Friday, September 12, 2008

butcher bbq

I wasn't joking about wanting to work in a butcher shop.  I get these really strong cravings, especially in the summer time.  These craving are mostly to slap slabs of meat, just giant hunks of meat, down onto a counter, preferably marble, granite, metal or cement.  And I mean really, just slap it down.  God that's a great noise.  Season the hell out of it.  Season it until your hands are covered in oil and herbs, fat and grease.  Then walk it over to a giant stove grill and lay it down on the rack.  I love seeing it drip, how the coal flares up.  Seeing the meat adjust and settle as it cooks.  I love this whole process.  But that smell, oh that smell, the word love doesn't do that smell justice.

I could go on but really I've got the hangover bubble gut and am in need of the instant cure a lamb schawarma.  I feel I may have a hard time finding a quality one so I'll settle for the second best cure, a big ass burrito.

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