14 hour smoke, a quiche, and my first date with....

Yesterday I smoked my first Pork Shoulder.  I worked that smoker for 14 plus hours until my meat was done.  Below is the tale about my adventure in smoking, making a quiche in my down time, and keeping my first date with myself tonight by writing this blog =)  Hey, you have to start some where right.

Step 1: Feed the beast

"There's a dragon with matches that's loose on the town
Takes a whole pail of water just to cool him down."

Fire! Fire on the mountain, The Grateful Dead

It is like a fiery dragon when it starts.  The smoke rolls out in waves and you stand and wonder just what in the hell are you really doing playing with such a machine.  However, you push on because after all there was meat to cook.

Step 2:  The Meat

Remember on Saturday I told you I wrapped my mustard and rub covered meat up in plastic and stuck it in the fridge.  I got up at 6 a.m. on Sunday morning and took said meat out of the fridge and let it warm up for an hour, well ok, it was an hour an 15 minutes, i slept thru the 7 a.m. alarm, and shiner woke me when she realized breakfast wasn't served at 7 a.m. sharp.

Take picture of pellets you are using so El Beav can go pick some up.  After all this was  a 14 hour process, one can't rely on the pellets on hand.  This really serves point in what I was doing but, wanted to throw a shout out to el beav.

Unwrap meat and marvel at it in all of its glory.  The rub crusted up really nice.  I mean really nice.  I give it to thumbs for appearance along.

Take the meat outside and introduce it to the smoker.

Meat is on 7:30 a.m. only a half hour late.

Shiner ready to go get coffee and go on her morning ride.  Yes, that is what happens ever Saturday and Sunday she goes ape shit for a ride.  She loves to go out Meridian to Camden and go over the hill.


Step 3: Mop

1st mopping, 9:30.  Until yesterday I had never mopped anything.  It helps crust up the meat and keep the thing moist, or so I learned by googling mopping meat.  The directions say Mop, I mop.

She sat there most of the day as the pig smoked.  Even when we were in the bed room, her nose was at the door the entire time.  I bet the smells drove her crazy, because they pretty much drove me crazy!

Second Mopping, 11:30

Third Mopping, 2 P.M.  Did I mention I did this after walking five miles.  That is right 5 miles, I kicked ass.  I was over 3 mph the entire time.  I walked strong and had not pain in the legs.  It was the best distance I have done in a while.  I am doing my distance for sure.  I am not going to lie and say I felt awesome on Monday but less sore from the last time I did back to back mileage.  My ankle hurts but I will manage.  Although, I am falling asleep as I blog, but then again it is Monday and I am tired, but hey 5 miles whats up!  The kid is back baby!

Forth Mopping 4 P.M.  I didn't do anything this tim like walk 5 miles but I did laundry, dishes, prepped for quiche, and walked the dog.

Fifth Mopping 6 P.M.  - at this point I think I stopped taking pictures of mopping.


Step 4: The Beav and the Quiche

El Beav and Puppy chilling on the couch.  But only after I put Beav to work helping me pet the quiche.  After all I needed some to chop the peppers and cook the bacon.  Although the grill totally exploded on him.  My grill is turning evil perhaps I should stop talking trash about it and talking about great the Smoker.  Or maybe a jealous grill is just a good idea for  Stephen King Novel.  

So, I made my quiche.  Looks good doesn't it!  This is what I did.  I took 8 eggs, 1 chili pepper, 1 red onion, 1 thing of chedder cashew cheese, fire roasted tomatoes, and 8 strips of crispy bacon and I mixed into a 9" pie pan, mmmmm pie, and 45 minutes later, we have quiche. now I had this shit for breakfast this a.m. and I may never eat anything else but quiche again for the rest of my life it was fucking awesome!  I give it two thumbs up I must say.


Step 5: Pulling my meat

7:30 and I hadn't reach the desired temperature of 190.  So, I mopped it again and let it keep going.

at 9:30 and a 170 degrees, and discussions with el beav, we decided to pull the meat.  It was cook. It looked good, and 14 hours on a smoker is a long as time.

