THE WHOLE HOG

My earliest and most distinct memory of food is from a childhood trip to North Carolina. My mom, dad, sister, and grandma & grandpa Shelton went to a family reunion of my Grandmother's family.

My Uncle Ben, who was a true Mountain Man and one of the greatest characters I've met in my short life, roasted a whole hog. I'm not talking about anything whimpy here. No sukling pigs or one of the cute little wilburs; this was the mother of all HOGS. She was skeward on a spit and roasted for hours in Ben's barn.

We caught fresh fish from his pond, and they were fried in a cast iron skillet. There was, of course, no end to the hush puppies, cornbread, fried okra, corn on the cob slathered in butter, and my all time favorite--Grandma's Sweet Potato Casserole. It was slap yo' mawma good. Of course, the show stopper was the roasted hog.

I can still remember the crispy skin that crackeled as you bit into it. The juices that ran down your chin as you took your first, second, third, and even tenth bite into the slow roasted meat off that hog. It was a perfect meal. Good times with family and good food.

I wanted this to be my first post so that you'll understand part of my food past.