Chef’s Notes · Whole hog experiences
Every Whole Hog
Has a Story
A Miami holiday party started it. Brookhaven, a pineapple luau, two roasting boxes at Frazie’s, and a day at Lake Lanier made it my own.

The music stopped. An announcement went out. Then the music came back on as we carried a whole roasted hog to the table.
Around 80 or 90 guests watched us bring it in from the driveway, where we had been cooking. There was a pool, a decorated party space, and now a whole hog making its entrance.
The occasion? A divorce party.
That pineapple luau pig still had some of the best skin I have ever gotten on a roast. But what stays with me just as much is everybody stopping to watch us bring it to the table.
That is the experience I love creating. And it started years earlier with a holiday party and a question: “What is a pig box?”

The bite that started it
I was working in corporate America, and my boss was from Miami. We had worked together for years when I went to his house for a holiday party.
He told me we were having a whole hog, Cuban style, cooked in a pig box called La Caja China.
I had never heard of one. The charcoal sits above the hog, and the heat cooks down through the box. There are coals to manage, ash to deal with, and a lot happening before that pig reaches the table.
When they brought it out, he gave me a taste. Mojo seasoning, plenty of salt, and that pork. I remember thinking, “I love this. I need a box!”
It also brought back a childhood memory. Growing up in Salt Lake City, I had a good friend whose family was from Tonga. They invited me to a cookout with a pig roasting in a pit in the ground. I remember the hole and the coals better than the flavor.
The holiday party connected those memories. This time, I wanted to learn how to do it myself.

Sweeney the Pig and a surprise in the garage
While living in Brookhaven, I asked my brother-in-law to build me a roasting box. He ended up buying me one instead.
My friend Seth helped with my first hog. We went Cuban style with mojo, and with Clemson football in the conversation, that roast became “Sweeney the Pig.”







The next one came with a surprise for my brother and nephew, Rick and Dominic, visiting me on Atlanta’s west side.
It was late when I told them we still had some work to do. I opened the garage, and there was a whole hog waiting on the prep table.
Their welcome to Uncle Dan’s house included helping me butterfly a pig. They were a little taken aback, but they got through it and did a great job.
For that roast, I moved away from mojo and used my own barbecue rub with a smoky flavor. I was starting to make each cookout its own thing.
The divorce pig and all those pineapples
A realtor who had helped me with a house referred me for the divorce party. The plan was a luau-style hog with a sweet pineapple mixture.
That sent me to DeKalb Farmers Market for more pineapples than people expected to see in one shopping trip.
People kept asking why I needed so many. When I explained that I was roasting a whole pig for a luau, the next question was, “Can we come?”
I had to tell them it was a private party. But I could give them my card.
That roast gave us the crisp skin, the pineapple flavor, and the entrance with the music. The cooking was part of the party long before we served the first plate.




Two boxes at Frazie’s
Mark at Frazie’s asked if I could cook a whole hog for his butcher shop’s first anniversary in Riverside.
We ended up with two hogs and two boxes. While he handled setting up the celebration, I managed both fires and walked him through the preparation, butterflying, and cooking.





The line was something else. The pork was gone in about 30 minutes.
We did it again the following year, with more pork. Across those events, I cooked both traditional mojo and my own seasoning.
One of my favorite memories from Frazie’s has nothing to do with seasoning. My son showed up with his soccer friends. He was about eight or nine, and I gave the boys gloves so they could help pull and separate the cooked pork for serving.
They loved being part of it. I loved watching them get involved.
That is what a whole hog can do. People gather around, get curious, and become part of the day.






Breakfast burritos, dragon boats, and a lake pig
My brother-in-law’s dragon boat team brought the next opportunity: a whole hog at Lake Lanier’s Olympic venue.
I cooked breakfast burritos for the teams in the morning, watched dragon boat racing in front of me, and tended the hog as the day went on.
People came over to look, ask questions, and talk about what was cooking. I remember that one as another Cuban-style cook, and the crowd loved it.
A day at the lake, a race, and a whole hog roasting nearby. That was a fun one.
Bring the whole experience to your party
Every event has taught me something about preparation, seasoning, managing the coals, and having patience.
I have cooked mojo hogs, smoky barbecue hogs, and a sweet pineapple luau pig. I have managed two boxes at once and cooked for gatherings where the presentation became a moment everyone stopped to watch.
I love the fire, the smell of the food cooking, and the conversations that start around the box. Some guests have never seen a whole hog roasted before. Getting to share that with them is a big part of why I keep doing it.
When you hire me for a whole hog roast, my chef team and I bring that experience to your event, from the preparation and cooking through the presentation and serving.
If you are planning a party in the Atlanta area or around Lake Lanier, tell me your guest count, location, and the kind of food you love. We can talk about the hog, the rest of the menu, and how to make the cooking part of your celebration.
I am still deciding what the next pig’s story will be. Maybe it will happen at your party.
Plan a whole hog experience with Chef D.Mart: dan@chefdmart.com