Thursday, September 13, 2007

Beer Pork on Rosh Hashanah

Quick note before I get attacked by the masses, that is how it is spelled on Google, and I don't think spellcheck works on the title, so it stays that way.

Wifey is a spiritual mutt. By that I mean that she has some Protestant and some Jewish in her (and sometimes some Scottish. HEY NOW!). So we celebrate all kinds of holidays around here. The menorah next to the Christmas tree and all that. However, I have not had any real experience with the Jewish holidays, and don't think to mark them on my calendar. So last night I decided to make some pork loin that I had defrosted. Wifey ate it and never said a word (until today when she admitted that it probably wasn't the best idea. Of course, she can't be TOO much of a practicing Jew since she eats bacon like an aardvark eats ants. I fully expect to come home one day to find a greasy mirror and razor blade on the coffee table and a Wifey laying on the couch doing her best Brad Pitt in True Romance impression ("okay, you go out there, and you make a right. And you go. And you keep going..."). Wifey seems to think that the beer pork (called that because I cooked it in a mixture that included beer, but I am fairly certain that over an hour in a 350 degree oven cooked off that little bit of alcohol) is what made me slumber so deeply. I think it was just that I was exhausted and in need of some quality coma time.

Honestly, I just wanted to use that title. The post itself is pretty much inconsequential, and I have no way to wrap it up in any sardonic form, so I am just going to end it here and go on with my life. Until the next post, that is.


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