Why is it cold? I thought I moved to the South... OMG BBQ!

Yesterday was chilly. I am missing my warm cats and warm Centro Santa Catalina blanket. They go a little something like this.

I should be enjoying the chill while it lasts. I’m told in a matter of months I’m going to be utterly miserable because of the humidity. I say bring it on. It’ll be like living in a sauna. One long sweat lodge detox sort of situation. I’ll drop a few pounds in time for my birthday. 

 

Pablo did take me to The Green Project. Part of their mission? 

“The Green Project conducts regular environmental workshops focusing on the R's of sustainability: reduce, reuse, reclaim, repair, recycle, repurpose, restore, rehabilitate.”

Gosh, folks, remember back when we only had 3 R’s? Reduce, reuse and recycle. And that was big news, remember? We’d come home from school, all indoctrinated by Captain Planet PSA coloring books and tell our parents that they were destroying our future because they didn’t turn the water off when they brushed their teeth. Of course most of our parents would look at us like we were being little fuckin’ snot-faced-ingrates. 

Green has come a long way baby. 

The place was awesome. Think of an item in your home that needs to be replaced or repaired. (Have you ever seen the prefix “re-“ so well used?) You’ve been putting it off for ages, because you can’t find a part that fits or matches at an affordable price. Door. Window. Window screen. Door knob. Hinges. Cupboard. Shelf. Loose tile.... anything.

They had mantles. GORGEOUS MANTLES. I wanted to buy one and install it against a wall… just because they were that beautiful and important looking. Who needs a fireplace?

They freakin’ have it all at The Green Project. And if they don’t have something that fits just right they have something that’ll fit for now or fit after you make adjustments. If they don’t have something that matches it won’t really bother you that much because you’ll be getting a great deal on something that is going to look gitchy and hip. 

I’m looking forward to getting some extra cash. I plan on going back to look for parts to build some bookshelves. Nothing can replace the bookshelves my grand-dad made me for my high school graduation. But for now some spray painted cinder blocks and stained wood planks will make a good abode for my poor paper darlings. The few that I have with me in any case. 

We also went to The Joint. My first taste of New Orleans BBQ.

It was "shut the fuck up and eat" good.

Now I knew walking into The Joint that the food would be good-- for a few reasons.
One- it wasn't on a major street.
Two- I could SMELL slow cooked practices at work. From outside the building you can smell the smoke and succulence. I nearly drowned in my own spit. My mouth watered that hard.
Three- Pablo told me it was the best. He doesn't seem to be wrong about a lot of things. 

I've been living in New Mexico long enough to know.... they don't do Q right. I'm from Texas so I am genetically predisposed to know about these sort of things. So for the past few years I've been eating briskets and roasts... in BBQ clothing.

Fact- you aren't supposed to cut off all the yummy fatty bits. That is where the flavor is. I bit into several flavor burstin' bites of soft gristle (because if you've done your BBQ correctly gristle is going to be soft and buttery... not chewy or tough).

Fact- you don't serve a proper plate of BBQ brisket or ribs or sausage already covered in BBQ sauce. If just down right offensive. You, sir or madame, do now know the depths of another persons sauce consumption. In Las Cruces all the BBQ comes with a calculated portion of sauce on the meat. It's never enough for me. And when I ask for more they bring out tiny ramekins of thick sauce that can't be distributed evenly. It's like BBQ jelly (not that I'm against BBQ jelly... I bet it's just fine with Texas Toast ).

Fact- it's not BBQ unless you can drown your own meat in runny sauce from a self serve squeeze container that is left at the table.  Sauce should flow like an ocean of spices and reduced vinegar over the meat. It should soak up in to your bread and make it fall apart around your fingers. It is supposed to run down your chin and dribble onto your shirt, staining the fabric forever as a red flag of flavorful aggression. The stain says, "I done walloped this human's taste buds but good."

BBQ doesn't speak English correctly. It speaks in double negatives with a smokey southern accent.

As an English major... I've come to terms with this. All is forgiven.