Presenting porketta

Our niece and nephew in Roanoke, Virginia, have always loved us, but now they love us a little more.
In addition to presents for their twin boys, Remy and Emmett, celebrating their second birthday, and for big sister, Coco, three-and-a-half, we showed up last weekend with a porketta from Johnny Morgan’s butcher shop, just a few doors away from our home in Pittston.
We introduced them to porketta on New Year’s Day, also explaining the tradition of eating pork on the first day of the year. Eat pork and you’ll slide through the year, living off the fat of the land, eat chicken and you’ll have to scratch for everything you get, the saying goes.
But porketta is much more than just a pork roast, as Sarah and Adrian Wilson now know.
We were surprised they had never heard of porketta but we shouldn’t have been. They both grew up in the South where Italian food typically comes out of a jar or from the supermarket freezer case.
Apparently it’s not just Southerners who are not familiar with porketta either. As I write this, every time I type porketta, my computer underlines it in red, meaning it thinks I am misspelling a different word. I find it sad that spellcheck does not know porketta. It means much of the world does not know porketta.
Sarah does the porketta in a slow cooker, the aroma permeating the house for six hours. By the time we sit down to eat, we’re all salivating like Pavlov’s dogs.
Even the little ones love it.
I must add that Sarah puts a Southern touch on the meal that I’ve grown quite fond off. Collard greens.
Porketta and collards. High living in the mountains of Western Virginia..

Ed Ackerman