(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on August 27, 2009.)
As I was putting together what should have been my Thursday blog (which I will post on another day), I was "Diggging" for inspiration. Digg.com is a great site to go to if you want to kill some time and learn some stuff. What did I learn tonight? Emeril Lagasse was right. Pork fat does in fact rule. So much so, its now making sexy with potatoes and becoming bacon flavoured vodka.
For really? Yes, for really really. You think I'm fucking with you, right? Wrong. I'm not creative enough to make this shit up.
If you are feeling extra special and creative, let me know how the swine flu shot works for you:
Even if this story is total bullshit, you know some frat house somewhere has already divided up the duties and is using the recipe at the end of the article to ferment the home brew right now. Nay you say? Impossible? You think I'm exaggerating? Hell no. I went to university and I know how it goes. Those intellectual wind tunnels will ferment anything if they think they will be able to get drunk off it in a couple weeks.
Now, I have idiopathic pancreatitis and this means I can't drink. Before my stone filled gall bladder was removed from my body (through my belly button... true story kids), it got together with my liver and my pancreas, had a conference call with my oddi, vetoed the kidneys, and, as a committee, decided I can no longer enjoy alcohol. Actually, I could probably enjoy it in a way that would be just about as close to an orgasm as a person can get without actually humping. I haven't had an NC-17 beverage for over five years and I could cut a bitch for a glass of wine. Only problem with that is this: if you are ordering me a drink, please order me an ambulance too as before mentioned organs will likely convene, collectively go on strike, and fail to process the (say it all whispery and evil for dramatic effect) demon poison, alcohol. And then I would get dead. Considering I've worked so hard to get to The Land of Remission, I don't think I will be trying this pig in a glass.
Personally, I've never really been a fan of pork. If you saw what pigs eat, you wouldn't be either. You can spare me the "I have a great recipe for it" nonsense too. Just shut it and save it because I don't care how you cook it or how you serve it. When you put a pig in a dress, it is still just a pig in a dress. The only fortunate part of having pancreatitis is that I can say "Sorry, no pork for me. My pancreas no longer produces the enzymes required to digest it" and it would totally be true. If worse came to worse, I could make the claim that I am trying to connect with my Jewish heritage and pork is not kosher. I could further claim that if I do consume pork, the kosher police will unleash Madonna who will restrain me with some red bracelet string and then proceed to beat me with her Zohar until I vomit. I don't know about you, but her man arms scare the shit out of me. I bet the pig would be shitting too. And eating it. Which is why I don't eat pork.
But I'm curious. So curious. The kind of curious that wants to road trip it to Seattle, buy a bottle of this sow juice, unleash it on frat boys and see what happens next. I'm so curious about this crap that I have actually pondered the advantages of serving it as a hang over remedy at greasy spoons or where ever said frat boys go to get their stomachs lined with grease before they go home and pass out (I know you know what I'm talking about... there is nothing like greasy fried eggs, toast, and hash browns after drinking all night).
Alas, I have to work tomorrow (and I have plans for the weekend) but if this bacon vodka is still on the market come spring break, I'm chasing me some Seattle frat boys to Mexico with a bottle of this in my cougar kit. Screw tequila, I got bacon boys!
Peas!
