Slow Cooked Pork | Cooking Stories | Cooking With My Friends

Slow Cooked Pork

A couple of weeks ago was my last "memorable" trip to the supermarket. The weather was rainy and slightly chillier than usual, which of course got me and my feller talking about slow cooked pork. So I pulled on a pair of faded jeans with shredded bottoms and splashed my way to the store.

There I was, standing in the Pork Aisle, pondering the many glorious cuts of meat. Everything looked plump and succulent, marbled with fat that promised savory mouthful after mouthful of deliciousness. What to buy, what to buy? To my right, there was a youngish man wearing corporate attire and pawing his way around. He wore a permantly perplexed look that I later figured out was merely the positioning of his eyebrows.

I said, "Excuse me," and proceeded to ask him what cut of meat he thought would be appropriate for slow cooked pork in the crock pot. Then he opened his mouth and a slightly gravely sound emerged that suddenly made him much more attractive to me than he was three seconds earlier. He said, "Well, I used to be a chef, so you'd think I would know this, right?" We then had a brief discussion about parts of the pig and he finally said, "I was planning on putting mine on the grill but I think I like your idea better... slow cooked, why not!"

With the ex-chef's blessing, I settled on a thick shoulder round cut, he informed me of his plans to head over to the produce aisle, and we parted ways. Shortly after that, I passed him again while picking through the locally grown tomato and pepper area in search of ingredients for my rice. I felt like maybe I should say something else to him but instead I just pondered what he had been up to the night before to make his voice so raspy and full. Maybe glugging beers, smoking cigars and yelling at sports on television? All good things.

So this meeting in the pork aisle was a very brief and fairly insignificant interlude, and yet for some reason it made my day. Thick slab of pork, well-dressed man with a great set of vocal chords, talking to me emphatically about food... my, my, my. I know I am not exactly Venusian in my looks, but for some reason I left the store feeling more attractive and kind of spunky. And some may say, "Wow, that's pretty sad" but to me this is the stuff of life. Please sir, may I have some more?

So, I got home and improvised a delicious brew for the pork to steep in for the next 5 hours. First I seared the pork with some onions, then transferred that to the crock pot and added a dollop of molasses, a generous squeeze of honey, a glug of apple cider vinegar, a small can of tomato sauce, a squirt of hot sauce, and some salt and cayenne pepper. Then my dad dropped in to visit and sat around chatting with me and my mutal food-loving dude while I prepped the ingredients for fresh salsa - piles of diced tomato, onion, cilantro, green peppers, fresh lime juice. My dad was apparently so impressed that he repeated what he saw to my mom who became fascinated to know the outcome of this inspiring culinary effort. And I know in her head she was thinking, "She gets it from me!" which perhaps I do.

After the crock pot had become a bubbling cauldron of sweet and tangy, falling-off-the-bone tender meaty goodness that permeated the house with a hearty, drool-inducing aroma, my fellow did his part by cooking up a side of white rice and warming some mini corn tortillas. I popped some pre-soaked, fresh corn on the cob into the oven, husks still on, for about 20 minutes and then we laid the whole presentation out on the table, picked up our forks and nearly lost our minds over the whole thing. My dad had left by then but I know he coveted our meal.