Here's the Scoop: March 5, 2008

Hogging another meal
Pork, The Other White Meat. Or, so they say in the advertisements.
This week at our house, it’s Pork: The Only Meat. At Every Meal.
For some reason, we had an absurdly large hunk of pork for dinner the other night. It was quite tasty. If I didn’t know that then, I had a much better idea after an assortment of pork delights.
This type of eating behavior is pretty common at Thanksgiving when turkey leftovers become like another relative who refuses to leave. So you eat him.
Somehow, the current pork phenomenon is different.
First of all, there’s no holiday involved. That means there’s no one around to help consume these leftovers. I’m a creature of habit and don’t really mind eating “reruns” as long as the original is something I enjoy. Sixty-three pork sandwiches in a row would not be a big deal for me.
My wife, fortunately, has a bit more imagination then I do in the dining department. She enjoys creating new dishes and developing something tasty when others (me) would simply whip up yet another boring pork sandwich.
Trust me, there’s no boredom associated with this week’s menu. Round Two included pretty much a recreation of the original pork meal. Plus, a bunch of leftover vegetables. And no dishes! Hard to beat.
Day Three saw me making a pork sandwich for lunch. A good idea, I thought. My wife was already getting a bit bored with the thought of another meal involving pork. On the other hand, she had no interest in wasting any of the leftovers.
“Would you like some pork in your oatmeal?” she asked bright and early.
Not being fully caffeinated, at this point, I agreed. It tasted bad. But that certainly didn’t stop the experimentation.

What’s for dinner?
That night, after a fine meal of mutilated pork, washed down by a pork daiquiri, I topped off the meal with shredded pork on my ice cream. With green sprinkles, of course. Yum-ee.
As I reclined on the couch after dinner, the all-pork, all-the-time diet was beginning to have an effect.
“With all this pork around, I feel like a big-time politician,” I announced.
Then I dozed, with oddly pleasant dreams of the benefits of dog ownership. “Here, Doggy, I have some pork treats for you! And lots of them.”
After sleeping it off (assisted by a bit of pork brandy), I awoke the next day with a bit of fear of eating additional pork. Still, since I was the shopper who had “misremembered” (to borrow a word from the vocabulary of Roger Clemens), the amount of meat I was supposed to purchase, I had little choice but to endure a bit more pork.
Let me go on record here, again like Roger, to state my sincere feeling that: “Pork Flavored Cheerios will never become a big hit on breakfast tables across the country.” I would be pleased to make that sincere statement at a Congressional hearing, if necessary. I doubt it will come to that, as the Court of Public Taste will make that easy decision.

Lunch break
Oddly enough, I forgot my lunch that day. Darn. Fortunately, I discovered in my office what appeared to have once been a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was in the refrigerator, but had somehow gotten a bit crushed and was not immediately identifiable. I knew that smelling it would provide a clue about its ingredients. I inhaled deeply and the semi-moldy peanut aroma was quite apparent. I quickly wolfed down the sandwich. It was incredibly delicious.
Of course, I felt pretty guilty about not chipping away at the Pork Pile. I wouldn’t be so lucky at dinnertime.
I arrived home late after being out helping “bring home the bacon.” Something smelled terrific.
When I entered the kitchen, my wife said the homemade pizza was nearly ready. Hey, it could be worse, my favorite food combined with some sort of pork topping.
As I began munching on the pizza, I noticed something odd about it. I am not blessed with a keen sense of taste, but I could not detect any traces of pork. I was afraid to ask.
When I finishing pigging out, my wife asked how I enjoyed the pizza. I said it was great. “I couldn’t even taste the pork.”
She responded that I didn’t taste any because there wasn’t any. “Our pork started to look like the White and Green Meat. I think it was past prime,” my wife explained. “ I’ll just save it for St. Patrick’s Day.”