The church of the holy spit roast and beer and spirits

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spit roast barbecue
Please note; this is not a story. One needs brain cells to write a story. I’m sure I could make something up, but once again, brain cells are integral to this process. We did get photos, though. I can show you lots of photos…

It was Sunday and the church was in session. There was no state recognized minister, holy transcripts or alter boy (dammit), just a heap of townsfolk with hunger in their eyes, looking to have their souls fulfilled with a religious food experience. This Sunday the church would be our backyard, the steeple would be the blue skies above and the sermon would be delivered in the international tongue of great food, great people and great times.

First, I smoked my own chorizo sausages

First, I smoked my own chorizo sausages

My basting brush

My basting brush

More goodness

More goodness

The cacti

The cacti

The time was well overdue for a gathering at our place. We sorted it just like we would sort the average Sunday gathering at our place, but then we got our pocket calculators out and multiplied that shit by ten, just to keep it proper real. We used social media to coax a large group of friends into our backyard under the guise they would be entertained by small carnival folk wearing crotchless monkey suits, and also the promise of a cracking lunch. Needless to say, many among the group were sorely disappointed when they arrived and there was nary a monkey suit wearing carnie in sight, but they were in the yard now… and we had locked the gates… so they had no choice but to eat and to drink to attempt to extinguish the flame of disappointment that was burning deep inside them due to the absence of carnival style entertainment.

Antipasti flowed...

Antipasti flowed…

As did the sangria

As did the sangria

The carving station

The carving station

Chorizo

Chorizo

Pork belly

Pork belly

Salad

Salad

A bit of everything

A bit of everything

Murmurings throughout the group later suggested that the food may have redeemed our deceitful actions. I was a little tipsy by that stage so it didn’t really bother me either way.

The day would not be complete without a Jennee dessert spread

The day would not be complete without a Jennee dessert spread

We drank out way far into the night… memories were stolen by the treacherous minions of beer and scotch… there’s always the photos though. Bless this modern age and it’s 18-things-in-1 phones (until you get drunk and lose your multi tasking phone, that is. Then it’s cursing all the way).

#iphoneshelpingdrunkardstorememberwhathappenedlastnightsince2007

Now, as I am still feeling a little sleep and brain cell deficient, I am going to take myself off to bed, where I shall sleep until my name is changed to Rip Van Grazza.

Good night.

(Jamie O’s) Crunchy Fridge Salad to go with Spit Roasted Pork Belly

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SAMSUNG CSC
This was my first day off for a while and the even more brilliant thing about the allocation of my lot in life right now is that it was my first day off in a couple more than a few and we are going to be hitting up the Bunjalung National Park for a few days of camping, eating, fishing, eating, swimming, eating, relaxing and eating! There is definitely a common theme in my life. I fricking well can not wait.

Before we leave though, I just have to fire up that spit one more time. Today, my cousin Amelia is staying with us on her way to a seven week yoga instructors course in the hills behind Byron Bay. A seven week course that requires participants to abstain from the evil of meat and booze and cigarettes, so we shall fire it up in celebration of the smoky whisps and turning metal stick that can take a piece of pork, or in fact any meat, to a higher plain; the next level, if you will. Also, Amelia’s father (my Uncle Rob) has asked that I force feed her meat if necessary as he is afraid his daughter may return a brain washed hippy who is afraid of the flesh of earthly beasts.

The spinning glory that is the spit roast

The spinning glory that is the spit roast

The salad all chopped up and waiting to get it's gear on

The salad all chopped up and waiting to get it’s gear on

And then this shit hits the table

And then this shit hits the table

I am not lying to you (I figure we’ve come this far and you’re still here, no point in starting the lying now) when I say I sat and watched this thing turning for at least three hours. There is something fully therapeutical about watching a lump of meat as it dances slowly in a smoky ménage-e-trois with the big stick and the coals. What living man could deny the truth in this simplest of pleasures?

A smoky lump of pork belly that had spent hours self basting on the twirling stick over the coals would be requiring a nice crunchy salad today, methinks. Something me old mate Jamie would do for sure. I’m not going to sit here and tell you this is only going to cost “one pound, twenty eight p per portion”, but a nice piece of pork belly for the family is only going to cost you 12 or so bucks, and the salad is one of those things that you can make with all of the crunchy salad stuff in your fridge… so we’re not too far off.

The whole spit roasting thing is not something that can be easily replicated so I will let you deal with your own demons on that one. But the salad, the salad was a cracker and I will make again… and you should make it too.

