Hungry?
Hot Damn I love to cook. No, really. The firecrackin’ national holiday of the fourth of July has come and gone, and I took good use of the Monday off to seriously abuse both my grill and my liver.
Thanks to the fruits of my Thai hot pepper plant, I kicked this weekend off to a vat of my oh-so-amazing chili. For those interested – check the history – the recipe is there. For those really enterprising individuals – I still have some left. Hoo boy…
Sunday and Monday brought two racks of ribs to perfect completion, thanks to the glazing of the homemade BBQ sauce. What’s so good about the sauce? It’s the fact that it has a base of strong black coffee. You heard me – java. Dark, bitter, and jacked up with the sugars and spices to make simple ribs KICK ASS BONED PIG FLESH. I’m talking about wanting to laminate your greasy sauced fingers when yer done jamming as much food in your craw so you save the flavor and memory sensations for later. I mean, this pork was so good I had a delegation from the Union/Elizabeth Al-Qaeda at my door to renounce their misguided notions just so they can enjoy the fruit of the pig and my grill. Damn straight…
I will only disperse the BBQ sauce recipe upon demand. And I will make more, to possibly accompany me to various friends’ cookouts (if the invites come) to help their gatherings turn into legend. Good thing I’m modest about this action, or else it could get ugly.
Bottom line – I need to cook. Fire plus meat plus hunger equals some kind of preternatural instinct to create foodstuffs el mas bueno. And to Hell with baking. You want a cake? Go to Shop-Rite. You want to spend too much on the cake? Go to the Italian bakery on the corner with the lines and attitude. Or – if you’re good – ask an Aunt that digs that crap. But – if you want to eat – and I mean EAT – you knock on my door with an eleven pack and you’re in for it. Cicero was wrong – you don’t eat to live, you live to EAT.
Thanks to the fruits of my Thai hot pepper plant, I kicked this weekend off to a vat of my oh-so-amazing chili. For those interested – check the history – the recipe is there. For those really enterprising individuals – I still have some left. Hoo boy…
Sunday and Monday brought two racks of ribs to perfect completion, thanks to the glazing of the homemade BBQ sauce. What’s so good about the sauce? It’s the fact that it has a base of strong black coffee. You heard me – java. Dark, bitter, and jacked up with the sugars and spices to make simple ribs KICK ASS BONED PIG FLESH. I’m talking about wanting to laminate your greasy sauced fingers when yer done jamming as much food in your craw so you save the flavor and memory sensations for later. I mean, this pork was so good I had a delegation from the Union/Elizabeth Al-Qaeda at my door to renounce their misguided notions just so they can enjoy the fruit of the pig and my grill. Damn straight…
I will only disperse the BBQ sauce recipe upon demand. And I will make more, to possibly accompany me to various friends’ cookouts (if the invites come) to help their gatherings turn into legend. Good thing I’m modest about this action, or else it could get ugly.
Bottom line – I need to cook. Fire plus meat plus hunger equals some kind of preternatural instinct to create foodstuffs el mas bueno. And to Hell with baking. You want a cake? Go to Shop-Rite. You want to spend too much on the cake? Go to the Italian bakery on the corner with the lines and attitude. Or – if you’re good – ask an Aunt that digs that crap. But – if you want to eat – and I mean EAT – you knock on my door with an eleven pack and you’re in for it. Cicero was wrong – you don’t eat to live, you live to EAT.
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