King of Meats

Here’s how dorky I am: I practiced blogging before signing up for this here blog. I wasn’t sure I could keep up a regular writing schedule and I wondered if I had anything to say that wasn’t already being said. I didn’t want to pollute the already blog-o-rific net, so I wrote some pretend entries.

I tried to think of it as writing to my family. Perhaps this is exactly the sort of thing you aren’t supposed to reveal online but I wrote quarterly letters to my family while I was at college. And when I say family, I don’t just mean mom, dad and sister. I sent them to my aunts and uncles and cousins as well. I’m close to my extended family, but not so close that I still keep up any sort of regular correspondence with them.

Looking back, part of me thinks it’s sort of neat. College is such a strange time, full of things most of us forget (or try to forget) once we’ve put it behind us. It’s not really a time in life that one normally wants to document or share but every few months, I sat down and wrote about my life. I wrote about times when I was bored, when my classes sucked, when my roommates were obnoxious, when the washing machine went on the fritz with every pair of pants I owned in it, when a roomate’s mother arrived, perched on a bike, and dressed in a white tunic, white knee-high moccassins and a peaked white almost KKK-esque hat and introduced herself as No Guns. Those letters now serve as a decent journal of my time in college and at times, I wish I still wrote them. I guess that’s what I hope this blog becomes and it’s part of the reason I decided to stop pretending to blog and just do it.

But I was still freaked out about putting my life and my writing out there, so I found another reason to procrastinate: a blog would need a name and choosing a name would take time.

I was leaning towards something meaty, particularly something about pork. I’m not afraid to say that I believe the pig is the king of meats. There are numerous reasons for this, but (1) carnitas, (2) bacon, and (3) heritage pork chops (like Fatted Calf’s berkshire chops that smell and almost taste of bacon) are three possibilities. But calling a blog King of Meats seemed too wordy and misleading since given my gender, I couldn’t be a king. And it was maybe even too meat-centric. I hope to write about food but no one should mistake me for Meathenge.

porky.jpg

Then, in reading an interview with a man who has dedicated his life to cooking barbecue in Tennessee, I ran across the following line:

Yes, ma’am. We cook nothing but whole hogs.

And it just seemed right. Whole Hog hints at my love of the pig, but it also references my feelings about getting online and starting this here blog: I’m going for it whole hog.


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One Response to “King of Meats”

  1. johnny mcnutterz Says:

    You know, there is one way for you to proclaim yourself a true ‘King’ of meats and maintain your femininity. The vaunted Drag King. I recommend strapping a couple pork chops to your jawline and rocking a pompadour of say pork belly gelee.

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