The magic of pork-- how just time and slow heat transforms such an unappetizing hunk of meat into a bronzed masterpiece. As they would say in England, "bloody lovely."
That big shoulder roast went in the oven at 9 am yesterday, uncovered, 250 degrees, on a bed of chopped onions, apples and garlic that eventually became a gooey glaze for the mashed potatoes. The delicious smells filled the house until it was finally fork tender, 7 hours later.
Have you noticed? The Germans (and Pennsylvania Dutch) love pork-- roasted, smoked, boiled or fried. And of course, lots of sausage. It's genetic.
What to do with the leftovers? Today I will parcel it out in freezer bags. Maybe pork enchiladas, casserole, a quick chili with white beans? Everything but the oink gets used up around here.
John cleaned the greasy kitchen (thank you) while the Sunday night football game droned on.
The ghastly Kermit the Frog uniforms (actually called Action Green) always bring the Seahawks bad luck on the national stage, and makes those big dudes look silly to boot. And they didn't need much help with that.
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