I am not going to lie the meat looked fucking awesome.  Really awesome!  I was so excited.

So after 14 hours I finally got to pull my meat.  It was really, really good pork.

It is up there with the 16 hours hawaiin pig, but you can taste a difference.  One isn't better or worse than the other, you can just tell they are prepared a lot differently.

I am thinking the next time I do this recipe though, I m going to inject the meat some honey butter or something to keep mixing it up.

I have to myself two thumbs up for the cooking this weekend I was very pleased.  Very pleased with the food all was good!

Well this completes my first date with myself.  Where I set time aside and not matter what or how tired I am, I go sit down and do what I said I was going to do and what I enjoyed.  I will spend some time reflecting on it now and then it is time for night nights.

what am I going to do for myself tomorrow.  I am not sure..  either a date in the gym with some weights, or swim sounds nice, who knows... also what is next up on the smoker?  ham? chicken?  Turkey boob?  pizza?  I Can't say.  Then again I have 6 days to think about that.

happy Monday!

Saturday Night and I am playing with my meat...

Here it is a blog that is 2 hours late.  As part of my new therapy I am supposed to make dates with myself 1 a day and keep them.  My date tonight was supposed to be writing at 7 P.M.  which was just piss poor planning on my part.  First 7 PM is when the dog gets here food.  It is also the time when the Billy gets his food.  So, when 7 came and went today I was working the grill trying to keep the remaining arm hairs intact after last weeks little flame up.  

For anyone who missed it on Facebook last week.  My grill has never ever flamed up on me.  I think she is getting jealous because she has been regulated to a warming oven, and a counter top when needed.  I am sure ever since my smoker showed up she has been feeling a little neglected.  

And if you don't believe I was outside cooking at 7, her is the puppy waiting to her yummies

Stupid Uncle Billy makes me sit here while he cooks good smelling stuff and I have to go eat Dry Kibble.  

What the hell I am cute!  Why don't I get meat!  

Anyway... so I Was going to write after i ate, then i remembered, I had to wash out my new camel back.  I got the Mule, because it is time to get into some mileage.  Well 5 miles for me tomorrow at 3 miles today is some mileage.  We are going to go out in the a.m. and kick a little ass!  Then i realized I hadn't played with my meat yet.  So, I had to do that. 

Tomorrow at 6 a.m. i am getting up and setting my meat out.  I am going to let it warm up for an hour and get to room temperature and then at 7 I am going to start smoking it.  

We have the usual suspects were called in to make a rub.

Ya, it is a good rub!

That right there is a 5 pound boston butt!  Which apparently is the shoulder, so I don't know why it is called a butt.  However, that is the meat I am playing with tonight.

Following the guidance at Civilizedcavemancooking.com I first lubed my meat up with a little mustard.

Then I used my rub on it.  I worked my meat over and over again.

Made a bit of a mess with all my rubbing.  wasn't the first time and it won't be the last.

Damn that is some good looking meat!

I am terrible at wrapping my meat.  I mean I hate cling wrap.  I can never use easily.  It is sticky and it turns over on itself and I used way to much.  I mean really, I hate this shit, I dropped it twice.  I had to wrap my meat over and and over.

Finally we got my meat all wrapped up and put into the fridge where it will rest until six a.m.

Well 6:15 a.m. see if you read till the end you would have caught me in a  lie.  Then 7 a.m. we start the smoking.  

9 a.m. I go out for five miles...

11 a.m. I curl in a ball and cry from walking 5 miles.  

make a BLT Quiche after that...

listen to some AC/DC and make another date with myself.

So far I like this doctor.  She gave me some new meds and some home work.  I see her again in three weeks.  she used to specialize in eating disorders in over weight children, which works well for me because I am an over weight 40 year old child =)

Even though I was flat at the scale today, this was my best week in a while.  I don't think I had any episodes of AFIB until just now when I said that.  Fishy.  I am feeling on the up.  

I think a lot of it goes back to breaking the machine.  breaking the cycle.  looking at the coin from the other side. 