Begging to get in my belly

Begging to get in my belly

I fricking loved this salad

I fricking loved this salad

CRUNCHY FRIDGE SALAD a la JAMIE O

1 handful or so of each julienned snow peas, green beans and granny smith apple, shredded cabbage and iceberg lettuce, sprouts, fennel, radish, etc
A few torn mint leaves, just because they were staring at me from the garden
A good splash of apple cider vinaigrette, to dress
• Mix it all together
• Eat it with some deliciously smoky, juicy and melt in the mouth awesome crazy pork, with a bit of green tomato chutney on the side

Back to my cousin, Amelia.

Amelia's hands getting dessert ready. Don't be fooled by all of that fruit… this was not a trendy new age raw fruit cake

Amelia’s hands getting dessert ready. Don’t be fooled by all of that fruit… this was not a trendy new age raw fruit cake

This is what it was. Every kids dream!

This is what it was. Every kids dream!

Although she had gained entry to our humble home under the guise of a hippy, health freak, vegan, soon-to-be yoga master, she soon presented us with a dessert that can only be described as the work of some kind of she devil who was trying to make my kids lose their shit with a highly concentrated, socially lethal dose of refined sugar straight to the brain. M & Ms, meringue, whipped cream, mango, blueberries and strawberries filled our bowls, sugar filled our brains, and Amelia filled out hearts. Awwwww.

So this is your ol’Uncle Grazza signing out for another little hiatus. See you folks on the flipside.

Roast chicken on the fire

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The chicken, the spit, the fire pit, the love

The chicken, the spit, the fire pit, the love


Please don’t hate me for neglecting this abstract relationship we have formed via interweb forum I like to call Blogland. I know we both need to work on this thing to make it work, but I have been busy.

I’ve been working hard. Not working hard like I did in my early twenties, but more like working hard like a guy who has just hit 39 (the total dedication to the job and zero dedication to the family I didn’t have has wavered a little, I must confess). I guess that’s what age and having a family will do to a man. But rest assured my friends, I am still rocking the “funny as a smart assed kid” (I think that means I’m only funny to myself and not to anyone else at all), and I chucked a couple of “boozed up like the drunken teenager” in there as well.

So Jennee has taken over my role as house chef and all round entertainer for the last week and I have slipped into my new role as working-and-celebrating-a-little-too-much-and-am-now-pretty-worn-bitch… and slipped on a sexy new house wives dress to boot! Believe me, those house wives, frumpy looking old dresses may not have semblance to the classiest vogue outfit on the red carpet at some stupid award ceremony that I know nothing about (thus cannot even insert a name), and sure I’m not going to be caught dead wearing one to the shops to pick up the latest Woman’s Weekly magazine, but they are pretty damn comfortable.

I realise that you carability factor probably lies somewhere between a piece of dirt and a pimple on the ass… which I believe is fair enough.

A keen fan of drawing out a celebration, I have still been coasting on the coat tails of a cracking Father’s Day and, also slotted my birthday in there which, of course meant more food and festivities.

This was one tasty assed bird… maybe I should've worded that a little differently...

This was one tasty assed bird… maybe I should’ve worded that a little differently…

We ate chicken cooked on the new electronic spit I was gifted for my birthday (to go on the new fire pit I gifted myself for Father’s Day) and a whole heap of other good shit.

By the end of that evening I was faced with a slew of first world problems ranging from being to full to eat the salted caramel and cookies and cream ice cream sundae Jennee had made for dessert, to wondering when I would be sober enough construct my new R2-D2 smoke house and when I may be able to write another letter to my friends in blogland… it’s a tough life.

The photo’s I couldn’t get happening for my last post…

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In my last post “and Mr Awesome just keeps going and going and going…” I stated that I was having computer vs camera issues. Well apparently after a night out in the wood shed by itself, with nay a blanket nor cup of hot char, the computer has decided that it would like it very much if we can be friends and play together on the monkey bars and seesaw again…

So here are the photos that you missed out on yesterday. Enjoy.

pork fritter batter

pork fritter batter

pork fritters frying

pork fritters frying

pork fritters very fit for human consumption

pork fritters very fit for human consumption

shredded piggy

shredded piggy

Mr Awesome meet mole sauce, mole sauce meet Mr Awesome

Mr Awesome meet mole sauce, mole sauce meet Mr Awesome

the spread

the spread

get in my belly

get in my belly

And Mr Awesome just keeps going and going and going.

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Not unlike the Energizer Bunny or a 74 year old Greek man on Viagra…

Mr Awesome

Mr Awesome

 

A great realization I had about spit roasting a whole pig (Mr Awesome) was that even when you are feeding 60-70 hungry carnival folk, there’s still a fair bit left for the next day… and the day after that… and the day after that.

So, aside from making a nasty YouTube clip with the pig’s trotters and carcass, here’s what we did…

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Roasted ribs with salsa verde

Pretty self-explanatory I think.

