Work has begun to heat up, which is no surprise. Tis the season. And this heating up makes it harder for me to plan my weekends, as it may very well be necessary for me to log some time in the office, or in an office capacity remotely. So when I heard about E.'s Pig Goat Oyster Feastival in Brooklyn, I knew it was entirely something I would want to attend, but I was entirely unsure of whether I would be able to. The day arrived, and I did have work to do, so I got up early and got it done and then called L. (who is the only reason I am friends with E. on facebook...E. and I were bridesssssmaids for L.) and asked her to convince me to come. She was very convincing. I arrived a few hours later just in time to see an army of cupcakes in need of sprinkling.
Then Fat T., L. and I went on over to E. and her housemates' digs. The pig was fresh out of the, uh, barbeque pit? There were a lot of people trying to take photographs of it, and the nearby goat, so these were the best I could do. No evidence of goat will be seen on this blog. Sad.
In their back patio area there were oysters and a few knives with which to open them. Now this is something I have never done (successfully) in my years of oyster eating, but after being told by a fellow shucker to 'find their butt' I kind of got the swing of it. Kind of. I mean. I opened at least seven, but were they completely free of shell and unmangled? No. I can only go up. In the oyster shucking trade, that is.
Then we got in line to fill our plates with fresh pork and goat...except that we missed the goat. And we were there in a timely fashion! Tears! Rage! Exclamation marks!
This was my plate. It would have been the perfect plate of food had I not been so liberaly with the sauce next to the pork. See, my thinking was 'oh this sauce is right by the pork, it must be some sort of barbeque/special pork sauce, I shall smother my pork with it.' This line of thinking was flawed. Very flawed. The sauce was straight up habanero madness. Madness! I have steered clear of most all habanero things after being dared by he-J. to take a bite of a fresh habanero pepper back in my Hudson Valley Days and almost losing my brain. Maybe it wasn't a dare. But it was peer pressure of some kind, I tell you. Any who, the sauce was all over the pork, which made it challenging to eat, as my entire mouth became enflamed and I'm sure my face turned a little red. I know my eyes popped out of their sockets a bit. I almost wrote 'circuits' but I'm not a robot.
That Saturday was September 11th, so the light commemorating that day was quite visible throughout the evening. I won't bother trying to say anything about September 11th. It was very sad. I wish it hadn't happened. I won't say anything other than that.
This was a very nice NY party. I talked to a number of strangers about books, cheese, Scrabble and long underwear. So, basically, I talked to a number of strangers about some of my favorite things while hanging out with some of my favorite people. Look. It's L. and Fat T.
Then we went to a bar with a name like Alma and Fat T. and I put on some tunes.
And then we returned to L. and Fat T.'s abode with pizza. We were in bed at the entirely indecent hour of four. It was a splendiferous night.
Then Fat T., L. and I went on over to E. and her housemates' digs. The pig was fresh out of the, uh, barbeque pit? There were a lot of people trying to take photographs of it, and the nearby goat, so these were the best I could do. No evidence of goat will be seen on this blog. Sad.
In their back patio area there were oysters and a few knives with which to open them. Now this is something I have never done (successfully) in my years of oyster eating, but after being told by a fellow shucker to 'find their butt' I kind of got the swing of it. Kind of. I mean. I opened at least seven, but were they completely free of shell and unmangled? No. I can only go up. In the oyster shucking trade, that is.
Then we got in line to fill our plates with fresh pork and goat...except that we missed the goat. And we were there in a timely fashion! Tears! Rage! Exclamation marks!
This was my plate. It would have been the perfect plate of food had I not been so liberaly with the sauce next to the pork. See, my thinking was 'oh this sauce is right by the pork, it must be some sort of barbeque/special pork sauce, I shall smother my pork with it.' This line of thinking was flawed. Very flawed. The sauce was straight up habanero madness. Madness! I have steered clear of most all habanero things after being dared by he-J. to take a bite of a fresh habanero pepper back in my Hudson Valley Days and almost losing my brain. Maybe it wasn't a dare. But it was peer pressure of some kind, I tell you. Any who, the sauce was all over the pork, which made it challenging to eat, as my entire mouth became enflamed and I'm sure my face turned a little red. I know my eyes popped out of their sockets a bit. I almost wrote 'circuits' but I'm not a robot.
That Saturday was September 11th, so the light commemorating that day was quite visible throughout the evening. I won't bother trying to say anything about September 11th. It was very sad. I wish it hadn't happened. I won't say anything other than that.
This was a very nice NY party. I talked to a number of strangers about books, cheese, Scrabble and long underwear. So, basically, I talked to a number of strangers about some of my favorite things while hanging out with some of my favorite people. Look. It's L. and Fat T.
Then we went to a bar with a name like Alma and Fat T. and I put on some tunes.
And then we returned to L. and Fat T.'s abode with pizza. We were in bed at the entirely indecent hour of four. It was a splendiferous night.
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