This Little Piggy…

Okay, okay...enough of this horrible ALCS playoff series...

Pig Roast VI has come and gone with all the usual fanfare, albeit without the typical canine extravaganza! We left our Saline Canine back in the most popular Swing State and toted ourselves across the great US of A via the big bird in the sky and landed in our former, and still most loved, city of Seattle. After napping off 2 days of extreme exam-taking and travel prep, we secured ourselves some delicious noodle soup from the former “Super Bowl Noodle,” and with bellies full and eyes rested, made our way in Mom’s Subaru (hey, it could have been Your Father’s Oldsmobile) to Whidbey Island for the annual convening of the Swine Committee.

Self-imposed Rule #1 of the Swine Committee meeting (imposed only after years of convening) is control the alcohol intake at the outset because dressing a pig at 6:30 am with a hangover is really ugly—raw pig does nothing to settle the stomach. So, with restraint, it was a grand old time catching up with the other committee members and strategerizing [sic] about the roast. We ate some Cordellian home-grown chow, drank some adult beverages, held an apple tasting session to refine our piggy palettes and then, feeling oh-so-good, tapped the keg! It also happened to be at this time (late in the evening) that the swine acquired her name. With past porcines running the gamut from the civil and even stuffy (Rosemary) to the enlightened (Orwell) to the thematic (Glenn, after innumerable bottles of Scotch whiskey appeared on the counter), it was with great pleasure and not just a few snide comments that we arrived at Sarah, aka “Maverick.” And with that, the roast was off to a marvelous start!


The Swine Committee arose when the rooster crowed the next morning. All geared up to get the party started despite the near freezing conditions (and very glad for the preemptive prep work that took place the previous evening), the tasks were knocked off with true pig-roasting veteran aplomb. With coffee brewed and garlic being prepped, the pig was given some love, and nestled into the expertly designed cradle to set about roasting. To add a new twist for this year (the roasting of the pig is evolutionary, after all) and because the swine came in a bit wee, King Cordell procured a few turkeys to squeeze on the spit next to Sarah. It only seemed wise to name a couple of roasting turkeys after other members of the GOP, so Dino and Rover (after Karl) rounded out the line-up. It was perhaps by chance or maybe on purpose that the better part of Sarah’s snout was firmly planted up Rover’s ass…how the heck did that happen???? Could it be…Satan????

At any rate, ‘round, and ‘round, and ‘round they all went, the humble masses engaging in kick-off keg stands, extreme croquet, and plenty of nibbling until the deliciously roasted beasts were too tempting for the Committee to handle any more rotations. We organized the pig processional, Brian the Bagpiper tuned up the pipes, and away we processed from the marsh to the spit to to pull them off! Yum! (Note: In true evolutionary fashion, we learned from our past mistake and will not be coating the pig plank in rubber plastic before putting it over the coals next year. While I don’t think we’ll have the EPA after us for our PAH-emissions, I’m pretty sure we’d all be a bit healthier minus the oozing and smoking plastic!).

Damn, did those beasts turn out well! I’m pretty sure the well-planned 2-day brine had a significant impact. Good work, King! With the carving complete and the Swine Committee and close associates satiated with prime cuts, Brother John brought out some delicious apple pies! What a fine dessert! I think that’s why my belly hurt for 4 hours. Or perhaps it was my 15th beer for the day! The Plankton Pickers set to work, turkey vultures circled overhead spying the carcasses from afar, and Katie roared home on her mower to round out the day!

Three cheers and lifelong immunity against trichinosis to the Swine Committee and our fellow revelers!