Oh, grilled romaine…
where have you been all my life?
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Until this summer, neither of us liked gazpacho.
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I met a witch when I was 15.
At least I think she was a witch.

The spring of my sophomore year, my debate team took a field trip to Boston to debate at Harvard.
It sounds more sophisticated than it really was. In actuality, it was just an excuse to go on a really cool trip. And, since my debate coach’s dad and step-mom lived there, I’m pretty sure it was an excuse for her to have the school pay for her family visit.
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I won’t even venture to label these tacos.

Except, it seems I already have by calling them ‘bbq’. I didn’t even bbq these – I cooked them in a dutch oven on the stove. So shoot me.

I really don’t know what to call them though. ‘Cool’? Maybe ‘Good’?

They’re carnitas-like in texture – crispy, yet moist. Yet, the flavor is vinegary rather than pork-decadent.

They’re vinegary like North Carolina pulled pork. But, having never set foot in North Carolina or had what could be considered proper North Carolina bbq, I have no idea how these measure up. I also know I didn’t cook them accordingly.

I hadn’t the patience or the time to cook these low and slow. If I’d followed even the shortest of recipes, we would have been eating at 2 in the morning. Hardly desirable. Instead, I sought ways to speed the process. My pork needed to be cooked, yet tender. I didn’t want to mess with the grill (it’s too hot) or the oven (we’re living in the middle of Hell here, really). So I…
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I started crying at IKEA today.

Though I did spend 45 minutes in the curtain section, analyzing the many merits and disadvantages of velvet vs. tweed vs. linen, panels vs. tabs vs. grommets, translucent vs. opaque, navy vs. brown vs. ivory vs. orange vs. white, my tears were not due to exhaustion or sensory overload. At least I don’t think they were – by the end of it all, I may have been ready to cry at anything.

The real culprit was a simple exchange between mother and daughter. You know that silly little food court on the way out of IKEA? The one with the amazing cinnamon rolls and soft-serve ice cream that even the most extreme of the Cross-Fit fanatics can’t resist? Yeah. Well, the mom and the daughter took one sniff look at those ooey, gooey cinnamon rolls, looked at each other, grinned, and made a beeline for the counter.
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