So, God is punishing me for heckling vegetarians. I know it.
Last week, I had my shiz on and planned several meals rather than deciding at the last minute how I could possible scrape together a meal out of olives, cheerios, and canned tomatoes.
One of these meals was actually a two-fer. I purchased this huge chunk o' meat from Costco. Pork Shoulder to be exact.
On Monday, I opened the package and put the two hunks into the slow-cooker. The smells of slow-roasting meat permeated the morning air.
I both hate and love this part. Love thinking dinner is being made while I do nothing. Hate that I want to eat dinner, right then and there, at 10 AM, and realizing I have 7-8 more hours to go.
Once those 7 hours were done, I immediately placed one hunk in a large ziploc and put it into the frig to be reheated for tomorrow's dinner as a glazed pork roast. Then, I drained the pot of liquids, dumped in a bottle of BBQ sauce and quickly shredded the pork. Ah, pulled pork BBQ sandwhiches. I threw together a quick hot German potato salad with bacon, mustard and gorgonzola and dinner was served.
The potato salad was good, but there was something just not tasty about the sandwiches. Not quite off. Definitely not rotten or sour. Just intangible. I stopped eating it and told the kids they didn't need to eat it if they didn't like it.
The next night, I reheated the pork and threw some Hot Mama Jerked Sauce all over it. Mmmm. The smells wafting through the house were delish! I added some mashed potatoes, steamed spinach, and glazed carrots. Easy-peasy. So Betty Crocker of me I though smugly.
CG quickly consumed most of his slice of pork after slathering it with more sauce. After three bites, I notice this thick ribbon of fat through out. Looking around, I notice everyone's meat has the same ribbon. Something looked not quite right. There was black matter in the ribbon. Eldest dissected the meat and found embedded in the fat was this thick, black, grainy discharge.
I started to dry heave.
At this point, I realized CG had eaten the ribbon because it was covered in the sauce. PB says something along the lines (being a meat-a-holic) of "I wondered what that was, but I ate it anyways."
I gagged and tried not to hurl. Multiple dry heaving sessions result.
CG removed everyone's meat and dumped the platter remnants into the garbage because I couldn't even look at it.
At some point, I remember the BBQ pork sandwiches from last night that I shredded, covered in sauce. Yes, my friends, I ate festering meat.
CG suggests maybe it wasn't black mold. Maybe it was parasites since it was in the middle of the meat--in the middle of the muscle.
Cough-hurl. cough-hurl. Gaaaaak!
Then there was mention of maybe it was a tumor.
Fuck me now, I ate cancer. My babies ate cancer.
I think CG thought my dry-heaving was funny. Maybe my convulsing body was better to think about than the fact he'd just eaten bad meat twice in one week.
Obviously, we didn't get food-poisoning from the sandwiches, so yes, my friends, I've decided we ate cancer.
All I know is somebody in the universe is punishing me for eating meat.
Or maybe punishing my college-educated ass for thinking that being a Betty Crocker slag was something to aspire too.
Or maybe there is truth to the latest slogan that's on every liberal blog I see that "Every time someone votes Republican, God kills a kitten." Hah! That's it. As one of my commentors told me, Republicans are murderers. God must be showing his vengeance by making Republicans and their posterity eat black moldy, tumerous, parasite-ridden meat.
Or, maybe someone forgot to check the expiration date on the meat.
You decide. In the meantime, I'm off meat for a while.