Monday, January 10, 2011

Cravings, crockpot, and cleanup

I've been craving Carolina-style barbecue* for several weeks now, since before our trip to Michigan. The craving would always strike in the car, on the way somewhere, and always with Brian, which was perfect because I could drive him crazy with my whining and groaning. "I've GOT to get me some of that barbecue, Brian," I'd say.

*For my northern friends, this kind of barbecue is usually a whole pig roasted in a pit for hours and hours, chopped and mixed together, and dressed with a sauce that is mostly vinegar, red pepper, and salt. It's great, but the 'whole-pig' aspect makes it tough to make what people call 'real' barbecue on the fly.

"Then get some," he'd say, exasperated. Problem was, I didn't want to drive a half hour to get decent barbecue. I wanted to make it. There are a few things that may be impossible to make at home, like delicious grape leaves or handmade pierogi with homemade sauerkraut, but I don't think roasted pork with vinegar has to be one of them.

So I googled a few recipes and came up with this one as a base. I know the picture shows a sandwich, but the way most people eat this barbecue is straight from the plate with coleslaw on the side. But I digress. Anyway, I decided to sacrifice the roasted pork for something more convenient (and smaller) so I bought a petite pork roast at the grocery store, rubbed it down with salt and pepper, and seared it in my electric roaster/crockpot. I started it on Saturday and cooked it on Low until we came home from church. I threw the sauce together on Saturday, too, and kept in in a Mason jar by the slow cooker. (I left out the Worcestershire sauce. I don't think I've ever tasted it in the barbecue I've had.)

When we got home from church, Brian chopped the barbecue with a little bit of sauce while I made a simple coleslaw. We drizzled extra sauce on our meat and sat down with plates of 'cue and slaw. Ahh - finally, I had exactly what I had been craving for weeks.

Unlike most cravings, however, this sort of felt anticlimactic, almost like, "Oh yeah, this is what it tastes like." It was good, don't get me wrong, but I think I'd hyped it up so much that I was expecting an amazing feat of crockpot cookery. But we both enjoyed it. We put away the leftovers and let Bo eat what was left of the crockpot juices and the coleslaw.

BIG mistake.

Bo had terrible gas that night. It was epic. I didn't mind it so much because somehow Brian was experiencing the brunt of it, but I caught a whiff or two and it was bad. We chuckled on our way to bed and chalked it up to the coleslaw.

Also a BIG mistake.

We woke up this morning at 5:30, and while Brian got ready for work I made a beeline to the kitchen to make his lunch and a pot of coffee. The house smelled slightly like farts, and I thought to myself that Bo's gas must have gone on all night. (I KNOW you want to read about this. Go on. Indulge.)

Brian and I talked a little bit while I wrapped up his lunch and he made his thermos of coffee. He grabbed his backpack from the kitchen stool and walked toward the front door. Seeing that he had forgotten to grab his coffee, I picked it up and followed him. We said our morning prayer and Brian began putting his shoes on.

But as he bent his head to pull his boot over his foot, Brian caught a glimpse of the little hallway leading up to the front door - the very same one we had just walked through. He whirled around with a look of horror on his face. "Oh my gosh!"

Along the hallway was a pile of diarrhea scattered two feet down. I have absolutely no idea how we failed to step in it. We glanced around the room and saw a pile of vomit on the carpet. We let the dog out and Brian cleared out too, thankful (for once) for his long drive to work.

Upon further inspection, I found another pile of puke and two more episodes of, um, number two throughout the first floor. Let me tell you, I'm glad he didn't poop on the carpet, but cleaning poop out from cracks in the hardwood floor isn't fun either.

Gah, I felt so bad for him. I felt bad for myself, too. Because I had to clean it up (my stomach is still weak) and because I don't think I'll ever be able to eat Carolina barbecue again. Power of association, you know.


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