But it was bugging me because:
a. I did not really know this.
b. Once I got started thinking about pulled pork, I began to crave it. I really did eat pulled pork with some rednecks in South Carolina once, and it was a highlight of my 20s.
In fact, the amount of time and preparation required to make pulled pork on my deck is providing plenty of mystique and context. I may not be an old black man, but I was out there in my robe at 6:30 a.m. spilling lighter fluid everywhere and trying to get the coals to smolder and I know I looked like a "character" because Isabel refused to make eye contact with me when I came inside and asked her about her plans for the day. I may or may not be serving delicious barbecue tonight, but either way we're "makin' memories," to quote my boyfriend Tim Riggins.
|Too much red chile.|
In other news, our chickens are dropping like flies. Three down, two sick. I sent a corpse to the state lab for a necropsy last week and await results. But our chicken scourge is a depressing story for another time. Today, I just want to focus on the barbecue party.
Except. Damn it. Now it looks like it's going to rain.