I drove up to Route 7 Grill, in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, last Friday with three friends. It was a 4 hour drive, partially in New York rush hour traffic, partially in the rain, and spent the last hour trapped behind an elderly couple crawling at 5 miles per hour under the speed limit up windy, Taconic mountain roads. Then there was the business of the out-of-order bridge and the major traffic accident, both altering our doomed route. Had you been in our car you would have been privy to some mighty belly aching—literally, due to hunger—about being unfashionably late to the pig roast, begun over an hour earlier, where they were undoubtedly serving up the last of the precious pork at that very moment. We were going to have to eat at Burger King, and I was growing bummed about the prospect of having to blog about a Whopper.
Of course by the time we rolled into the parking lot at Route 7, everything was in full swing and we had beers and plates in our hands within 60 seconds. A cold pint of Sam Adams seasonal—White Ale, I believe—was a nice welcome. We piled our plates high with pork while the carver toiled away on the pig, going on his second hour of adding fresh cuts to the pile. The head, feet, tail and other bits and bobs were also up for grabs, which was a nice surprise, and something I have not seen offered before. The owner, Lester Blumenthal, told me that the kidneys typically go to the highest bidder. One of my friends considered inquiring about the tongue, but alas, never did.
I don’t know about the tongue or kidneys, but if the meat I had was any indication, those parts would be equally fantastic. There was sauce, but I didn’t use it. Just plopped a pile of pig down on top of some baked beans and let the meat speak for itself. It was roasted over an outdoor, open pit for about 11 hours and was tender, juicy and flavorful. I didn’t taste rub, spices or anything really other than what I might say was the freshest, naturally flavorful pork I’ve ever had. If great cheese comes from happy cows then this great pork must come from euphoric pigs.
I would compare the pork at the pig roast to the fish in Seattle or Tokyo. When an animal is raised or caught locally, is prepared fresh, locally, and consumed locally... it just maintains so much more of its true flavor. It’s stronger. It tastes natural. It tastes right. And I have to admit, eating it outdoors, overlooking the mountains, with a cold beer and a shot of lemon-infused bourbon, next to a fire pit as dusk approaches doesn’t hurt the whole experience.
I could go on about the sides, which were more than impressive and just as fresh and flavorful as the pig, but that’s not the focus of this blog. I’ll just say quickly that I’ve never had green beans so green, crisp and bright in my life. I must have eaten an entire bushel myself. And here’s a riddle for you: What weighs more once inside the human stomach... a pound of baked beans or a pound of potato salad?
I also need to tell you about one other thing: the beef rib. I’d had it once before and, in spite of having just consumed our body weights in pork and sides, I easily convinced the guys that they should try this one item. Lester put in the order. A few minutes and a shot of watermelon-infused tequila later we were presented with a perfectly marbled, on-the-bone, no-knife-required, delicious hunk of tenderness, served next to a heaping bed of spicy onion strings and sweet potato fries. Like the pork it comes with sauce, which is also good, but doesn’t need it. The beef is so moist it makes its own sauce. The verdict: this is the best beef rib I’ve ever effing tasted.
Cow? Check. Pig? Check. Chicken? Next time.
Big thanks to Lester for his generous hospitality. We’ll be back.
