Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Porkloin du gym bag.

this post might appropriately fall into the "you had to be there to appreciate it" type stories, but i'm sharing anyway. 

last night something funny happened in the kitchen.

when i got home, john was cooking dinner.  (that was not the "funny" part; john cooks most of the dinners in our house.)  when i walked on, there were potatoes boiling on the stove, gravy prepping in a pot, corn on the counter, and a porkloin in the oven.  i went upstairs to change clothes and when i came back, john asked if the porkloin smelled weird.

i opened the oven and sniffed, but between the heat burning my nostril hair and the rampant pregnancy hormones, i didn't feel like i could really give an accurate analysis.  "did it smell weird when you opened it?" i asked.  "i don't know," was the response.

so, we continued prepping dinner and soon enough the porkloin was done.  john retrieved it from the oven, let it cool and then sliced into it.  he took one bite and it was apparent that even though we were within the sell-by date, the eat-by date had clearly passed us by. 

the smell of the porkloin permeated the kitchen, and my nostrils were filled with the aroma of my husband's gym bag.  what?  ball-sweat-porkloin isn't a delicacy at your house?  we were both staring at each other, wondering what we could quickly whip up to salvage this situation, when i exclaimed, "ok, get that thing out of here.  it's HORRIBLE."  john wrapped up the porkloin and took it out to the trash can in the garage. 

when he came back, he had the look of a man determined.  "i'm going to turn this into a dinner you will love," he said.  and with that, he set about making a real "dubuque original," as he described it.  7 minutes (or so) later, we were enjoying...

image from here.

open-faced turkey sandwiches.  they were delicious.  and while john lamented the porkloin, i reminded him that this was exactly the sort of material we needed to gather to laugh about when we're 75.

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