I Love You This Much Pulled Pork Sandwich

Sometimes when I put something on the blog, I get all sorts of emails about my language. Now, this generally doesn't involve the standard language issues most people have - that is, curse words. People seem to be ok with an F bomb here and there. The list of things people generally seem to have an issue with are grouped into these words:

Armpit
Skid marks
Infection
Toe nail
Moist
Grunties

As long as I avoid this list of words, I'm generally safe from the vehemence of your emails.


And for the sake of honesty, I want to just say that The Lawyer from Southie's boxers are skid mark-free. Really, people.

I actually have a very soft spot in my heart for his boxers, besides the obvious reasons. I feel that they actually worked to bring us together into an exclusive relationship without us having to have the big "I'm not dating anyone else" talk, which is only painful, even in the best of circumstances.

See, it all comes down to those epiphanies you have when you're at the laundromat. Not the "Wow, fabric softener really does work," or "My clothes don't discriminate between colors" epiphanies that you can have. It's when you're looking through the pile of clothes you wore within the last week, and you realize you're washing someone else's clothes. Somehow, unexpectedly, someone has crept into your life and become incredibly important.


So when I found his boxers at the laundromat, I sent The Lawyer from Southie a text message about it. He was at the office, so I kept it short. I said "Hey. I hate to tell you this, but I'm pretty sure we are definitely in a relationship now. Because I just washed your underwear."

His response?

"Sounds good. Busy. See you tonight?"

You have to appreciate the fact that I have found someone who is as much of a helpless romantic as I am.



This realization always leads to the greater vocabulary of relationships, which, like the list above, needs to be utilized with caution. You think about when it's the right time to tell someone that you love them. You agonize over it. Maybe you get drunk one night and tell him that you love him, then regret it in the morning. Or even worse, he tells you that he loves you right as you are falling asleep, so that in the morning you're asking yourself, DID HE SAY IT? DID HE REALLY SAY IT? I THINK HE SAID IT BUT I DON'T KNOW FOR SURE. But you can't really ask if he said it. You just have to wait for another opportunity and hope he says it again, hope he says it first. This is something that will keep you up at night.

And love is a very difficult emotion, when you think about it. We misuse the word "love" all the time. We love our spouses, we love Doritos. And then, when it comes down to it, we realize that we don't really know how to communicate the word at all. "I love you, but I'm not in love with you." "I love you, but I can't live this way." "I love you, but that mustache has got to go." If you're in a relationship that isn't working, you might start listening to every time your significant other uses the word love to describe his feelings for something. Then, being the sarcastic snob that you are, when he tells you that he loves you, you might ask him to qualify it for you.

"Really? You love me? Do you love me as much as you love picking out paint colors at Home Depot? Do you love me as much as you love bratwurst? Do you love me as much as you love driving a convertible? On the whole paint-choosing, brat-eating, convertible-driving sliding scale of YOUR LOVE-O-METER, where does your love for ME stack up?"

When we do find ourselves in love, we have no idea how to communicate it. All the I Love Yous of the past seem to fall very heavy on us, and we realize that this emotion that is within us wholly surpasses us. We become silly, stupid even, with ridiculous sentences and emotions coming out of our mouths.

"I look at you, and my heart beats so fast it makes me get really thirsty."
"I'm so excited to see you tonight, my eyes feel like they're going to pop out of my head."
"Sometimes I'm so happy to see you, swallowing gets really hard because my stomach is, like, here."
"You make me have to pee."

All these things are ridiculous, but they are the language that we find ourselves using to communicate because we realize everything else we've ever said has been insufficient.

WELL I'M NOW HERE TO HELP YOU OUT, INTERNET.


You all want that one recipe that screams "I love you this much," and in this case, that recipe is "I love you so much, I made you homemade pulled pork." This is not barbecue, or BBQ. This is a pulled pork sandwich, one worthy of summer picnics with your family, graduations, tail gaiting and church potlucks. I'm not going to advise you to go out and find yourself some pork butt - I'm going to tell you that it is the best way to pat yourself on that back of yours and get some I Love Yous from those who are close to you. They're really just saying "I seriously appreciate your cooking and want to be invited over more often," but take the I Love Yous to heart.

I Love You Like I Love Pulled Pork
adapted from this recipe, but as usual, I had only half the ingredients and none of the patience

2-3lbs pork butt, excess fat removed
2C blackberries
1C strawberries
1C chopped onion
1/4C rum
1/4C vinegar
1/4C barbecue sauce (I used The Lawyer from Southie's family recipe, but I'm not privileged to that information)
1t salt
2t black pepper
4 garlic cloves
1t red pepper chili flakes
1t ginger powder

Put pork butt, fruit, onions and garlic into your crockpot on low and set it for 10 hours. Mix all the rest of the ingredients in a bowl and pour on top. Go to work, remember to pick up kaiser rolls on the way home from work. Top with the remaining barbecue sauce, serve with a cold beer and a side of slaw after a good night of racing.

Enjoy.