How to Make a Rolled Pork Roast

Our new rolled forequarter roasts have been so popular, we’ve sold out.

As someone said, they’re so easy to cook – you just pop them in

the oven for a couple of hours and Bob’s your uncle.

But it's very easy to make your own rolled roast - from a leg roast like the one below. 
This is a trick I learned from Ray, the mobile butcher of River Cottage fame. 
If you watch that program, you'll know that Ray is full of tricks. 
And his pockets are usually full of kidneys. 

Just take the leg roast and carve into it with a sharp knife, not going all the way through. 
Open it out, and you have a flat layer of pork which you will then stuff, roll and tie up. 

I have a simple stuffing recipe which I favour, as it goes very well with pork. 

Some sliced onions, softened in olive oil for a few minutes, 

breadcrumbs, dried apricots chopped up, and thyme. 

You can make a good quantity and store some in the freezer.

Lay some stuffing on the roast. Then roll the meat tightly. 

Some of the skin may roll to the inside, and this is fine. 

Cut up a few pieces of string in advance and use 

these to secure the roast. You’re done!

I often put my roasts on a rack above a pan, with a layer of greaseproof paper in the bottom. 

Since this is a rolled roast you might want to turn it so that all the skin gets a chance to crisp up. Cook it as usual for about three hours. If the crackling isn’t crunchy, 

finish it carefully under the grill, turning again as you go.

It might not be a looker when it comes out of the oven, but by crikey it’s tasty! 

I like the nubbly little bit on the end and often snaffle it when I’m carving. 

Chef’s prerogative.

We love a good roast with some vegies from the garden. 

Heritage pork, being such a flavoursome meat, goes well with 

strong flavours such as kale, carrots and mashed potato. 

We’re simple folk but we eat well! 

The Trials of Ear Clipping

We purchased our ear clippers from Matt of Country Supplies. He dropped them off to us one filthy winter evening. Closing the door behind him against the howling wind and rain, he took up position against the doorpost with his Akubra hat, fluoro jacket and boots on. Then, having made himself comfortable, he then proceeded to do what country Tasmanians like to do with blow-ins like us: put the fear of god into us.

‘Don’t envy you having to use them.’ He nodded at the clippers as Oliver turned them over in his hands.  

‘What do you mean?’

Matt sniggered. ‘Juss make sure yer wearing ear plugs.’

‘Ah. You think they’ll squeal?’

‘My word, yer’ll hear ‘em in Launceston.’

‘That loudly? My goodness.’ Oliver and I chuckled. The prospect of feisty little piglets setting up a din in protest at being handled was quite comical. We could always wear earplugs. And then Matt delivered his trump card.

‘Yeah. They’ll bleed too, my oath.’