15 October 2014

Cutting the Fat... for Francisco

My sister slow cooked a pork shoulder. The meat was stringy when I kept poking it, but the fat looked tender and juicy and crispy on the outside and it looked edible enough to put in a tortilla, shake a little malt vinager on it with some salt. I can say now I know what a wendingo craving is with having a taste of flesh you can't get enough of (wendingos of Indian lore that once they taste human flesh, the crave it more and more to the point they start eating their own fingers).
Next I tried well seasoned steak fat that was so good, it opened a 3rd, grease dripping, eye. I don't know what's with me and this fat fixation to where I'm asking everyone to stop giving the fat to the dogs and give it to me to cook up. Fat is a carrier of taste to the taste buds so maybe that's why I'm staring at the fat in Russ's elbows when he's sleeping. I must have a recessive gene because I learned my aunt Lencha also liked to eat steak fat (she dies of a massive coronary in her lounger chair and they didn't know she was dead for a week so maybe this new taste discovery doesn't bid well for me).

Me the Wendingo.

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