cooking cuy

A friend, her husband and their houseguest dropped by to surprise me.We talked of things we remembered.
One as a time she invited me and my dog to her country house, to lunch of the very much appreciated and vaunted cuy asado. Everybody went on and on about this marvel.
I wasn't very enthused by the menu, but my dog loved running around the large lawn, and I just liked walking around. Once she planted corn and we harvested spinach and radishes. Boy, I love radishes-especially just picked up from the ground. So I said yes, thankyou.
When we finally sat down, things looked good and smelled that way, too. Valiantly I picked up the skewer and chomped into the roasted beastie. But ugh. It wasn't my initial revulsion over eating cuy that provoked my reaction. The poor lady-my friend's mother in law- just hadn't known how to grill. The thing was almost burnt on the outside, but inside it was completely raw! Definitely ugh.Nobody ate.
In Antlantida I'd watched my brother grill. In Uruguay they use wood and burn it down to grey coals. They have a moveable parrilla manipulated by a chain, so the thing being cooked, mostly meat, can be lifted away from the heat, or lowered for more.
I learned how to do it...but. It still takes an experienced master to produce a superior parrillada.