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Porceddu: A Delicious Sardinian Treat

Halves of piglets roasting over a bed of coals

I was staying in a small hotel in a rural village in Sardinia last summer on a backpacking trip. The hotel was painted the cheery creamy-yellow color that seems to be obligatory for Sardinian hotels and everything about it was neat and pretty, from the red geraniums and spiky palmettos in pots in front of the door to the sleek cats that preened on the steps of the hotel restaurant. The one puzzler was a hut kind-of-thing that stood behind the hotel. It had only two sides and no floor, and it was roofed with corrugated tin. Beside it was a stack of old cardboard boxes. I couldn’t figure out what such a ramshackle construction was doing next to my charming hotel.

One morning I woke to the smell of woodsmoke. I followed it around behind the hotel to find a small man in his early sixties making a fire in the hut. Broken boxes littered the ground and the man periodically fed strips of cardboard into the flames. He had set up an iron contraption on the dirt floor of the hut and long spikes of iron stood nearby. I watched for a while, uncomprehending, and then walked away.

It all became clear when I returned an hour later. Each long iron spike had been thrust through half of a piglet. The butcher must have sliced right down the middle of them, because even the skull had been cut cleanly in two. The spikes had been placed in slots in the metal contraption, which held them over a bed of glowing coals. Periodically, the man – whose name, I found out, was Gianni – used an old shovel to lift more coals from the fire and spread them under the roasting piglets.

That was my introduction to porceddu, a traditional Sardinian delicacy that is a favorite for holidays and weddings. I suppose the sight of very identifiable piglets roasting over hot coals might be disturbing to some, but I’m a serious carnivore so to me it just looked delicious. Gianni was roasting the piglets for a wedding at the hotel that day, but when he saw how interested I was, he sliced a bit of meat off the jaw for me to try. It was crackly and smoky and tender and I instantly wanted more.

I got my wish just a few hours later. When I stopped in the hotel restaurant for lunch, the waitress brought me a portion of the porceddu. It had been chopped into sections, bones and all, with the crispy skin still attached. Incidentally, some of the organs had been left in place as well. I found myself nibbling a kidney, which was pretty tasty, but I confess I put down my fork when I realized the other little round bit on my plate was a testicle.

My love for porceddu inspired me to find out more, and I discovered some interesting facts. Porceddu takes three hours to slow-roast completely. Also, the best porceddu comes from a piglet that was sired by a wild boar. The Sardinian pigs are often allowed to wander free during the day and there are still lots of wild boars on the island, which means that some of the piglets have wild fathers. The Sardinians tell me that these piglets have a wild taste that is even more delicious than the domestic piglets. If you find yourself on Sardinia and want to try some porceddu, it is commonly available at all the traditional restaurants. But if you want the real, fire-roasted thing, head inland – porceddu is best in the villages.