We Got the Meat?

(with apologies to the GoGo's)

There's something wrong with me. Something very, very wrong. No, not my fascination with boobies and stupid stuff. That's normal. Normal, I tell you.

It happens when I go to the butcher store.

This is an Occasion. Note the cap O. Because the real, live butcher store is across town. So it's a planned event. And because it's not an everyday happening like just stopping by the Sprawl-Mart or Try-N-Save, it somehow seems special.

Special in being able to ask a white-apron-bedecked man questions about his meat. Yes, that just sounds dirty. It's not, you pre-verts.

And because this weekend is a good one (extra days for grilling, smoking, beer-drinking, back porch philosophizing), we'll be doing some extra meating around these here parts.

Here's what is currently on tap:

• Pork Shoulder (currently cooking in the Crock Pot 'O Doom with about a cup of apple cider and some sea salt; it's just for tonight--no biggie)
• Beer Can Chicken (two of these bad boys will go in the Big Green Egg for some smoking)
• Porterhouse Steaks (these will get grilled on the regular ole propane grill. Probably on Sunday as they're currently marinating in some red wine with whole peppercorns and Italian seasoning)
• Baby Back Ribs (one rack currently rubbed with some of Billy Bones rub; the other is marinating in some teriyaki. Both will get smoked for a few hours, wrapped in foil and then finished on the propane grill)
• Lamb Shanks (these look like lil baby t-bone steaks. I love grilled lamb. These are small so may either get thrown on the smoker in some stray space and used as an appetizer or grilled by there own selves. Currently in the same marinade as the Porties)
• Sun-Dried Tomato & Chicken Sausage (these will get smoked on the Egg. I cram them in where there's room and then use the snausage in a pasta sauce during the week. Or maybe I sneak one when I'm outside with a stick and beer while I "supervise" the outdoor cooking demonstration)
• Bratwurst (same as the chicken snausage above)

See what I mean about a problem? There's no way all this gets cooked and eaten this weekend. And we'll have to run the dogs in the morning or they'll smell all that meat cooking and turn on me and start gnawing on my face when they figure out it's not for them.

Oh, and the only side I've got done is some pasta salad already chilling in the fridge. There's also some random talk of either baked or twice-baked spuds. Maybe a fruit salad if I'm feeling saucy.

But you've got to admit. Too much meat is a good problem to have.

What are you up to this weekend? Whatever it is, hope ya'll have a good Memorial Day, kids.

Message in a Bottle

I'm not ready for stuff to start talking to me and telling me what to do. That's what spouses and friends and acquaintances and random strangers are for.

My Whopper is apparently pissed at me. I didn't even know we were having a disagreement.

My Stylefeeder thinks I'm gay. Probably heard that from my Tivo when it started suggesting all those Bravo shows.

The Garmin lady is giving me that disapproving, resentful tone when she says, "recalculating" and emphasizes the cal syllable. That's code for "Why can't you follow simple instructions for heaven's sake?"

And now my fortune cookie is getting attitude.

At lunch yesterday: Work on improving your exercise routine.

Ow. That hurts. And Chinese food had always been there for me. I thought General Tsao had my back.

Well far be it from me to take advice from faux Chinese desserts. Next time, I'm just going to have Fong slip a diet pill into my Mu Shu Pork.

Fryday

While some of you are probably still recovering from your Halloween induced diabetic coma, some of us are on to bigger and better things. Like Thanksgiving.


Is there any better salute to gluttony than Turkey Day? For our non-North American readers out there, Thanksgiving is the day we celebrate what we have by gorging ourselves with food. It was started by the Pilgrims who celebrated surviving the godawful weather of the Northeast by taking the Native American's land but letting them have casinos. While the tradition has evolved some over the years, every Thanksgiving Americans gather together to watch a parade, hope a balloon gets loose, watch the Lions lose and re-enact the first scene of Se7en.


So at work today, we're having a little pot luck celebration in advance of Thanksgiving. This reporter will be frying a turkey. Because nothing says thanks like 4 gallons of hot oil. It's the danger that makes it so delicious.


I may just have to run down to the store and pick up a little bacon while I'm at it.

Happy Friday, kids! Anyone else up to anything good today?


Oh and you'd better go read that diet pill review after all that food.

Greek Is The Word

Me: We're going out to dinner before the show?

Wife: Where are we going?

Me: A Greek place, but you won't need a passport. It's downtown -- Astra's.

Wife: Asses?

Me: Who names a restaurant Asses?

Wife: You said it was Greek.

Me: If I drop my wallet, I'll kick it to the door before I try to pick it up.

Wife: Will the plates be brown?

Me: No, but I'll bet the chairs are really uncomfortable.

Wife: I wonder if the dress code allows chaps.

Me: Only ass-less chaps.

Wife: I just hope Asses sells shirts.

Me: It'll be like Hooters but just the opposite.

Wife: I'm ordering the butt steak.

Me: Extra juicy.

Hot Chicks

Gary Baja has a problem. It's his restaurant. He can't find a name for it.

Gary owns a chicken restaurant that's been through 4 names in just three years. He started with Mother Cluckers. Shut yo mouth. Hey, I'm just talking 'bout Gary.

His landlord thought that was a little racy. So Gary switched to C.R. Smokin' Chicks. Too bad people thought it was a strip club. A strip club where all the dancers smell like chicken? That'd make a bunch of money in this state.

So Gary got rid of the C.R. and just went with Smokin' Chix. Which was fine until he got sued by a Missouri restaurant with the same name.

Then Gary added ribs to the menu and renamed it Smokin' Ribs and Chicks. Unfortunately, the trademark office turned down the name because it too close to another Missouri restaurant.

So now Gary is a man without a name. Well you now we swell interweb types can't put up with that. So here you go, Gary. This is what scheduled spontaneous creativity will do for you.

• Tastes Like Rattlesnake
• The Breading Beneath My Wings
• Hot Thighs Check Them and See
• Southern Fried Chicks
• Finger Lickin' Chicks
• Chix Marks the Spot
• Nibblelicious
• Sir Clucks a Lot
• Suicide Chix
• Chick 'N Jive
• Not Cleavacious Breasts
• Mason Dixie Chicks
• Poultry Pantry
• Wings and Things
• Fry Like An Eagle

Okay, I'll shut up now.