Like pulling your pork sword in Snoop Dogg’s tour bus, Jack liked his meat thoroughly smoked. It all began when he arrived at a local BBQ restaurant after far too many craft beers.
His misso still remembers the exact moment where the flame of their relationship went out and he fell in love with a saucy slider. His chewing was sloppy, loud and passionate. This oral ode to the burger demonstrated a lust she hadn’t felt in years.
After this meat-ligious experience, Jack wouldn’t stop rabbiting on about slowly cooked protein to anyone who would listen. It wasn’t long before he made an executive decision to spend their holiday fund on a Green Egg and all the accessories.
Shoulders of pork and cuts of brisket were his family now. He had enjoyed the time he spent with his young son but it was time to move on. After all, roast pork doesn’t shit itself and make you change its nappy. Jack was comfortable with his choice.
Jack refused to believe that there was more to low ‘n slow cookery than just a baseless belief that you are BBQ king. In his mind, he was pretty much Heston because he splashed beer on the old 4 burner when he was cooking snags. An accomplished tongs-man that needed no help. Oh, what a stupid grey-matter dodger.
What he lacked in technical ability he made up in talking shit. So his remaining mates had high hopes when Jack invited them around for a BBQ. He promised a pulled pork so tender that it could serenade you with a Chris Isaac’s wicked game.
His mates sit around as Jack slowly becomes more enraged at his Egg’s rapidly dropping temperature. In an act of desperation, he adds a load of unheated coals and chucks in half a pack of firelighters to hurry things up. It appears the hero of the dish, will be a kerosene hint.
By lunchtime, Jack’s pork had been cooking for 7 hours and it wasn’t looking good. He’d failed to regulate a steady temperature and the slab was showing no signs of breaking down. It had plateaued and Jack was too proud to serve a garden variety roast pork. “Won’t be long, lads”.
Hours pass and his mates begin to get impatient. Tom severely underestimates Jack’s mental state at the time and tells the group that he just does pulled pork in a slow cooker, “easy as piss, dump it in, bottle of BBQ sauce, perfect every time”.
Jack snaps, “that not the proper way! I am doing it properly!” He’s getting very flustered and very drunk waiting for this god forsaken pork to break down. It’s now 5 pm and his mates can’t handle it anymore, “Jack, just serve it as it is, we’re starvin’ mate”.
Jack refuses to be culinarily castrated and tells them that it will be ready when it’s ready. At about 7 pm, Jack takes his creation into the kitchen and loses his cool when the collagen still hasn’t broken down.
Like a mad scientist, he begins ripping at the poorly cooked meat with his hands. He has created angrily ripped pork and brings out the unappealing platter to his hungry guests. They take a bite and it’s dryer than a Saudi wedding.
Jack slumps into his chair a defeated man. Hands burnt, eyes full of smoke and dignity shattered. He can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
