An Homage to my BBQ

We're moving to a condo building and my bbq can't come with us. I feel like we're taking our old dog out to "a farm" from which it'll never return.

Oh the times we've had. The boozy night when I assembled it out of the home depot box after having drunk a bottle of wine (I never was able to find the ignition button).  The freezing day in February when we attempted to cook Mr Piggie on the rotisserie. The sad day when the knobs melted off, and the glorious day when the new knobs arrived!

We had a celebratory farewell last night... a bavette and a ribeye,

a round of the Brit's chips,

coleslaw, grilled asparagus....

But I am happy to report that the lovely Stef is moving into my old flat and will assume custody of the mighty 'q. Long may its rickety, ignition-less self live.

My Love Affair With Pork

BUT NOT ALL PORK. The product development test kitchen taught me too much about supermarket pork. And let me tell you it has a peculiar, particular taste which I do not care for. Wet sock? Garbage? Miscellaneous funk?

Our sterile way of describing it (in the development kitchen) was "age" as in "hmm, you can taste the age in this sausage". As in, the beast lived a bit too long in less-than-awesome conditions. Not a desirable quality.  It means that when I have to taste supermarket pork I routinely spit it out. Blech.

But oh man, when pork is good, lawd above it's good. This humble, plain loin (wrapped in glorious, naturally-raised fat) needed nothing more than salt. And roast potatoes, braised cabbage and garlic, roasted asparagus, carrot and pea salad. Then some simple rhubarb compote with rich vanilla yogurt.