If you ask what i remember most about my childhood its the pig roast, we load up in the car , and i mean everyone, go to the pig farm and pick your pig live......and then they go kill it for you. At least they did not do it in front of you.
Imagine a farm with car loads of family all milling around, tailgating and waiting for their pig. As American white bread cracker as my mother's side is going to the Cuban side was like going to another world. The language seemed exotic, the puffed and powdered all dressed in their guyaberas the hats and the ladies in the house dresses everybody seemed so clean and nice to buy a dead pig.
I want to have a pig roast I just have to figure out how to do it.............. but first i must find a pig. and bottles of mojo, and beer yes i think beer was an important ingredient. ohh i need garlic, onion ..............i think cooking a hole pig even the head is alittle scary but hey if they can do it I can do it.
I was not the one who launched the flaming onion.
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