Anyway... tune in tomorrow to see how my smoking and meat turned out!  

Has this man finally lost his mind and is now going to inject Sweet Lady H into his vains - or -

The question that has to be asked is a simple one.  Did the man in the photo above finally loose his fucking shit and go insane and start shooting large amounts of heroin?  Or he is going to attempt to inject meat for the first time with a meat injector that he had to stop at four places before he actually found it?  I am going to cation on the side of this is a man who takes his meat very seriously and when the recipe called for injecting honey butter into the brisket he was not afraid to rise to the challenge. However, it does make for a pretty scary fucking picture or a pretty funny one depending on your point of view. 

 We start with a 5 lbs beef brisket....

 We cover that shit with yellow mustard.

 We then take our favorite meat rub.  Ya, I could have a field day with meat rubbing comments, but I don't have time for them right this second.

 I think fill my meat injector with the honey butter, well ok, I didn't use honey.  I am trying to stay off the sugar as much as I can.  So, I decided i would inject the meat with real grass fed butter, plus apple juice.  The recipe called for basting with apply juice regularly, so I figure why not just fully inject that shit in. 

The thing about a meat injector is there are no instructions.  So, I pulled the little pusher down thingy you find on syringe, pulled my marinade in and then tried to push the stopper thingy back in and that is when my butter apple juice mix exploded all over my face and shirt.  I didn't did get a picture of that because I was covered with butter juice.  However, I can tell you that my glasses were splattered and today sitting here recounting this I can still smell butter.  It is like I am wearing o'day movie popcorn cologne or something. 

Anyway, back to my meat...

As you can see I injected butter directly into the brisket.  The meant wouldn't hold the entire marinade, but I got in as much as I could.  Now they say in order to smoke a proper brisket you need 10 to 16 hours.  I started this process yesterday morning at like 12 or so, so I was not going to have time to do a full smoking the way I wanted to.  So, I used what the BBQ Pit Masters Call the Texas Cheat

 I have no idea why those people call this the Texas cheat.  I really don't, but you basically employ a Texas Cheat by wrapping your meat in Tin Foil.  I would much prefer to wrap my me.... ok ok I am not going to get side tracked here with that talk...
 

 Then you get the smoker ready to go... and then you wait... you cook your chili.  you cook you sweet tator mash.  you make your mayo.  you sliced your lettuce and tomato.  you make your breakfast (non-oat oatmeal).  you walk the dog.  you do laundry and then you wait some more.

 7 hours later you have a smoked brisket texas cheat style and it is the moistest thing you have ever put in your mouth.  My god... this thing was, well it was awesome!

 It didn't develop the crunchy exterior i wanted but i think that was because the texas cheat just kept it to moist.

 It fell apart as I sliced.  I mean I have never had such an easy time cutting a hunk of meat. 

Half way through it just started to fall apart.

See it would have made a mean shredded brisket sandwich.  

 Yes,  I used my charbriol grill as a cutting table.  So what of it.  It has to be used for something now that I have the Smoker!

Shiner watching El Beav eat some Brisket, she got nothing but kibble. 


so that is how I spent one of the hottest sunday's I can remember.  at least there was good meat at the end of the day =)

Matters of the Heart VII: Break the Machine

Matters of the Heart VII: Break the Machine

“Break the machine, clean the machine, you maggots”
Excerpt From: Stephen King. “The Drawing of the Three.” 

“the gunslinger said, “so I cleaned the machine, re-loaded”
Excerpt From: Stephen King. “The Drawing of the Three.” 



“Congrats!  You did great. You know, you need to change your language & thinking...  You aren't dying... You are LIVING. You are choosing life!  You are getting stronger each time you push yourself!!  You ROCK!!!”  
- Coach Janna, Sunday 12:11 P.M.

