A Slice of America

Every year, the owners of Black Butte River Ranch, deep in the mountains of eastern Mendocino County, hold a bluegrass concert and pig roast for the Fourth of July. The owners, former Oakland denizens, invite their Bay Area friends to camp on the land and host the ’cue. But many of the guests are locals: backwoods hippies who reek of pot — growing marijuana is the local industry — and dance stoned in front of the bands.

My parents have a cabin on the mountain above the store, so I and seven other members of the Erickson clan were up there for the long weekend. On Saturday, after a swim in the Eel River, we headed to the party. While kegs of beer (pay what you can afford) offered other mind-altering avenues, the focus of the gathering was the pig. It was certainly our reason, besides people watching, for attending.

The pig was rotating above a fuel-fed wood fire on a makeshift spit: a metal garbage can cut in half housed the logs while a bicycle wheel provided the turning mechanism. A clamp kept the animal fastened to the spit. By the time we arrived, Porky was sporting a lovely golden-brown hue and was unloading streams of grease into the fire.

As other guests wandered by to view the turning beast, I approached the head cook to ask about his techniques. Normally, I can’t get chefs to stop talking about their craft, but this guy wasn’t giving me anything. I finally realized why: this is barbecue, and I’m not a dude. So I sent my dad over, and he got the 411. The 80-pound pig, purchased in Oakland from J&M Meat Company, was stuffed with onions and garlic, salted and peppered, and placed on the spit at 10 that morning. 

A little after 8 p.m., the cooking crew decided Porky was done and pulled it off the fire. While they sliced the pig until it was a pile of glistening white meat, we lined up along with the campers, hippies, and other locals. We loaded our plates ($10 suggested donation) with tri-tip, chicken, beans, green salad, and, of course, pork, which was as succulent as we hoped. Stuffed, we headed back up the mountain and crawled into our sleeping bags.