Puerco de Paz

You may remember that last fall, I purchased a piglet for $25. I did this with the carnivorous intention of raising him 'til he was big and fat, and then killing him for my despedida. Goodbye parties are a big tradition in Panama, and I wanted to make sure there would be enough food to feed the flocks. Plus, it was a good conversation topic. People found it hilarious that I owned livestock and enjoyed asking me how fat he was getting. His name was well-known around town. Puerco de Paz means Peace Pig and is a play on the words for Peace Corps in Spanish, which is Cuerpo de Paz. It was impossible to mention him without grinning just a little.

Purchasing this piggy was perhaps one of the best decisions of my life. The day before my despedida, he was brought down from his house on the hill and my neighbors and BFF's Julio and Rosita took charge of the subsequent slaughter and preparation. Good thing, because when initially face-to-face with the 80-pound hog, I got cold feet and contemplated going into town to buy chicken. I learned a lot of things in Panama, but Intro to Butchery is a course I missed.

The plan was to smoke him that night, and the next day prepare a barbeque sauce, reheat and serve. I purchased some screen and, using tall stakes, we set up a grill of sorts, perched high above Rosita's cooking fire. Over the next eight hours, we smoked two batches of pork, and oh my goodness, did it taste good. The guilt I had over watching my baby get killed in cold blood slid away as the smoky smells of his roasting flesh filled the air. Yummo!

We attracted quite the crowd. Other neighbors and passersby seemed delighted by watching me rotate the meat over the smoky fire, and covering it back up with banana leaves. They said a lot of things like,

"Oh, look at Cati with all of that pork! She's crying from the smoke! What a great memory this is!"

And it was. Julio, Rosita, the kids and I stayed up until one o'clock in the morning smoking my dear puerco to perfection, all the while telling stories and jokes and enjoying each other's company. That night, I returned to the house with two five-gallon buckets filled with food.

In the morning, I prepared a barbeque sauce. I wanted to share something American in terms of cuisine at my despedida, but sometimes people scare easily when it comes to new, bold flavors, so I tried to keep it simple. The recipe was this:

1 part vinegar
1 part water
1 part ketchup
1 part sugar

Then I threw in some paprika, chili powder and a bit of bbq seasoning. That afternoon, we re-heated the meat in huge pots, threw on some sauce, and served it up with some rice and yucca. It was a hit.

I documented each step of the pig's demise, but I understand that some people might not want to be assaulted with such violent imagery. Therefore, follow this link if you want to see.