My buddy is turning 40. We’re doing one for his birthday. How do you do it?

Me: Well, did you get a box or a rotisserie?

Bob: What the hell is a box?

Me: Caja China. They’re actually pretty inexpensive if you plan on doing more pigs, but you can rent them, too. Or rent the rotisserie.

Bob: What about procedure and recipes?

Me: Sure. I’ll write it all down for you but it’ll be Cuban style.

Bob: No brines?

Me: (hand on hip, impatient look) No, Cubans don’t brine. And for the love of all that’s holy please don’t think you’re gonna do this “polynesian style” with some sticky sweet baste because you WILL burn the pig with that kind of sugar. If you care about crackling, it’s just a good dose of salt on the skin, OK?

Bob: No, no, nothing like that. Though we might do some barbecue sauce at the end.

Me: (walking away) I did not just hear that. You’ll have a recipe and procedures tomorrow.



Me: Bob I just emailed you everything…step-by-step procedures on making sure the pig is clean and ready, how to prep it and marinate it, how to keep it cold, and how to cook it.

Bob: Awesome, you rock. Thank you soooooo much….(hours pass by)

Bob: (approaches my desk looking really pissed off) We have a problem. The dude whose house we’re having the roast at is complaining that it’s like an hour and a half drive to go get to the rental place so he’s refusing to go. He’s claiming that we should do it old-school anyway, without the help of a rotisserie or box.

Me: Oh, so he’s gonna build a huge fire pit in his back yard then and just string the pig up? I’m pretty sure there are fire ordinances against that, dude.

Bob: No shit, Sherlock. This guy is driving me fucking crazy. (throws his hands up and walks away…another hour goes by)

Bob: (at my desk again) OK, so exactly how long do you think a pig this size will be? 4 feet maybe?

Me: Uh, I dunno maybe this long (I motion with my hands). I think I have a photo of me with one if you wanna see.

Bob: Ok, I think that’ll fit. The asshole now claims we can do it in his grill which is pretty big. We’ll just have the head cut off and do that in the smoker. (starts to walk away)

Me: Don’t forget you’ll still have to account for the legs Bob!

Bob: mouths the word “fuck” in the middle of the office



Text arrives from Bob with a telling prep photo.

Me: LMAO. U belong in a horror flick…Bride of Piggy :)  U decide on how U R prepping? Brine?

Bob: No brine. Straight up salt and pepper, with mesquite chips.

Me: Excellent choice, bro! Save me a chunk for my bday!

Bob: You’d be so pissed at me right now. Drinking effin’ Coors Light.

Me: Ewwwww! I am drinking Dogfish Head Chateau Jiahu.

Bob: Friggin beer snob….it’s a great quality to have.



Text arrives from Bob with a second concerning photo.

Bob: Revolutionary methods.

Me: That in the grill? LOL. So much for “whole hog” :)

Bob: So, ummm, it snowed pretty good here. He panicked. We cut it up a bit more and put it in the oven. We have industrial, restaurant-grade equipment.

Me: So no wood chips either, then?

Bob: Mesquite. In the oven. We aren’t smoked out because of the industrial hood above.

Me: I am sure U R drinking so if it does get smokey, just remember: stop, drop and roll…the keg out the door.

Bob: Oh the drinking started at like 10:30.

Me: No more Coors Light, I hope?!

Bob sends third disconcerting photo.

Me: Bleck! There aughta be a law!



Me: (texting) Wellllll??????

Bob: So much pig. So comatose right now.

Me: Excellent. Tell me tomorrow.



Bob: (sitting in the conference room, waiting for our marketing meeting to start) FYI, I’m going vegetarian from now until my trip to New Orleans in May.

Me: Because of the pig?

Bob: Dude, you had to see it. By the time we pulled it out, it kinda just shredded all apart on the counter and like 30 ravenous, drunk guys just attacked it.

Me: Did you get a nice crackling?

Bob: (silent look of death)

Me: Oh man, you should have called. That’s the best part. I’ve done oven pigs a bunch of times. I could’ve told you how to do the skin! I’m your piggy 9-1-1!

Bob: Anyway, so I was pretty comatose yesterday after eating all that pig. I think I need to cleanse my system before I go to New Orleans. No meat ’til then.

Me: (laughing so hard I nearly shake the glass walls of the conference room) Amateur.