My pig was 21 pounds and its rear was stamped with "6/24" — the worst day of its short life. Suckling pigs range from 12 to 20 pounds. Their tender sweetness is due to a lack of muscle and abundance of fat, mostly around the upper thigh and shoulder areas.
I had two co-chefs during my adventure, one a culinary school grad and both trained sommeliers. After being confronted with the date of the pig's death, we needed something to take the edge off. We reached for a chilly bottle of Laurent-Perrier Cuvée Rosé.
We saved money by having the chef of a local Filipino restaurant order the pig for us at wholesale cost, about $5 per pound. I called around to butcher shops in New York and the price was double or more across the board.
We carried our glasses into the kitchen and did our mise en place. I halved six lemons, quartered four white onions, chopped one cup garlic, and rinsed two bunches green onion.
My friend Bao, the chef among us, mixed the spices — two tablespoons each ginger and garlic, plus salt an pepper to taste. The chef who helped us get the pig, Miguel Trinidad, gave us his recipe, which is for a Filipino-style roast pig.
Bao rubbed the cavity with the spice mixture and threw in a couple of bay leaves. Our pig's belly was completely empty, but most of the time the "pluck" (liver, heart, kidneys, lungs) is left in.
You owe it to the pig to fry the pluck up or make a country paté with it. We were kind of disappointed that ours was offal-deficient.
Time to stuff. The night before, I'd watched a YouTube video of Julia Child's suckling pig technique. She preaches cleaning the pig's ears and scanning its skin for any hairs that haven't been removed. We of course followed Julia's advice.
Here's the video.
We picked up a $2 turkey lacing kit to sew up the belly. You can also use a butcher's needle and twine. Genius Julia shows how you can use twine and thin finishing nails from the hardware store to stitch the belly closed in her video.
Our work was not perfect, but it was secure. Any way you choose to do it is kind of like tying shoelaces.
Because we picked up the pig on the same day as our roast, we didn't know how big it was going to be. This roasting pan was our biggest fail of the day. It was like cramming an elephant into a canoe. The ears are covered with foil, per Julia and chef Miguel's instructions.
Julia's video shows a few ways to bend the legs to help the pig fit in your pan.
Somehow, it fit in the oven. We brushed it generously with soy sauce and canola oil before sliding it in to a 350 degree oven to roast for two-and-a-half hours. Chef Miguel instructed us to baste with the soy sauce and oil mix every half hour.
You can also baste with soy sauce and the juices from the pig. If you don't want to use canola oil, choose something that can stand the high heat. Avoid olive oil.
My friends ran out to pick up some treats from Underwest Donuts to use in our dessert (more on that later) while I stayed behind to baste.
Underwest Donuts is a must-try if you're near Midtown West. It's a stand located in the hallway of a car wash that's run by a former fine dining chef.
After about an hour, we needed something to do so we made Vietnamese iced coffee and watched "The Talented Mr. Ripley."
When a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh reads 135 to 145 degrees, it's time to pull the pig out. The foil comes off the ears in the last half hour.
TIP: If the skin doesn't feel crispy enough by the last baste, spray the sides of your oven with water. That's an old pastry trick that chef Miguel recommends.