SAD BITS OF BOSTON BUTT

This rain looks to continue till the afternoon. It's been coming down all night. And seeing as one likes to smoke a pipe after that first cup of coffee and downing one's pills early in the morning, when the apartment mate is still home -- because she works normal hours and doesn't leave until shortly after eight o'clock -- one does not venture far with one's umbrella, merely to the nearest awning of a shop on Polk Street which is no longer in business. Where one gazes with a sour eye at the yuppie yobbos wandering past with their dogs and their donuts from a donuttery that has achieved yuppie cult status. Which was altogether enjoyable, because in addition to having mad umbrella skills I also own a coat.

At the moment I am writing this, I could smoke another pipe.
Two windows are open for ventilation.
Her bedroom door is shut.

I think I will.

Before waking up I was speaking with a tourist at the chicken itch pavilion.

It's the dry season down there right now, with fairly warmish weather. Eight five degrees or more during the day, more or less, and low seventies down to high sixties at night. There are more German tourists than Americans. Irrespective of gender or country of origin, they marvel at the ancient ruins and despair over the natives ever becoming civilized, because all of them smoke like chimneys and eat exceptionally spicy food. The best things to order at one of the local restaurants are the ham and cheese sandwiches.

One of the local cafes has Starbucks coffee.

One cannot find a McDonalds.
Nor General Tzo's.


It was a strange dream. Not because of the Germans or whining Americans, or the dearth of gustatory excellence at places catering strictly to foreigners, but because I have never even once been to Mexico.

As a side note, I am extremely fond of carnitas.
I've had carnitas made by Anglo Americans.
It was quite uninspired.



Cook the Boston butt for around four hours plus in it's own fat with a little extra lard and some good stock, plus garlic and spices, till the moisture has almost entirely gone and the meat is nicely oily-greasy. The collagen will have broken down by then, and it can be pulled apart easily. Browned almost charred areas on the bottom are essential. Served with rice and some atjar timun plus lots of sambal this is the breakfast of champions. A cup of strong coffee and a pipe or halve corona afterwards, and you are fortified for a rainy morning.
Trust me on this.

Also good with frijoles refritos, salsa cruda and salsa de guajillos secos, and some heated flour tortillas, or added to your huevos rancheros.



Cumin, black pepper, maybe a dried chile, garlic, an onion and bay leaves, plus squoozen orange and lime (to replicate the bitter oranges you should actually use which are, sadly, unavailable here). Good stock, and a little water as necessary. Simmer on low for a few hours till the liquid is severly reduced and the undersides are caramelizing and getting crusty. Pull the meat apart roughly after cooling, and if necessary return it to the pot to brown on the bottom, or stick it under the broiler for the same effect.

If it turns out well, tell guests that you learned a secret recipe in the Yucatan.
But if it turned out inedible, chuck it on the compost heap.
Then say no more about it.



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