I was a little girl when I first fell in love with pork. It was my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary at their farm in southeastern Ohio. The snow was deep and cars could not get near the house from the main highway, which was not all that clear either. When we arrived my one-armed grandfather was there to taxi us with the horses and wagon. He carried each group of visitors in this manner until everyone was warm and secure in the table-laden dining room. As I perused the table I saw things I had never before tasted, but one thing bloomed like a rose in a junkyard. It was this elegant roll of white something. I asked Mother what that was and she said pork. News to me, but something I loved from that day forward. Everyone had brought their best and most famous dish to place on the table with unbridled pride, but I only had eyes for the pork. I kept wishing I knew how to get at that thing they called pork roast and finally a nice cut was placed onto my plate and that is what I ate that day and thereafter. The entire clan was there. If you were not dead you were at this reunion/anniversary event. It was never to be forgotten. I met relatives I had never set eyes on before and some thereafter.) Relatives as far away as Florida all on one of the snowest days of the year. It was so much fun.
The couple known as Pearl and Dwight was gifted with a gold relish server which I somehow came to own not too long ago. It is engraved with their names and the date.
Loving pork runs in the family; so simple to prepare and so delicious in taste and memory.
