Wednesday, April 17, 2013
With those words Mark began a full day of delicious aroma, and anticipation. The dogs started salivating early on as Mark prepared the pork with a savory rub on the kitchen counter. I had known I'd be in for one of Mark's signature dishes the night before. I saw the wood chips soaking in the sink. There was going to be a porktacular porkofest, a porkorama for dinner. I lit the fire in the smoker out back around ten in the morning. For three hours smoke curled up from the little smoke stack, and up through the trees, tantalizing the rest of the neighborhood. When Mark determined that the large hunk of pork was properly smoked, he moved the process indoors. Another two hours at a low temperature in the oven, filling the house with the heavenly scent of slow cooked swine. Finally, around four in afternoon Mark removed the meat from the oven and placed it on the top of the stove. "To rest." I was told.
"I'm going over to pick up Willie. He's coming over for dinner and a movie with us. Do not touch that pork!"
You might just as well told a crack head to not light up, or Lindsey Lohan to just stay home for one night. I couldn't help it, just a little taste. It was damn good, so I picked a little more off the side. As I stuffed my face with gobs of fatty, greasy pig meat the dogs sat quietly on the floor in front of me, waiting for bits to fly their way. By the time Mark returned with his friend Willie, I had put a pretty good dent in that pork. Yes, he pitched a fit, but I don't care. It was so good.