Outside's 15 Guilty Pleasures

You Are Here:

Home >> Hog Wild

Q&A: Climbing El Capitan with Conrad Anker, Jimmy Chin, and Ivo Ninov listen
Q&A: Maggie Anthony On Son Eric Volz listen
Q&A: Photographer Danny Clinch listen
Q&A: "Coca Is It!" Author Joshua Hammer listen
Q&A: "Strange Bird" Author Carl Hoffman listen
Out of Bounds: That '70s Guy listen

What kind of dog will make me look manlier? answer
Is there a sport that safely combines my twin passions for guns and kayaks? answer
How come most of the world's cultures enjoy eating goat, but Americans don't? answer

Why do mosquito bites itch? answer
Are elite athletes just lucky genetic mutants? answer
Can women really tolerate cold water better than men? answer

Online Favorites

Special Issues

Photo Galleries

Outside Magazine October 2004

Outside's Guilty Pleasures
Hog Wild
I stuff my face with charred, greasy pork. Got a problem with that?

By John Heilemann

LIKE MOST MEN OF MIDDLE AGE and modest culinary expertise, I'm big on grilling animal flesh—though I don't restrict myself to summertime conditions or trivial cuts of meat. (Hot dogs? Please.) I have braved a hailstorm on Thanksgiving Day to barbecue a turkey. I've stood in half a foot of snow while smoke-roasting a Christmas ham. Through it all, I had never suffered even a twinge of remorse—until my girlfriend and some buddies bought me a Weber Ranch Kettle and my life took a turn for the compulsive.

The charcoal-fired Ranch Kettle is to conventional grills what Shaq is to peewee hoopsters. Priced at $1,099, with four wheels and a bulbous black lid, the thing is four times larger than a standard backyard rig. With 1,104 square inches of cooking space, it's vast enough to handle—should the need arise—half a dozen rib roasts or 27 game hens all at once.

Presiding over a grill is like commanding an army: When you have this much firepower, you feel compelled to use it. Once I had the Ranch Kettle on my patio, the charring of increasingly formidable carcasses began consuming my nights and weekends. The neighbors started to whine about living downwind from a smokehouse; my kitchen was reduced to a glorified pantry, used for almost nothing except storing condiments and beer. After several months on the Ranch Kettle diet, I felt like a human sausage—and my dog, after feasting on a metric ton of scraps, resembled an overstuffed ottoman.

Arguably, I should have stomped on the brakes. Instead, I hit the gas. Among barbecue fetishists like me, pork is the One True Meat. So, having already tackled loins, ribs, chops, and butts, I decided to devote a summer holiday weekend to roasting an entire side of pig.

Though my Brooklyn neighborhood has much to offer, butchered hog is sadly unavailable at the corner bodega. For that I needed to phone Jon Payton, chief curator at Dines Farms, in the Catskills, a purveyor of succulent, pasture-raised livestock. Not only did Payton have what I wanted; he was able to deliver it to my 'hood. The 50-pound beast was a sight to see: precisely half a Wilbur, split down the spine, headless, gleaming, alabaster-white. To inject it with a mojo brine—sugar, salt, water, orange juice, and lime juice—I went to a vet and procured a giant syringe. ("You're going to use it to cook a pig?" the vet's assistant asked. "Wait here. I'll get the doctor.") As I laid the torso across the grate, I couldn't help noticing a distinct resemblance to a Damien Hirst installation.

Seven hours later, the hog was good to go: tail charred, skin caramelized, flesh golden, soft, and sweaty. Hacking it to pieces on my countertop, I saw years of my life pass before my eyes. Still, whatever the damage done to my arteries, it was a trifling price to pay. The pork was so sweet, one dinner guest declared that it tasted like "pig brownie."

When the table was cleared, I had a moment to ponder. Perhaps the hog roast was a kind of climax—the achievement that would free me from the Kettle's iron grip? I went to bed that night in a blissful state: fat, happy, fully pleasured, seemingly sated. But then the next morning I woke with one thought: Easter, by God, is only nine months away. I wonder if Jon Payton can score me a lamb?

JOHN HEILEMANN is the author of Pride Before the Fall (HarperBusiness), an account of the Microsoft antitrust trial.

• Subscribe to Outside and get a FREE Gift!

• Give the gift of Outside Magazine!

• Subscribe to Outside Online's free weekly e-mail newsletter featuring gear reviews, fitness advice, galleries, podcasts, and more.

TODAY'S NEWS UPDATE!
The Gear Junkie: Ski and Snowboard Gear...
By Stephen Regenold Winter is upon us, and with it ski areas across the country are ...