To slow cook using traditional combustable materials like charcoal or wood requires a mindset of a different age. Gone are the devices that cradle today's life like a papoose around a chunky monkey of a baby deep in the night and the incessant need to check the status or fiend for 60 characters of text from a complete stranger. Cooking this way wakes up a visceral part of the brain from a different era. Fire has the ability to coax heightened sense of touch, taste, and smell from the led addled mind. When a big chunk of protein is thrown in the mix with smoldering lumps of hardwood your brain has no other way to react than to signal for more blood to flow to the salivary glands. Your mouth starts to feel like Veragua in December.
Committing to the pig is a serious endeavor. One must have a detailed plan of attack and be trained for that plan to go to shit soon after lighting the fire. Where is that shovel? I just saw the towel, what the hell? The wind is tearing down from the Cascades and being funneled through the Willamette Valley right into my back yard. The rain tap dances on the tin roof of the lean-to off the garage that shelters the patio while the chimney spits and hisses like a fractious two year old who missed a nap. Weight-training does nothing to aide the task of maintaining the coals, this is strictly a jerk and lift type scenario. Lift the kettle here, do a little crab walk shuffle with white hot carbon coals from an over-pronated position while cracking the hinge in the grate to feed the fire. This song and dance continues for the better part of a day, hope your plan included an early start.