I had $15 dollars left this morning to last me until Friday. With zero in the defrosted fridge, and full up on beer and whiskey, all I needed was some meat.
On the way out of work I checked the meat case. Fortunately Paul had pork chops in sale to try and take customers from the new outfit that opened up down the street. Now pork chops are good, but you have to stand over them, look at them flip them,—and this is bad enough on a stove top let alone on the hot plate of your coffee pot.
But, where pork cuts are on sale in a store that cuts its own meat, you have the trimmings, ground up and ready to cook on your one quart crock pot that sits next to your coffee pot like two faɡɡots at a Democratic Party rally. There was a pack of ground pork for $1.29 per pound that came in at four pounds, which will fit in that pot.
As soon as I got into my room I dumped the meat in the pot, back the wrapper with Mescaline’s empty beer cans and dropped it into the trash can I dragged to the curb. Mister Weirton, I know that is not recycling. I am, however, recycling the pig, which thoughtless vegans like yourself fail to do.
On top of the meat went my last two cloves of garlic, pressure skinned between the oft broken fingers of the typing paw.
There wasn’t much left in the garlic powder bottle, so bam, in there.
Te chili powder bottle was also nearly done—I there.
The smoked paprika is new—a gift from a buxom Hungarian wench—glu-glump, a about a quarter of the bottle in there, the rest dumped in the adobo shaker.
Jamaican Jerk seasoning?
Hell yeah, if the Ricans can come to this party Oliver’s people are invited too—about a handful.
That was it six-12 a.m. it’s smelling right good about now.
I borrowed a ladle from the ancient kitchen downstairs, scraped the burnt meat off the rim and mixed it in to improve the paprika, and I’d say I’m two hours out from a hot meal.
When eating on $20 a week you grab cheep meat when you can as we don’t want to cut into the 12$ a week beer budget.
Books by James LaFond
