The Food Canon

Unintelligible chants murmured in the background, and the flickering lights seemed to sway in rhythm with the prayers.

I suppose even deities need the right ambiance for a meal.

But what truly captivated me was the sight of the pig itself—whole, prostrated, head intact. 

Yes, pigs have heads, pointy ears and all. Farmers don’t raise headless, walking slabs of roast pork belly, though you’d be forgiven for thinking so if your only experience of pork comes from supermarket shelves.

A queue of longing admirers in Penang.

Now a grown up adult, I will occasionally chanced upon a whole roasted pig as I did when I was last in Penang. With a smartphone in hand, I could capture the experience. 

The seller had barely set up his stall when a queue had already formed. I knew this golden, crackling masterpiece wouldn’t last long.

As I did when I was a child, I wondered: was it roasted alive? 

Its eyes were closed, and it lay in a pose of surrender, as if accepting its fate - whether as an offering to the divine or as lunch for the hungry people of Penang (and one Singaporean). 

No one seemed to care which part of the pig they got, as long as it came with that glorious, crispy skin. When a whole pig is roasted, the hierarchy of cuts dissolves—the "prime rib" is no more prestigious than any other piece. Even the head with a higher skin-meat ratio is valued. I can imagine how good it will be in my Chai Buey. 

The crackling skin, it seems, is the great equalizer.

What followed was a clever display of cleaver skills. The vendor worked methodically, reducing the pig section by section into bite-sized slices. The sharp cleaver sliced through effortlessly, producing a satisfyingly crisp sound with each cut.

Within an hour, the table was empty. A whole pig - gone in 60 minutes. 

It seems to me that no one does roast pork as well as the Chinese. They taught the world that the tegument need not be cut off and thrown away. When roasted properly, it is even more prized that the meat itself. 

So, how did the Chinese learn how to cook it this way? 

In a conversation with my Dad-in-law, he mentioned an old essay by Charles Lamb. Curious, I looked it up and found humorous piece, "A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig,” published in 1822. 

Lamb tells a whimsical tale of a Chinese boy named Bo-bo, who allegedly discovered roast pork by accident.

The Accidental Invention of Roast Pork

According to the story, before Bo-bo’s time, humans ate raw meat, tearing it straight from the animal.

One day, while his father was away, Bo-bo was playing with fire and accidentally burned down the pigsty. Amidst the ashes, he noticed an unfamiliar aroma. Curious, he touched one of the burnt pigs, burning his fingers in the process. Instinctively, he licked them—and in that moment, humankind tasted crispy crackling for the first time.

Bo-bo devoured the rest of the pig and excitedly shared his discovery with his father. At first, his father was horrified, believing his son had defiled the natural way of eating. But after trying it himself, he was equally enthralled.

Fearful of what the neighbors might think, they kept their discovery a secret. But suspicions arose when their house mysteriously caught fire more frequently than before. Eventually, the entire village took notice.

A court was convened, and Bo-bo and his father were set to be punished—until one of the jurors, out of curiosity, decided to examine the burnt pig. Like Bo-bo, he burned his fingers, licked them, and was instantly converted. Soon, everyone in the village was setting fire to their homes in pursuit of roast pork.

Thankfully, they later realized they didn’t need to burn an entire house down to roast a pig.

It’s likely this is where this idiom originated—though it remains a fanciful tale. Lamb’s essay is a delightful read, much like an elaborate April Fool’s joke with a historical twist. 

If you’d like to roast a pig yourself, there are, of course, far more modest methods.  

For one, you can’t use my sous vide method—unless you’re willing to submerge an entire pig in your bathtub and figure out where to roast it afterward.

And if you do end up burning your house down in the process, don’t sue me.

Cooking this at home? Don't even think about it!