A word from the Chef

An unnatural phenomenon occurred today (no, not the eclipse).

I was sitting at my desk working and Charley turned to me and said “ can I write a blog post?”

I stared at him…sometimes I wonder if he even remembers I have a blog.   “well yes, of course!”

I picked up my camera to go document his cooking, but he stopped me.

“no, I want to do it my way, my pictures.“

It’s probably going to dumbfound me for the rest of my life: Charley hates taking pictures. But without further ado, here he is.

Voice a-la- hubby:

 

 If you have ever worked in the food service industry for any extended period of time, there occurs, at least once, a moment during which you question your sanity for choosing a career so reward-less (in the traditional sense at least).  The pay is mediocre at best and you end up working much harder than your friends who have cushy office jobs with nice salaries; and usually for no better reason than “I love to cook.” For me, today held such a moment. Driving home after an unusually monotonous day, a little voice began to question me.

“Why in god’s name did you decide to do this to yourself?! Is working so much for so little money even worth it? Why not find some desk job where you can sit all day and answer phone calls. It would suck, but it would be easier than this crap! Honestly; can you really say that you even enjoy all this that much?” 

Walking through the grocery store, I found myself having to answer these questions…

 

 

 

YES…

 

 

 

 

GOD…

 

 

 

YES!!!

 

  Just what I needed to punch my stupidity in the gonads…metaphorically speaking. Harris Teeter was having a massive swine sale and happened to be fully stocked. A seven pound Boston butt for nine dollars? BOGO premium bacon and pork chops for a dollar a piece? While I was sitting in my car mentally castrating myself, there were shelves of fat, waste-eating mammal begging to be consumed.

  Finally, all those nights watching episodes of Epic Meal Time for three hours straight finally began to pay off.  Maple BBQ paste? Don’t mind if I do.

After rubbing down the pork butt with its delicious –UV 40 BBQ sunscreen, I gave it a good sear then began working on the “broth.” Usually broth means some sort of protein-flavored liquid, but for me apple cider and good ol’ Kentucky bourbon would do just fine.

 

I began to slide the beast into the oven for its six hour heat nap, but quickly remembered that a nap is not a nap without a blanket…a bacon blanket. Once I wove myself a sheet-o-swine to keep my bundle of un-kosher gluttony warm, I forced it to surrender its bacony juices – which in turn became a night cap of sorts for Mr. Pig.

 

And there it was. A delicious mixture of pork, booze, more pork and then pork fat.  Six hours in the fiery pits and we would have BBQ. More importantly though, there sat a curly-tailed prophet, gazing into my soul saying:

“Stop being such a troll – what the hell else would you do with your life?”

Screw it, I love to cook.