The Skewered Pork Barbecue

Summer tastes like an abominably spiced-up, sizzling-hot pork barbecue to me. Interestingly, I do not remember how many times I have said that, but it is more than a few times. To be fair, summer also smells like a lot of other things to me; freshly-cut grass, salt water, suntan lotion, scorching sun on white sand, sun-bleached sheets on a cool bed, and scalloped potatoes—and I can barely believe the sheer coincidence between the first option in this essay prompt and my actual, real-life olfactory relationship to summertime. Oh, and how can I forget Shalimar; the favorite—and quite frankly, exclusive—fragrance of Mrs. Denali.

I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Denali once; that one summer vacation down in Miami when I spent three nights at her Air BNB apartment with two friends. It has been three years now, but it’s one of those experiences that has managed to stick with me, despite living it just once. The smell of barbecue is definitely not one of these, mind. In fact, I am certain I have smelled and tasted one barbecue too many in my lifetime, and not just in the summer. But the first “real” barbecue I experienced was in that summer of 2018, and it has since stuck with me as symbolic of that time of the year; such was the quality of the bacon and the subsequent nostalgia of the occasion.

So my roommate at the time, Mayflowers (yes I know, the particulars of the story can scarcely be more fitting to the subject of the essay) had an Asian fiancée. While I knew very little about this fiancée; Andre, I knew that he was Filipino. And as was customary with his tradition—or so he explained—he was to invite his intended spouse over to a family gathering for a meet and greet with her future in-laws and other members of their immediate and extended family. Mayflower (we would have to call her May from here on in, for obvious reasons) implored me to come along with her. While she was comfortable enough with her fiancée, she needed a friend for better confidence.

It was a clear Saturday mid-June, if memory serves me well; but we did well to travel to our host’s home the eve before. Furnished with very little information, by introverted self was obviously unnerved when I realized that what I expected to be a small, in-house gathering of Andre’s nuclear family was going to be a much-larger outdoor event. But if nothing else convinced me that the most enjoyable events are those unplanned for, this did. So while I was still clueless by breakfast, Andre rolling out two massive outdoor grills just after noon gave me an inkling of what was to come.

If my love for pork was not yet evident at this stage of the story, it is imperative that you, the reader, understand that it is absolutely my best type of meat. So when Maria; Andre’s mother and our host announced that we were having Filipino-style pork barbecue, my interest was as piqued as my mouth was salivating. My fascination with potentially learning a new kind of an already-favorite food overpowered my introversion. In no time, I was beside Maria, clamoring to understand the inner workings of what appeared to be a Filipino party delicacy.

She willingly accepted to serve as my instructor, but I had to play the role of apprentice; a deal on which we had no qualms coming to an agreement. Within minutes, I had wheeled out the roughly 10-pound pork shoulder—enough for a gathering of around twelve persons—soy sauce, banana catsup, minced garlic, brown sugar, green pepper, cucumbers, fresh lemon juice, black pepper powder, salt, and set of pre-soaked bamboo skewers on which the barbecue would be grilled. I remember turning a cup of lemon squeeze onto the grass in my haste. Thankfully, Maria was gracious about it, and still had enough left for barbecue.

But take the following recipe with a pinch of salt, almost literally (eyewitness accounts and personal memory are notoriously unreliable after all). While getting ready, Maria instructed Andre to pre-heat the grills to medium heat. To start, she mixed about 5 teaspoons of minced garlic, a cup of lemon juice, about 15 ounces of Sprite—borrowed from the outdoor soda cooler—2 cups of soy sauce, 2 cups of catsup, 2 teaspoons of salt, and two tablespoons of black pepper together in a large bow to create marinade. After thorough mixing, she poured the contents of the bowl over the pork in a flat, plastic trays; making sure to cover every inch of the meat.

Next, with Andre’s help, she sliced the meat up into 1-inch pieces, and skewered each piece with the ease of a seasoned veteran (pun-intended). Applying some of the mixture from the bowl onto the heated grill with a special brush, Maria placed the skewered pork onto the grills, allowing the meat to cook for 10 minutes. Importantly—and one can be certain of this one—the meat was to be added immediately after the grills were doused with marinade and sugar, to prevent the crystallization of the sugar and the hardening of the meat. I was given the honor of rotating the skewers after the first 10 minutes, and again after another 10 minutes. In between rotations, Maria made sure to baste the barbecue every now and then to ensure adequate moistness. After about 30 total aroma-filled minutes, the meat was served on platters garnished with cucumbers and green pepper.

And I could see the expectant enthusiasm on the faces of the party guests; not like there was none written across mine. But while I was looking forward to trying out what was essentially a new meal, most of them already knew what they were getting. I stuck one char-grilled pork-laden skewer into my mouth, and instantly burned a summertime memory into my permanent psyche. It was hot (no surprises here), but it was more than that. It was moist and oily, savory, salty, and tasted like heaven. Each pork bit seemed to melt right into my mouth, and I was not going to compromise such a glorious experience by chugging down soda with the barbecue. The more I ate, the more I wanted. May seemed to love it too, but I could see she was struggling to conform to the role of the sweet, serene and reserved bride-to-be. I was not May, and in keeping with my station as an apprentice, and rightly, the biggest consumer of my own product, I made sure to pack some of the left-over chops for the ride back to the airport that night.

Today, thanks to an associative memory, I taste seasoned, skewered pork barbecue whenever it is summertime. I have come to associate the smell of the sea, the sun-scorched beach, sunscreen, and crisp, clean summer breeze with that unforgettable experience in June, 2018. I have been in a number of outdoor gatherings ever since, going on to taste any sort of barbecue in too few of them; I must admit. Criminally, I have not tasted pork barbecue ever since; at least not as it was first introduced to me. Worse, I would say, I have failed to put Maria’s culinary lessons to the test on my own. It would be remiss of me to not add that May went on to wed Andre about six months on. Other than her beautiful dress, I remember nothing as lucidly as how thoroughly I scoured the floor of the reception for a bite of Maria’s skewered pork barbecue, and how disappointed I was to learn that it was unavailable. There seems to be little—if any—incentive for that sort of summer family gathering these days. But I have enough faith that May knows to alert me immediately at any sign of those glorious Filipino barbecue pork skewers. Until then, they are, on a personal level, to summertime as cold torrential rain is to a funeral; inseparable.