The title of this blog was going to be Matters of the Heart VII: A Traitor’s Heart. It would have started with LubDub, LubDub, which would have been me trying to write the pounding my heart started doing about 20 minutes before I left for the Cardiologist.  I was mad and angry that my heart was behaving before I left for the appointment.  I was even more frustrated when by BP 150/100.  However, I am growing of tired of living in the shadow and being mad at my heart for the troubles it has encountered.  I can tell you how disappointed I was sitting there waiting for the doctor, how mad I was that here I am again at the cardiologist for what the 7th or 8th time in my 39th year?  I could, and I was going to.  I was also going to tell you that I am ok, the heart is a little off but, we can still fix it, but it would have been in a Debby downer way, because that is in the programming. Then, I went and saw an old friend.  I hadn’t seen her in a while.  One I had not seen since May. She was beautiful as always.  She was calm although a little cool at first, but she warmed up after a while.  In her I lost all track of time, worries, and the only thing I could think of was my breathing, in and out, in and out.  God, I had forgotten how much I loved the pool and how much I loved to swim in it.  I also forgot about how medicinal it was for me.  How light I feel in it.  How I achieve a state of grace that I am certain I will never achieve on the written page or on dry land.  Then, after I had finish, I lasted for a whole half hour and 800 yard/meters (yard/meters is the distance of the pool because I don’t know if it is yards or meters and everyone I ask says the opposite of the person before, if I get two in a row, then it will be whatever the two answers in a row are).  I went and sat in the sun for a half hour and just watched the water.  I love doing that.  I love just sitting there without a phone in hand, without a care in the world, and I was happy, truly happy and it felt good.

I decided right then and there that I can dwell on all the shit that isn’t how I want it in my life, or I can change it.  As I sat there and decided that my mind raced back to a line from the Drawing of the Three, when ole Long, Tall, and Ugly is trying to trick our hero, no our hero isn’t write, my hero Eddie into coming into his reach.  He is telling the story about how his old teacher used to make them break and clean there guns over and over again, especially if they had fired wet bullets. Wet bullets would of course destroy the machine.  He told them “Break the Machine, clean the machine, you maggots” and of course when Long, Tall, and Ugly fired wets he “cleaned the machine, re-loaded” and fired again.  Only if the bullets were dudes he would “cleaned the machine, re-loaded” and fired again.  In there I drew a parallel.  Only, in my world, in my life there are no guns.  Well other than the ones that fire in my head, or one of my characters I have created uses.  No, there are not guns.  There is only one machine that matters.  That one machine needs to be broken down, cleaned, and rebuilt, and fired, until it is a perfectly working machine.

It is like Coach Janna so eloquently put to me on Sunday after my four-mile walk when I told her how my walk went and that I thought I was dying.  “Congrats!  You did great. You know, you need to change your language & thinking...  You aren't dying... You are LIVING. You are choosing life!  You are getting stronger each time you push yourself!!  You ROCK!!!”  What did I hear when she said that, in my mind; I heard the same thing that I heard on the walk.  “Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   I can’t tell you how many times Janna has told me this, to reboot.  To change how I see myself and to see me as others see me.  I can’t tell you b/c they are beyond count.

I walked 7 miles this weekend.  Three on Saturday, and three on Sunday and over the weekend I took 30,000 plus steps.  Do you think I gave myself one bit of credit for that?  Do you think I ever sat back and said you know what Billy b; you had a pretty good weekend. No, I never said that.  No, because the language is wrong.  The machine is dirty.  It is fully of bad gunky, dark clouds, and this fear, that what is left, what is fucking left if you don’t have a weight problem.  To that all I can say “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

Do you really have to ask that of yourself Billy b?  The truth is yes, I think I did, I had to ask because the machine is dirty and full of parasites.  What do you do when the machine is fully dirty and full of parasites?

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

The vicious cycle does need to be broken:  The feeling bad about myself; beating myself up for slips ups and mistakes; taking the easy way out.

