When I was young, celebrations always involved my father heading to the butcher on his motorbike. To him, restaurants were a scandalous waste of money, and cooking a beautiful piece of meat or fish at home was the proper thing to do. On a recent trip to Madrid, I was reminded of those family feasts at a barbecue where a friend had grilled the skirt of an Ibérico pig. This cut, the secreto, from behind the shoulder and marbled with fat and flavour, is most definitely for special occasions, and boy does it make for a treat.
