Death by Pork Roast?

So, as I sit at the keyboard, I am pondering the next few hours of my life. I usually reserve the 3:00 hour for bath and literature time. (I am totally serious. I almost always take a bath per day, and read my book or just let the jets run. I think it's because I have been colder than usual this winter, and am getting old and wimpy in my old age. I used to think coats were quite optional, even when we were reaching the below zero mark. Seriously.) Anyway, yes, my Robert James Waller novel, Border Music, is reaching an important climax, and I am anxious to see if our hero makes it back to Alpine, TX to his spread in one piece. (Phew, my comma typing finger is plum tuckered out.) So, I may go sit in the bath and explore the world of Texas a bit further, or I may go get something prepared for a nice dinner. Do you feel the pressure to prepare something nicer than normal for Sunday dinner? I do. Sunday is a blessing and a curse in that way for me. I think since I have all the time, I should prepare something fanicful, but since it's a day of rest, I think tuna sammies with bean and bacon soup should be quite sufficient.

I have been wanting to post about my pork roast for some time. This seems like an appropriate juncture to do so.

So, I was at my parent's house awhile back, and I went to the freezer to get some snobby ice. (Remember my post about "good" ice, the very important quality that ties Matthew McConaughey hey hey to me?) Well, I usually have a bag or two of it in the large, upright freezer outside. I went out to retrieve some, was bent over, and was absolutely LEVELED by a, let's see, 150 pound pork roast that slid out of the freezer and landed squarely on the back of my head. So, I instantly saw stars, felt sick to my stomach, and was cursing like a drunken sailor. Even to the point where my Mom got all huffy at me for my frustration. Ok, so sorry to take it out on her and all, but I was sort of nursing a major cranial hematoma, so I wasn't excatly at my best at that moment. Anyway, I lived and all was well.

Enter second pork roast incident. I decided I would cook one that I had frozen. I laid it out in my small glass pyrex dish, and let it thaw. After work, I put the roast in the oven to cook. It was nearing side dish time, so I went in to start on the other parts of the meal and wondered why I hadn't smelled the pork goodness wafting out of the kitchen yet. I didn't think much about it, and instead just worked away on the other stuff. Finally, I thought I better check it, and when I opened the oven door, it was not even warm. It took a second for my brain to register. I hadn't turned the oven on. Phew. Smart one here. Guess it's Quizno's for dinner tonight. So, I put plastic wrap on the roast and put it back in the fridge. It's like money in the bank, isn't it? To have a plan for tomorrow night's dinner, and have it thawed and ready to roll? So, the next night, I threw it in the oven AND turned it on. Pretty soon I smelled something quite chemical and strange coming from the oven. Opened it and Voila!, it looked like shrink-wrapped and ready to mail pork roast. I forgot to take the plastic wrap off. Sheesh. This freaking thing was starting to scare me. So, thankfully the carcinogens hadn't penetrated the meat too badly (in my expert scientific opinion) , so I removed it and kept cooking! Eventually, it started to smell like roast and not like death in a brownie pan. Pretty soon, I decided there weren't going to be enough drippings for any gravy, so I thought I would add some water to the pan. Yep, you guessed it. Cold water, glass pan, bad combo. The pan shattered into a million pieces and the pieces penetrated through to the bottom of my oven. Morale of the story? Maybe I should not eat pork roast. Maybe pork roast has a diabolical plan for my demise? So, as I went to the fridge, my two pork related choices were chops and roast. I was afraid to choose. So, I blogged instead. I am ready to go choose now. Pray for me. Wish me well. Godspeed.

S