PORK, THE OTHER WEDDING MEAT

Catering was still on our to-do list. PL, MG came to us with a suggestion not involving plant life. The shock made us agree almost unconsciously. She recommended an outfit based out of Columbus, Indiana, that she had heard good things about.

I called to see if we could set up an appointment.

"Hi. We would like to set up an appointment to discuss your catering services."

"Sure. My daughter is in charge of that part of our business, but it shouldn't be a problem," he replied.

"Can I ask what your menu is like or what you feel your specialty is?" I asked.

"We specialize in full pig roasts. We hitch the full roasting pit to the back of our truck and cook the pig on the spot," he replied proudly.

"Do you have smaller headless options?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you. That is all."

I could not wait to break the news to Christa.

"Sweetie, guess what. Their specialty is whole pig roasts," I said in mock excitement.

"You’re kidding."

"No. My mom must have felt bad about dismissing some of our ideas. And this is her way of saying elegance is overrated, because she would only dismiss ideas out of a lack of elegance or gardening."

"By turning our reception into the county fair? I don't think so."

"This is supposedly the best catering within forty miles of the wedding still available."

"I wonder why they haven’t been booked…maybe the smoky pig’s head?"

They faxed us a sample contract and a list of dishes on their full catering menu. Overall, it looked pretty good. We set up a meeting for our next trip to Bloomington. The MG met us there. The establishment was easy to find, as it was the only building painted with barbeque sauce. When we arrived, we were greeted by the gentleman I originally spoke with on the phone. He took us in the back door, again telling us they were known for whole pig roasts, nodding at Big Porker I and II, resting and awaiting assignment in the parking lot.

I am going to go out on a limb and say our expectations weren't very high heading in. We entered the building and were guided to a round table with folding chairs. A checked tablecloth was spread before us. The chef arrived, sweating, in a stained shirt and dirty apron. She was friendly but apparently in the middle of tuning a carburetor. She called for the food, and four plates were brought out. We began to taste.

"This is really good," Christa said.

"I agree." I said.

There was nothing outstanding about the establishment, and it was stretching for average in many ways, but against a checked backdrop and the smell of at least two generations of pork roasting, what was on the plates in front of us looked lovely and tasted delicious.

We ate and discussed details. They could do everything but serve liquor. Fortunately, The MG had another suggestion on this item. Her suggestion was to use her handyman, who had a serving license from a former job, and his girlfriend. In fact, The MG had already negotiated an hourly rate to make it easier to begrudgingly accept her proposal.

What I knew about the handyman was: First, he was handy. Second he participated in Civil War reenactments. Third, he wore overalls and showered most days, and fourth, he had a girlfriend. At this point, Christa was tired of trying to find a polite way to argue and opted for agreement. To me, he sounded like the perfect match for our wedding vision and specialty cocktail.

Two weeks before the wedding, during a phone call, The MG mentioned, "He and his girlfriend have broken up, but they will still do the wedding, and it won't be an issue."

"Excellent, I can't imagine a less awkward situation," I replied.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival