I hope I’m never slaughtered, roasted, and served in celebration. But if that’s how things play out, I have to insist that my bronzed, apple-stuffed pate sit perched in the middle of the feast, so I can peer around the room and shoot Maraschino cherry daggers at all the long-weekend, wine-guzzling gluttons luxuriating in my fatty deliciousness. Or perhaps that’s just something I told myself at Story’s one-year anniversary pig roast so I wouldn’t be so disconcerted by the guest of honor’s dead-eye glare.
Of course, chef Carl Thorne-Thomsen did honor the 84-pound beauty (looked to be more of a Wilbur than Babe, though undoubtedly anthropomorphic) by roasting it to perfection and serving it simply with corn tortillas, cabbage-radish salad, and a side of earthy stewed beans.
For $10, I was seriously considering a second order, and I half-jokingly asked if we could order the head for dessert. (It was stuffed with fruit, after all.) Our server laughed the request away, and my guess is that she and the rest of the staff already had designs to dispatch the delicious dome over celebratory shift drinks. Disappointed, I “settled” for donuts and a second bottle of wine. It’s all part of the fattening process that will ensure I am as tasty as can be when the big butcher in the sky calls my name.
Oh, and did I mention I also ate this:
And some of this:
For more of the story from Story, read “A story about a pig” at PVPost.com.