When it is 90 degrees and humid I think about adding cucumbers and mint to yogurt and serving it with blackened salmon or maybe salad nicoise and a glass of cold white wine. I think about these things and then I drag home the shoulder of a hog, I rub, I wait a day, and then I turn on the oven for 12 hours and slow-cook us all. I sweat, I complain, I set my alarm clock to mop it in the wee hours, I toss and turn all night worried our home will burn down and my meat with it. I do all this more often than I care to admit.
The damn thing didn't pull. The bark is decent and the meat is tender but the damn thing didn't pull. I guess I would rather have flavor than form but still the damn thing didn't pull. Damn.
