Typically when I drag myself into the food court of the Red River Regional Bikeport after a long ride I grab at the first thing that looks edible and shove it in my face. If it doesn't bite back I eat it all.
My wife is an amazing cook. A. Maze. Ing. In fact, the other day she was making a pie and trying to carry on a conversation with me.
“Less talking! More baking!” I cried as she slowed her ministrations to the glorious ingredients bounded by her mixing bowl. There was no time for the free exchange of ideas. I was weak from pie deficiency.
|Sadly, this pie no longer exists|
She increased her churning, but I’m fairly certain it was not because I yelped at her but because she was jonesing for pie too.
This last pie she made (in honor of Pi Day - 3/14) did not include lard. But recently we discovered that things made with lard are an order of magnitude better than those things without.
I took the kids to a bluegrass concert at
Meadowgreen Music Park
in a while back, and the band
playing—The Farm Hands Quartet—had a great story about lard. And they sold us some delectable lard pies. And
so our descent into the dark side of pig fat began. Clay City
What lard does not do is take you down to a roadio weight. Yeah, to train for mountain bike races and Strava domination pig fat just doesn’t facilitate the appropriate direction of weight change. You might think you understand all this, but unless you’ve tasted the forbidden fruit you really have no freakin’ idea.
In conclusions I have two words: Churro. Waffles.
“Good, right?” She asked as she handed me a waffle with cinnamon and sugar all over it the other night.
“Less talking! More baking!” I cried. She stopped my barking with a churro waffle.
Another fine delectable tainted by its lack of lard. It worked because it was covered with cinnamon and sugar. I almost wept. Tears welled…maybe because I missed lard pies...maybe because I was trying to swallow a whole waffle in one bite. We only ate bakery items with lard in them until the initial supply of lard was depleted. Then my wife went back to healthier ingredients.
Unfortunately I got a taste for lard-filled pie crusts. Much like the grizzly that has acquired a taste for human meat I am now a danger, not only to myself, but to any lard pie that happens to get within arm’s reach of my maw.
Dear lard that was some good stuff!