Instalarse en un país nuevo siempre implica algunos giros inesperados.

Durante nuestro primer invierno en Canadá, one of these “getting settled” mishaps involved un cochinillo, an outdoor rotisserie, and a blizzard.

Así que esta semana, cuando CBC Radio One in Vancouver ran a Father’s Day story contest called “Papá en la Barbie,” looking for tales of barbecue good and bad, I immediately flashed back on that ill-timed winter pork fest.

Here’s what happened:

The New Year’s Pig

Por Carolyn B. Heller

My husband Alan had always wanted to roast a whole suckling pig.

It was our first New Year’s Eve in Vancouver. Habíamos pasado de Boston, where snow drifts burying the backyards made a midwinter barbecue an impossible dream. But here in the temperate rain forest, winters would be warm, derecho? With a group of friends coming for the holidays, Alan decided it was the perfect time to indulge his pig roast fantasy.

Semanas antes del gran evento, Alan began scouting out supplies. At a butcher shop on Granville Island, ordenó el cerdo. He rented a massive outdoor rotisserie. Condujo por toda la ciudad, looking for charcoal – though the difficulty of finding it should have been a clue that Vancouverites do not routinely barbecue in December.

On the morning of December 31st, we awoke to the beginnings of a full-on blizzard.

The delivery man, who hauled the rented rotisserie out of his truck and up our snow-slicked walk, preguntó, "¿Estás seguro de que quieres esto?"Nuestros hijos pusieron los ojos a su padre, who had clearly lost his mind.

Alan started marinating the pig, que ahora estaba extendido por nuestra mesa de la cocina. By late afternoon, when the time came to fire up the backyard barbecue, several inches of snow had accumulated. And it was still coming down.

Yet Alan wasn’t going to let a few snowflakes put a damper on his pork extravaganza. Se puso las botas y parka, grabbed a cold beer in his ski-gloved hand, y se puso a trabajar, feeding the fire and basting the slowly spinning pig. It was a laborious process, ya que la nieve mantiene apagar las brasas. Eventualmente, he moved the grill under the eaves of the house to shelter it from the storm.

That’s when our neighbour came pounding on our front door, gritando "En su patio! There’s a fire!"

“Um, sabemos, gracias,” I replied. “It’s just my husband. He’s barbecuing.”

It was nearly midnight when we finally sat down to eat. Alan’s fingers were white with cold. But that barbecued suckling pig, marinated with snow and with optimism for our new Vancouver life, era delicioso.

The prize for the winning story? A copy of the cookbook Secretos barbacoa Deluxe, a bottle of Champions Naturales salsa BBQ, and a personal visit with Canadian barbecue guru Rockin’ Ronnie Shewchuk.

And I won!

Happy Father’s Day!

Foto © Albert Alan