Once again, Farmer H has crossed the boundaries of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom’s expectations. And not in a good way. The transgressor has transgressed again.
Sunday evening Farmer H grilled our supper. Let the record show that the temperature was in the 30s, wind chills even lower, but Farmer H had this bright idea on Saturday, so I bought the fixin’s. Makes me no never-mind if Farmer H freezes his rumpus off while preparing our evening meal.
The Pony had a ribeye, because he’s a meat-eating kind of equine like those nags on the South Pole mission with Robert Scott. Farmer H declared that he and I would have pork steaks. Fine with me. A meal I didn’t have to warm in the oven or heat in the microwave. All I had to do was whip up a salad for The Pony, make him some garlic bread, heat up some beans in a saucepan for Farmer H and me, and make him garlic cheese bread. In retrospect, perhaps he had the better deal.
The boundary-crossing transgression occurred AFTER supper. In fact, I was happily oblivious to it until 4:50 a.m. the next morning. Farmer H is generally the last Hillbilly puttering about in the kitchen, sometimes helping himself to second helpings. As the last man helping, he puts away the remainders of the meal.
Did Farmer H put the leftover pork steaks in the flat rectangular plasticware that we use for such items? NO! He wrapped them in foil. Consider the dire consequences of such an act. HE WRAPPED BBQ PORK STEAKS IN FOIL! Which meant that all the BBQ sauce clinging to them abandoned the pork steaks to cling to the foil.
Did Farmer H wrap the stack of three pork steaks in one piece of foil? NO! He wrapped each one individually.
Did Farmer H set the pork steak on the foil and fold over the top? NO! He tried to make each package airtight. He crinkled that foil like some foil decoupage craft project.
“Why did you wrap the pork steaks in foil?”
“They wouldn’t fit in those containers. They were too long.”
“That’s why we have knives.”
“I figured you’d complain if I cut them.”
Obviously. Because I unhinge my jaws and swallow my food whole, like a snake, and would not want my tasty BBQ pork steak dripping with sauce to be cut into a piece smaller than the whole.
We will feast on leftovers of bare pork steaks. Flavorless. Bare. Pork steaks. Whole.