Burnt Pork

I burned the dinner. Normally, I wouldn't admit it but my neighbor slash blogger friend next door, inspired me to write about food. The more she raves about her magical cooking pot, the more it makes me want to tell the world what I'm cookin' up. It just so happens to be my luck that last night I incinerated what was meant to be pulled-pork. A disaster still noteworthy, nonetheless.

It's actually my friend's fault. I blame her for enticing me to whip out my electronic slow cooking french-oven. With all this 'set it and forget it' business she keeps blabbering, somehow I got caught up in her enthusiasm, lost touch with my inner chef and really did forget I was cooking at all. Now my pig taste gross and it looks like poo.

But this disgusting cremation wasn't all for nothing. I learned that teryaki marinade turns somewhere in the 4th hour of simmering. My house stinks now.

After the children and husband gagged down their single blackened pork biscuit (and to my further embarrassment) our lovely friend, Yuliya, dropped in unexpectedly. Our friend is so hospitable. She swore up and down that our house smelled just like chocolate chip cookies!...eh? Well, Yuliya is European, their culture must make them think chocolate chip cookies smell like burnt teryaki butt.

Anyway, I must go and dispose of my shredded chocolate chip carcass (that Jeff accidentally on purpose left out all night). So, no serious blogging today. For that you will have to visit my witty friend, 'Christina the Southerner's' page. She is funny. I'm funnier in real life than in writing. Especially at night. She should blog about that.