BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

THE PUF REPORT: Part 1 of 5

Some of you may have actually “friended up” with E K on Facebook. To you I say, “What in the hell were you thinking?!” I mean, after all, I warned you. I have cited examples, explained, warned, waved flags… But, did you listen? No. So, as far as I’m concerned you have no one to blame but yourselves. If you willingly walked into the web of the evil redhead, well… All I can say is, told ya’ so…

Anywho… Those of you who were silly enough to end up pinned to the wall like a butterfly in her personal collection have likely already seen this next bit of text. For those of you who were smart enough to not end up in her killing jar, firstly, good on ya! Secondly, here’s the text in question:

Now, as you can see, this was her status on May 27. The following morning we were set to leave for PUF (Pagan Unity Festival) in Burns, TN. This is an event where I have been presenting workshops and signing books every year since 2001. In fact, I have even been told that if I die prematurely, they will dig me up and bring me to Tennessee so that I will always be at PUF. It seems that much like the brewers of Guinness and the bit of real estate where the brewery is located, PUF also has a 999 year lease on me. Fortunately, I don’t mind. 🙂

But, back to our story… Also as noted in that status update there is a little winky face behind the bit about Johnathan getting pouty. Johnathan, by the way, is a very good friend of ours. We’ve known him almost forever… As in, ever since he was a snot nosed, skater punk kid. He’s grown up with a kid of his own now, so that should give you an idea on “forever”. He’s also a fantastic artist who is responsible for the covers of my books. Yeah… I am one of the fortunate few authors out there who is friends with his cover artist. Makes life a bit easier when it comes to collaborating on the vision for the artwork. However, the long and short of the deal is this – Johnathan always accompanies us to PUF. He has for several years now. In fact, he is even considered a part of the PUF Staff now.

And, so our story begins…

Friend or not, E K will not pass up a chance to torture a male member of the species, whether physically or psychologically. Usually it’s both, but since we were short on space in the van she didn’t pack any of her prized instruments of the inquisition. Of course, this didn’t preclude her from invoking her psychological ops.

And, it all began with a winky face.

Now, for you to properly understand the depth of this torture, there are some things of which you need to be aware. To start with, Nicky’s BBQ is in Clinton, KY, not terribly far from the small town of Fulton. It has been around somewhere near the edge of forever. They fix real, honest to goodness, BBQ pork shoulder. Now, when I say BBQ, I mean BBQ. Not some grilled meat with some sickly sweet sauce globbed all over it. I mean slow smoked pork shoulder that has cooked forever and a day over a low, wood fire. Then is pulled apart (hence the term pulled pork), maybe chopped a bit, and served with coleslaw, tater salad, beans, and a couple of slices of bread. If sauce is a necessity, one begins with a liberal dash of Tobasco or Louisiana Hot, followed by a few squirts of a good ‘ol vinegar and pepper based nectar. Of course, this is all served on a paper plate and eaten with a plastic fork.

To anyone from Kentucky, and other parts South, this is heaven on a plate.

As you know, I am originally from Kentucky. ‘Nuff said.

Now, while there are many, many BBQ places dotting the countryside, Nicky’s is one from my youth. As I said, it has been around since the edge of forever. I can remember it way back into my childhood. Of course, being one who likes to share, I introduced my family – and Johnathan – to this oasis of pulled pork on Highway 51.

But, back to E Kay’s evilness…

The reality of the matter is this: the route to Burns, Tennessee does not actually include Clinton, Kentucky. In fact, to go to Nicky’s takes us better than an hour out of our way. This usually isn’t a problem, however, due to the fact that I still have family in Fulton, and we make it a point to take the detour and visit for a bit. And, since we are usually heading down 51 right about lunchtime, Nicky’s is the preferred stop.

Not only that, Johnathan has pretty much come to anticipate it. Much like Pavlov’s dogs, as soon as the trip to PUF is mentioned, he begins to salivate and the first thing he says is, “Are we stopping at Nicky’s?”

E K, being Satan incarnate in a pair of stilettos, usually just smirks and says, “Maybe. What’s in it for me?”

When the actual day of departure draws closer, Johnathan begins babbling incoherently about “pulled pork” and “vinegar BBQ sauce”. His ramblings are overtly punctuated by the word, “Nicky’s” followed by a maniacal cackle. Truth be told, he sounds kind of like Beavis and Butthead on a mission to get BBQ.

E K, of course, continues to torture him with “Maybe’s” and “I dunno’s” right up until we cross the bridge into Kenucky, right there at Cairo, Illinois. You see, that’s pretty much a dead giveaway that we are aiming ourselves for Fulton with reckless abandon. Once we pass by the paper mill at Wickliffe, well then, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that Nicky’s is on the menu.

This year, however, my kin had funeral to attend on the day we were passing through. Since timing was everything, we weren’t exactly sure if we would continue on through Fulton, or continuing on. E K, again being evil and all, couldn’t resist getting Johnathan under her heel and twisting it just a bit. At each T intersection she would announce that perhaps we should circumvent the backroads and hit the highway. She would even feign turns in the complete opposite direction of Fulton, all while watching poor Johnathan in the rear view mirror.

