continuing … That was the same year several of my cousins gifts; pajamas and other girly things, were accidentally gathered together with the gift wrappings, thrown into the fireplace and burned. Everyone was sympathetic while she cried. My brother and I thought it was hilarious.
A Roasted Pig
This was also the year my dad decided that, since we were hosting more people than usual, we’d have a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth for dinner on Christrmas Day.
Our oven wasn’t big enough to slow cook a a whole pig all day so, Mr. Gregory who lived downtown above Gerry Greory’s Bakery gave us permission to use the big gas powered oven with rotating shelves that he baked bread in every morning starting at four a.m. so, he didn’t mind getting up early, even on Christmas Day, to light the big oven before the sun came up, so that by the time we arrived the oven would be preheated.
We drove downtown to the bakery. We parked in the alley behind the bakery. It was cold outside. Well below freezing.
We let ourselves in the back door with the key. The oven was just inside the back door. When we pulled down on the big oven door warm dry air washed over us, warming our hands and face.
An electric motor attached to a chain moving over a metal sprocket slowly turned the shelves around blue flames hissing through the b-b sized holes of a metal tube the width of the oven.
Our pig rested on a square cast iron skillet with curled edges so that the juice wouldn’t spill inside of Mr.Gregory’s oven where he’d soon be baking bread AND so there was plenty of juice that my grandmother would use to make the best gravy in the world! Gravy that I’d soon be spooning over my mom’s mashed potatoes undoubtedly, the best mashed potatoes on the planet!
After turning the motor off my dad used a wooden bakers pole to slide the cast iron skillet onto the center of the shelf close, but not TOO close, to the blue flames.
We turned the motor on and went home but every two or three hours we drove downtown parked out back and checked on its progress.