Process

Process, I like the process. It has taken me a long time and a lot of cooked meals to realize what I like beast about my cooking is the process. From thinking of the event, shopping for the meal—the actual shopping—to the preparing and seeing the folks eat the meal. Many time I would just as soon not even eat as much as prepare and serve. Whether prepping and cooking a turkey, making a frying pan of sloppy joe mix or making a hearty meat and vegetable soup and let not even get into bread making the quintessential process project. I think if I was able bodied still, there would be other events which I think I might enjoy the process: cutting and splitting wood, snow skiing , parachuting and martial arts I am sure there are other things but I cannot think of them right now. Process I love the process.

Today I grilled, pork ribs, flat iron steak, polish sausages and pork medallions for two people! I justify this decadence burning meat by saying I am going to eat on this stuff all week for lunch and probably dinner. I shopped and got potato salad baked beans. I was committed to process a whole dinner so I even got pie, apple pie which we never finish and eventually just throw out. I had a couple of hours before I could justify firing up the smoker and cooking. I read, I called my mother in Boise and thought about the process. The wind blew as I dumped the last of one bad of charcoal and had to go out to the garage and get a new bag, spray the charcoals with fluid and start` the burn(process) then I read more pages as the coals cooked down. Dianne brought out the offering which was even offense to look at in its raw state. I was preparing enough protein from a fairly large third world family to live comfortably on for a month. I love the part where the coals are white and I throw the grates over the coals and heat up and sizzle as the grates are sterilized by the heat—then I strike hot grates the steel spatula the knocking the remains from the last offering into the cooking heal of super-heated coals. In the mean time Dianne has brought me the freshly unwrapped pile of meat usually on some sort of tray and I throw them on the grill and close the lid of the smoker and go back to my novel.

Then there is the process of watching the meats cook, basting, turning and worrying and slowly the meat becomes edible and I yell for Dianne to come and :secure the meat” and we have our meal, just the two of us complementing each other for meats purchased, prepared and cooked. This was real cooking, no hot dogs or hamburgers this week but real protein with as little processing as possible.

The wind is still blowing but we have eaten and are satisfied. I still have to put the meal away and try to clean up a little but what a great way to end the weekend.