On the Lamb

I am the shredded pork-making queen…

Yesterday, the inlaws came over for dinner in honor of #3’s impending 5th birthday (can you believe it??)… and I had this BRAIN storm on Friday that I would either slow cook brisket OR find a decent cut of pork and make shredded pork.

Usually, I slow cook the pork on the grill on INdirect heat, covered in my uber-secret rub and sprayed frequently with apple juice.  This time, I wanted to try something that a) wasn’t as messy as slow-cooking on the grill, b) made the ENTIRE pork shoulder fall apart (grilling doesn’t always do that) and c) made meat that cuts like BUTTAH.

I have accomplished my goal.

I put in a big aluminum pan TWO pork shoulder bottom cuts (with the bone left in).  I put my uber-secret rub ALL over it and then dumped in about 1 cup of juice (I only had white grape) and 1 cup of water.  I sealed it with tinfoil and put it in a preheated (200) oven on 200 from 9:30pm on Saturday until 8am Sunday morning.

The ideal temperature when looking to shred pork is 190.  Anything less than 185 can be sliced but probably will not shred.

 

Once I took off the tinfoil, this is what the roasts looked like (I sliced a sweet onion and put it into the juice/water mix).  I was actually nervous that the roasts DID not cook.  That’s my oven-slow-cooking inexperience speaking. It was all good, grasshoppers…

 

 

Anyways…

When the meat is done, it’ll fall apart.  Actually, this meat came right off of the bone and whatever fat did not liquify was laying at the bottom of the liquid.  I then took some of the liquid, put it in a sauce pan with 1/2 bottle of store-bought bbq sauce (in this instance, I used a hickory-sweet sauce because I wanted a bit of flavor to stick out).  Unfortunately, I used TOO much of the juice and the flavor of the bbq sauce became muted.  NEXT TIME I’ll remember to not water the bbq mix down with au jus.

 

So, excited (more than I should admit), I yelled up to my husband that the meat was finished and was shredding by itself.  He asked how well it was finished, and I said…

 

 

  “…it’s like BUTTAH!”

 

 

 

 

 

(I laughed for like 30 minutes… because with my gravel-eeee voice from being sick… and my tendency for the over-dramatic… I sounded TOO much like my Jewish grandmother, may she rest in peace.  For the next hour, I channeled my inna Jew… and started dropping Yiddish words like… meshugeneh… Bubeleh… fahklumpt… and suddenly had a craving for a bagel with cream cheese and a nice piece of Nova.

In two weeks, I get to do the “making food to appease the inlaws” thing again.  I avoided making Italian food so that I could avoid “Eye-talian” comments involving garlic and smelling.  And, thus, I could avoid getting PISSED off in my OWN house where my children (whether my Aryan mother-in-law wants to admit it OR not) are part Italian… Jewish… and Irish (two of the three nationalities the Reich despised).  #2 son, however, wants me to slow cook spare ribs… that means indirect heat, ON the grill, for several hours… 1-1/2 racks at a time… until they are ALL fall-off-the-bone good.  That’s a lot more work… I wonder if I can stick racks in the tin and cook’em like I did the pork roasts…  instead of making lasagna.

… and after the in-rents left for the day, we sat with my sil and her husband, devising a plan for Father’s Day.

Apparently, my inlaws LOVE Italian food.  I think they love crappy Italian food… because they seem to think that ziti consists of RAGU or HUNTS tomato sauce and “noodles” (not ziti, but a different macaroni).  ANY true Italian (or Italian-wannabe) knows what real ziti consists of:

ziti (macaroni)
Ricotta cheese
Mozzerella cheese
Parmesan cheese
Sausage OR chopped meat
herbs
1 egg
GOOD tomato sauce (preferrably HOMEMADE, however, I find that most people make their homemade too acidy… and it doesn’t agree with me… so I use either Prego or Classico… rarely Barilla… never HUNTS or RAGU).

And… real ziti must have burned edges (or crunchy parts)… because those are my favorite parts.

 

Needless to say, I am glad to not cook and I’m super glad to not go down to their house (which is almost 3 hrs from here) because it’ll be a Sunday and #1 son will be with SD until he has to goto work. 

I just want to get it over with… and would rather do something with my boys and my husband.

HOWEVER… the mil won’t hear of it.  We didn’t do anything with her on Mother’s Day (I was sick anyway) and she’s going to make me pay for that.

*sighs*

AND, after FD, I will not have any birthdays, holidays, or Herstory-has-to-cook functions until the end of the summer.

(OH YEAH, BABY!)

My bil asked me (again for like the 10th time), “Where are you guys going on vacation?”

YES… I know they are going to Florida.  YES… I know that EVERY goddamn person is going SOMEWHERE… but we don’t know what we’re doing, IF we’re doing anything because now we have Mr. Fluffy Butt as an addition to our “who will watch our pet(s)?”

UGH…

I would ideally like to goto Virginia so that #1 son can visit a college (however, I think that now the point is moot because at this rate, the child will not be going away to college unless he busts a groove and gets his grades ABOVE a C)… and we can see some family and friends.  And, now that I’ve virtually isolated myself from my friends in an attempt to sever my friendship from what’s her face… I’ve lost all but one friend, who insists on saying things like, “I know you don’t CARE about her, but…”

One more time… I don’t care.  I don’t need to be notified about what’s her face’s life.

However, it just hit me… the bridal shower for that one friend that I have left from that group is coming up… and since no one else will be there who I will want to sit with, I’m going to be stuck sitting with what’s her face and her pitiful life.  *sighs*  IF other people show up from our group, it’ll be awkward because what’s her face HAS to make it that way… as opposed to, let’s say, acting mature and not whining to everyone about how bad a friend I am… while I’m mouthing the words, “WE’RE NO LONGER FRIENDS, DUMBASS.”

Her shower will be interesting… especially since I didn’t goto what’s her face’s… or her wedding… nor will I go to her baby shower if I’m invited.  I also told my friend who is getting married to NOT sit me with her or near her at the table.  I’d rather sit with Smelly Aunt Rose and her snort-laughing-butt-grabbing husband Uncle Roy than to sit with what’s her face.

(I better watch what I wish for… eh?)

Well, I guess I should go and prepare the leftover pork for dinner.  (Not my idea, but the boys who want to eat the ENTIRE vat of the remaining ‘q.)