I know this may crush the fantasies of several of my male readers, as you’ve no doubt wondered what it must be like to be married to such a wonderful woman as I am. After all, those manure facials and over night mud packs are pretty tempting… But if you’re the kind of guy who’s into home cooked meals, and having your wife to do the cooking, you may find yourself just a tad disappointed in what you’re about to read, because…I don’t cook.
Oh, sure, some farm divas may enjoy an afternoon making like Betty Crocker and baking cakes, pies and cookies for their family’s enjoyment. Some even imagine themselves to be Martha Stewart, baking cinnamon rolls from scratch and starting their own cooking blogs. (And that truly escapes me, because why would anyone want to be Martha? I mean…with all the money that woman makes, she can’t even find a decent hair stylist. But I digress.)
These things aren’t for me. The only reason I’ve got a kitchen is because it came with the house. The less time I spend in it, the less I have to clean up afterwards. And since cleaning is another area of domesticity in which I am sadly lacking, I avoid the kitchen whenever possible.
It would appear, however, that I am the only one in this household who feels that way. And for that, I must admit to being a bit thankful. I also think I may love Emril Lagasse.
Yesterday City Boy decided to cook up a bit of Pig. He found a recipe and had the roast sitting in the fridge ready to go. He searched the internet and found a recipe, finally coming up with one by Emril. He spent the whole day in the kitchen, basting and…and…well, I don’t know exactly what else he was doing. The recipe called for seven long hours in the kitchen, and he had to baste every 30 minutes with a vinegar and brown sugar glaze. This is the extent of my knowledge of what happened in the kitchen. But I do know what came out of the kitchen, and it was sheer heaven.
The pork was tender and flavorful right down to it’s very core. Mashed potatoes appeared from nowhere, rich, buttery, and smooth. A gravy that was absolutely to die for~to die for!~had been made from the glaze and was ready to top them both. For a meat and potatoes woman like me, it was sheer bliss. I thought about taking a picture for you, but I was too busy stuffing my face. By the time everyone was done, there was nothing left but dirty plates…and this one little bit of pork that City Boy doused with barbecue sauce. I think he’s going to try to make sandwiches out of it for his lunch today, but he’ll have to beat me to it.
Thank you Emril, for your wonderful recipe!
(And you, too, City Boy, for taking the time to make it!)