How Tim Ate Half a Pig

I'm usually not all that afraid of dodgy neighborhoods - living on 8th Street in Allentown certainly kicked most of my fears to the curb. However, I will take it as a pretty good indicator that if 98% of all restaurants are closed on a street after dark, it's probably for good reason. I took stock of my surroundings. Streetlights flickering? Check. Dogs barking viciously somewhere out of sight? Check. Men reaching through a driver's side window, shifting a car into neutral, and pushing it down the street? Check. It was right about this moment that I started wishing I hadn't brought a neon yellow purse to Chile. Tim helped me slip it under my coat, but all that did was create a purse-shaped bulge that made my waistline mimic that of the Elephant Man.

I was happy there were four of us traveling to "El Hoyo," although three of us happened to be an intimidating 5 foot 2. We had set out to put Anthony Bourdain and his Travel Channel goonies to shame:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyWvMobkGgo

I had worked a twelve hour day, sin almuerzo, and my ravenous stomach was up to the challenge.

"El Hoyo"s appearance dually mimics its namesake - it is a hole in the wall on a side street near Estacion Central. The barrel protruding from its stucco exterior is probably the fanciest thing about the place. But we weren't fooled. We had come to feast. On roast beast.

Our dishes of choice?
Tim: Pernil with boiled peeled potatoes
Laura: Arollado with French Fries (and about a pound of ketchup)
Brittaney: A hearty-looking churrasco (sliced steak) with avocado, lettuce, and tomato
Myself: Costillar con agregado (Boneless ribs with more of the boiled peeled potatoes)

Of course, we couldn't come to "El Hoyo" and NOT wash our food down by ordering two pitchers of their famous terremotos. These drinks are called "Earthquakes" for a reason: they might only consist of boxed-quality white wine and pineapple ice cream, but they pack a whollop.

I was halfway through my first one (and consequently halfway to my hangover) when our food was served. All of our eyes bugged out as Tim's dish was plopped before him:

Tim had ordered half a pig.

Literally.

And he finished it all.

It was one of the more amazing things I've been privelaged to see in my lifetime. Tim put Takeru Kobayashi to shame. His pig leg was so slow-cooked it literally fell off the bone in glistening fatty chunks, making knives unnecessary utensils. We all shared each other's plates and had a great time fooling around and talking about the upcoming World Cup, our cute and not-so-cute students, and how forty years from now each one of us could blame our heart attacks on the meals we were consuming that evening.

I guess the saying "you are what you eat" is true, in this case: we stumbled out of "El Hoyo" like fattened swine, searched out a bus, and rode on through the night.