The poor bastard started with yelping, “Nicky’s?!” repeatedly, and before long was shaking uncontrollably and mumbling about pulled pork. With each intentional but aborted wrong turn, his anxiety grew and E Kay’s grin widened. By the time we were finally cruising down 51, Johnathan was on the floorboards in the back, curled into a ball and mumbling, “N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s… N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s…”

At the last minute, the evil redhead whipped the van into the small parking lot of the whitewashed block building, then kicked a blithering Johnathan out onto the pavement. Feeling sorry for him I helped him in the door and to the lunch counter where we placed our orders. Fearing the inherent cruelness of the redhead, Johnathan not only ordered the BBQ plate like usual, but also a pound of pulled pork to go – with extra sauce on the side.

Adding insult to injury, E K kept reaching over and swiping his plate before  his fork could touch it. She would cackle and grin, he would get all teary eyed and plead with her. When all was said and done and she allowed him to eat in relative peace, the poor guy shoveled it in so fast he ended up looking like a toddler who’d had spaghetti for the first time. Pork bits were stuck to his face with a swath of vinegar based BBQ sauce. Potato salad was in his hair, and coleslaw was all over his shirt. He was backed into a corner, clutching a plastic fork and watching E K like trapped prey watches the predator that is about to make it into dinner.

We finally coaxed him out, hosed him off, and managed to calm him down. It took some doing, but I finally got him to leave Nicky’s with the pound of pulled pork hugged tightly in his arms. In an attempt to reverse some of the damage, I offered to take a picture of him next to the Nicky’s sign.

I’m sure Johnathan has a copy of this framed and hanging on his wall. He might even have a smaller one in his wallet to take out and look at throughout the day as he anticipates next year’s excursion.

E K, on the other hand, is already plotting to tell him they moved and left no forwarding address.

More to come…

Murv

Next installment in THE PUF REPORT: Part 2 of 5 – Where’s Kat?

Nope. Not the electronic kind.

I’m talking about SPAM™ …Actually, since SPAM™ is ridiculously expensive (something like $3.29 a can… Probably due to the popularity of its name) I opt for TREET™ … Different company, same kind of can, same rectangular hunk of pressed pork leavin’s. And, it’s only 99¢ per can. Gotta love that.

Why? It means I can get three times as much of it.

Now here is the thing about SPAM™/TREET™/TRAM©/SPEET©. I love the stuff. Don’t know why. I mean, I definitely didn’t come from a well to do family, so I ate more than my share of the meat-like schtuff as a kid. Along with Vienna Sausages, which I also love. And, well, our psyche’s do tend to rebel and we normally eschew that which reminds us of harder times. But, the psuedo Virginia ham-like goodness of these canned pork leavin’s don’t really conjure a bad memory for me. In fact, it is more like a comfort food. It makes me remember a time when my family was still around – you see, with the exception of my sister and a few distant relatives, my ancestral family is gone. So, at this semi-advanced stage in my life I am a bit nostalgic. Therefore, I am all about things that remind me of better times, even if we were dirt poor and the times didn’t seem “better” when they were happening. Now, looking back on them, they seem like the best of times. But, that is the way with nostalgia, so who am I to complain?

Now, there are tons of ways to serve TREET™/SPAM™… Dice it up in some scrambled eggs. BBQ it. Roast it on a stick at a camp out. Hey, I’ve even diced it up and added it to homemade lentil soup. This stuff is so friggin’ versatile, I could go on forever. The possibilities are that endless.

However, I’ll stick to a single recipe…One of my favorite ways to enjoy these pressed and potted pork renderings is to slice the block into 1/2 inch thick slabs, sear ’em real quick in a hot skillet, then place a couple between two pieces of wheat bread with a slice of real American cheese. Now that, my friends, is good eatin’.

Okay, so I know you are wondering why I am devoting an entire blog entry to SPAM™/TREET™/TRAM©/SPEET©. Well, it’s simple really.

I love it. My wife and kid, not so much. The kid turns her nose up. My wife, on the other hand, will eat it if it is the only option and she’s really, really hungry. But, usually, she likes to point out that she doesn’t like it. Lately, she has even been on a kick of telling me that it is “bad for me”…

So, step forward in time a bit…I was having a potted-pressed-rendered-pork-leavin’s sammich just the other day. I was really enjoying it. The Evil Redhead proceeded to ask in a somewhat accusatory tone, “Do you realize how much saturated fat that stuff has in it?”

Honestly, I didn’t. So, I checked the can.

About 4g saturated fat and 6g of protein per serving (which is what I was having – 1 serving) 3g of carbohydrates in the form of sugars. It was about 130 calories, not counting the bread and cheese. Now, I will grant you, the entire fat content of a serving is 11g, but not all fat is bad. In fact, our bodies require it to function. And remember, only 4 of the 11 grams were saturated, which is the bad kind.

Now, the interesting thing about this is that when she asked the question, she was enjoying a serving of Strawberry Milkshake Flavored Malted Milk Balls.

Out of curiosity, I checked the box.

Her single serving was 180 calories, had 8g of saturated fat, 31g of carbohydrates (26 of which were in the form of sugar) and 1 whole gram of protein.

She was slightly stunned…

Based on what I was reading, her snack was worse for her than mine was for me. Not to mention, mine actually had significant nutritional value, whereas hers had next to none. I was also going to no longer be hungry. Her, probably not so much.

Of course, EK is about as big around as a stick, and her family is predisposed to live to 100 without any heart or artery disease, so the not so nutritional value of the malted milk balls probably didn’t hurt her one iota. But, hey, that’s not the point…We’re talking nutrition here…

You know, I think I’ll take the pork leavin’s over the candy.

More to come…

Murv