My inner red-neck

You have to admit, the Americans know a lot about BBQing pork. If James Villas is to be believed (and his recipe for fruitcake is the best ever, so I am inclined to believe him) every Southern child grew up with crackling in his hand and BBQ in his soul.

So when I decided that today was the day for pork (inspired - on a very small scale - by Heather's epic hog roast) I looked across the pond for guidance. Firstly, the all-important beverage. I figured that nothing channels the inner red-neck like JD, so I went for a Lynchberg lemonade (Jack Daniels, cointreau & lemonade) to keep me company while I was cooking.

I whipped up a batch of James Villas' Carolina vinegar sauce, bottled most of it and kept some back for dinner. If you like acid flavours, this is heaven - vinegar, ketchup, worcestershire sauce, chilli, mustard etc, all cooked together to a thin sauce.

Then I made some wholemeal beer bread, with the intention of turning my pork into sandwiches. The batter had the weirdest darn texture I have ever met (sort of fluffy), but cooked to a delicious, crumbly, and completely unsandwichable bread. Brilliant for mopping up juices though.

I rubbed a lovely piece of pork belly with salt, pepper and grated nutmeg and let it sit while Paul did the blokey thing with charcoal and hickory chips.

35 minutes with the lid on the Weber and it was fab. The juiciest and most delicious pork, the lovely vinegary sauce, a good pile of celeriac remoulade (because my dear husband couldn't bear the idea of coleslaw) and the excellent malty wheaty bread.

So, as opposed as I am to American foreign policy (and my sad conviction that Obama is going down because the good ol' boys will come out just to vote against a black man), I am totally in favour of pork Southern style. I may well do grits and red-eye gravy for breakfast tomorrow.