-^-for posterity-^-

i thought about one thing all week. the brutal nature of my schedule was wearing me down. i was always having to think a day or two ahead, basically live in the future, preparing and photocopying and trying to stay sane. i thought about the bbq we were going to have on saturday. jack, julie and i were going to grill out. we were going to pretend that we were in new jersey, oregon, nebraska, anywhere.

the way we were going to bbq tugged at my cave-man roots. we were going to hunt for our meat in a crowded market. we were going to forage for our vegetables. we were going to dig a hole and make a fire. we were going to burn things and hear meat sizzle. we were going to eat meat that was clinging to bones and it wasn’t going to be a clean process.

we found a recipe on the internet (http://www.tm52.com/bge/) and went rounding up the ingredients. we bought sugar from the crazy sugar lady. she always yells semi-coherently and has millions of bees flying around her sugar. she inadvertently placed a few in the bag. we bought tomato paste from an older couple. they tried to overcharge us but we bartered down. we bought bullion cubes and wasabi sauce (recipe calls for worchester sauce but that’s no where to be found) from a middle aged woman. she was no nonsense. she overcharged us and we bargained to no avail. she wasn’t moving. we paid. we went into the vegetable section of the market. stands are packed together and slightly overweight women are all sitting on their haunches talking about things, gossiping. they recognize us and yell. they remember my parents and ask if they went home yet. they take our order and try to sell us everything we don’t need. we buy mushrooms, those tiny ears of corn, tomato, onion and pepper. we buy from four or five different people who all work for themselves.

we go to buy meat.

oh, this is an adventure because it is so hard to buy something from a place that’s so disgusting. the pork sits out in the open. overweight women sit on their haunches talking about things and shooing flies. we walk in and everyone holds up pieces of this or that. we inspect the pieces and wonder what part of the animal that came from. liver, tongue, was that the gall bladder?, brain, skin…

one lady held up a large section of ribs. they looked good and we bought them. three dollars for an entire side of pig ribs. we also bought a couple pieces of bacon because the recipe calls for liquid smoke. we figured that we’d burn a piece of bacon or two to give it that charcoal taste.

we went home and started cooking. we were relaxed, carefree, the weight of the week’s work drifted from our shoulders. we cooked on a small, open grill that was powered by, what i would best describe as lamp oil. the dog ambled back and forth and played with his tennis balls. we listened to music. we were everywhere but here.

outside we dug a hole and filled it with charcoal. we lit the charcoal and waited for it to get hot. the sun slowly went down and the day was dying. the fire glowed, didn’t flame. sitting in the dirt we started to cook some of the ribs. the sauce was thick and spicy. it glued to the ribs and slowly turned into a wonderful glaze. the ribs were perfect. our faces were covered with bbq sauce but we could look into the fire, up at the sky and hear only familiar music coming from the balcony. i don’t know exactly where we were but it wasn’t here.