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Pork, carrot and mustard fritters

2 cups chopped pork

1 finely diced brown onion

1 cup grated carrot

1 tablespoon each whole grain and Australian (mild yellow stuff) mustard

4 eggs

1 cup self raising flour

Salt and pepper

  • Mix all ingredients together
  • Pan fry in what ever oil you have in the cupboard, over medium heat, for 4-5 minutes each side. You want them to be nice and brown
  • Check they are cooked by breaking one in half. No battery goo in the middle = cooked
  • Keep warm in a low oven while you cook the rest
  • Eat with salad and condiments, or just tomato sauce if you’re still a bit hung over from the wedding last night…

Pulled pork in mole sauce (a chilli would work just as well) with kidney beans, slaw and rice, smoked habaneros, jalapeños and yoghurt

Use the recipe for mole sauce, which you can find here, omitting the chicken and adding the pork at the end just to warm through.

You all know how to make ‘slaw and rice (let me now if you don’t and we’ll help you out) by now surely.

For the kidney beans

1 420g tin red kidney beans, drained

1 onion, peeled and diced

1 tomato, diced

3 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced

2 bay leaves

A good splash of olive oil

  • Sauté onions and garlic in olive oil until soft and smelling delicious
  • Add other ingredients and cook out on med-low heat for 10-15 minutes
  • Season with salt and pepper
  • I’ve never made this before and was a little apprehensive as I’m not even the hugest fan of kidney beans, but saw a similar recipe and thought I’d give it a go. It was definitely the surprise of the day. Try it!

This was a very awesome end of Mr Awesome’s time with us. The only thing that could have possibly lifted the level of awesome was tortillas. But I had no inclination to pack my weary ass into the tractor and drive into town. So level nine awesome was our highest achievable score today and it was reached with minimal fuss for maximum awesome. Awesome.

NB. A bit of an ass of a situation occurred with the photos that should be all over this page. I don’t know why but my iPhoto program has decided it doesn’t want to recognize the files from my camera any more (so I only have what I took the day before). I decided that if iPhoto was going to play like that then so can I… so now I don’t recognize iPhoto as being anything but a piece of shit icon on the side of my computer screen. Fuck you iPhoto. Fuck you very much.

Hopefully we can all play nice again tomorrow…

The Spit Roast… hehem

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'nuff said

’nuff said

PIG ON A SPIT

There are places I could go with a title like that. Places some people might call their happy place while others would call them dark, sinister places. Places that I will be steering clear of today. A moment of compassion? Maybe. Still got a bit of a fuzzy head and really can’t put in the required effort? Most likely. What the hell am I talking about? Read on my friend, read on…

I need help. My brain is really effing sore. I need a bedpan, a bucket, a brush, and a real effing doctor… and I need to try to keep it together long enough to tell this story.
Consuming alcohol like a sixteen year old wasn’t so painful as a sixteen year old. But now, 20 years on and I still have the odd relapse and that shit just doesn’t feel to cool the next day. I mean sure I looked cool at the time, no one would dispute that; I was tearing up the dance floor with John Travolta flair. The witty and absolutely hilarious conversation flowed from my mouth like tears from apprentice’s eyes. Only the bride herself possibly outshined my radiance… And maybe the groom… My wife… The rest of the crowd… Someone’s great Aunty… Fuck it. Lets face it. I probably may not have been the classiest, funniest, best dancer there. But my head told me I had pretty good time.
Disclaimer; there may possibly be people (or monsters or aliens or puppy dogs) out there that are going be thinking, or maybe they’ll even write in, that booze is the devil and you don’t need to drink to be cool etc. etc. Yeah yeah, it’s all been said before. We all know. It is pretty funny from time to time though…

Dan and Ainsley got married...

Dan and Ainsley got married…

And the culprit? What made me do it? The devil? No. This time it was a wedding that is responsible for my sore brain. That’s right, a wedding. It certainly couldn’t be my fault. No no no, that would be way too easy.
Aside from purchasing myself a ripper of a hangover, another thing I did at this wedding was spit roast a little piggy.

My roll

My roll

I ate my pork straight from every different part of the pig as Queenie and I carved it for the masses, which I do declare is a bloody fine way to consume our porcine friend. Also, just to keep the social aspect going on, I had some in a roll with apple and fennel slaw, and chimmichurri sauce. Dericious. There was also plenty of other good shit to eat, but it was a porky dinner for me this day.

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The pig resting up before his big moment. Rubbed down with a heap of rosemary, thyme, garlic, salt and pepper all smashed up to make a piggy version of edible body soap… 

The pig's friends

The pig’s friends

All blitzed up

All blitzed up

Mr Awesome, straight from the tanning salon

Our new friend, affectionately known as Mr Awesome, straight from the tanning salon

Queenie carves up our new friend who was affectionately known as Mr Awesome

Queenie carves up Mr Awesome

That’s me done…

The Piggy

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I’ll tell you about this one soon…

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