 “Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

I am a good person.  I like the person I am.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”

I am good at my job, No; I am down right great at my job.  I know what I am doing.  I know it better than anyone else.  I solve problems others don’t want to deal with.   I am a relied on member of team.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

The General Practitioner wanted to retest my blood in three months.  Instead of waiting for something to happened and change in my life, I am taking control of what I put into my body.  I am taking control of the stress levels in my life.  I am changing the outlook.  I am not going to stand around and become diabetic.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”  

The Cardiologist wants to see me again in three months and put me on the treadmill.  I say so be it!  I will be ready for his little test. On November 9, 2015 I will be 40 years old and almost done training for my 10th half marathon and I will not, fail that test. I will show him that my heart is making a come back.  Because there might have been damage done, but the heart is a muscle and muscles can get stronger.  My heart is a fighter.  Look at all the shit I have done to it and it keeps going.  For that matter I am a fighter and I will fix this.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

My mind is a weapon.  My mind is my own worst enemy and my best ally.  I know that it has to be rebooted.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

On Thursday I go see a doctor about getting my meds regulated for that first time since I was 21.  I have a lot of issues with depression, anxiety, and obsessions.  However, I will get better with Sue and my new doctor helping me I will get better and some day, I won’t needs these meds at all, because my mind will be sharpened and honed, it will be my ally.  It must be broken down.   It must be cleaned.  It must be rebuilt.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

I told someone today, that I was worried about a friend and there mindset heading into a difficult time.  That there were many challenges ahead of them and I was worried that without a positive good out look on things that perhaps the fight was already lost. (I was not talking about myself at the time).  Why should those words be only true for that person?  Why should I do that as well?  Why don’t I actually commit fully to the fight?

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

I lost focus.  Not because my mind is weak and my will power is lacking.  No, not because of that at all, I lost focus because I was doing this for all the wrong reasons.  I shouldn’t write because I am trying to proof something to you the reader.  I shouldn’t write to make you understand that I am trying to get better. I write because I have to externalize everything that is inside.  I can’t write and show you all the hard work I have done and hope I get rich, or get the girl, or even get compliments on my writing.  I can’t.  Perhaps, I have been.   Perhaps, I started this under false pretenses.  Trying to show others that I was committed to turn my life around.  Perhaps, I started this because, well maybe just maybe, I didn’t believe, I could change a damn thing.  How could I have?  How many times have we failed?

How many times have we said this is the first day of the rest of our life and it wasn’t?  How many times have we said we were going to lose weight and didn’t? How many times have we said I have too much momentum to lose and we lost it? How many races did we say we were going to do, but never did?  How many?

It doesn’t matter.  That time is over.  The time of fretting over my heart issues are gone.  The time of having a pity party over my blood sugar, gone.  The time of sitting here saying oh poor me, is gone.  There is not place for it.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

There is no time for it.  There is only time for moving forward.  There is now only time for rebuilding the machine.  Today was step one.  Go to the doctor, is there anything seriously wrong?  You go into AFIB from time to time.  It doesn’t keep me from walking, or working, it is an annoyance.  Doctor says keep walking, keeping swimming, and follow the plan that RESET has set up for you.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”

He got excited when I told him I was training for a half.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”

Thursday go have an honest talk with a doctor about your depression, anxiety, and obsessions.  It is a part of you, its not as if people don’t see it.  Accept it.  Move on.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”

Meet with Chrissy tomorrow and re-invest in your plan.  Not because you have to.  But because you know eating that plan for thirty days (no sugar, low carbs, not caffeine) you hadn’t felt that could since early 97, it was Barcelona, and you thought life couldn’t be better.

Because you know the only way to finish the rebel challenge is to take care of yourself.

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

The only way to live the life you deserve is take care of yourself!

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”

The only way to deal with the stress in your life, is to take care of yourself!

“Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

The only way to get to the tower, your tower, your goals, you dreams, the life you deserve is to “Break the Machine, clean the machine, and rebuild the machine!”   

The Tower is Closer (May 2, 2010)

I can’t exactly remember how King said it or if he was the one that said it at all? I guess looking back I am not even sure I know what it meant to the Great King himself. What I do know is what it means to me. 

I will admit my memory is a little fuzzy because it has been a few years since I have opened a Dark Tower novel. I do recall in places it making a reference that the Tower was closer. What I interpreted that to mean was that the goal was at hand. That the Gunslinger and his ka-tet were ever closer to the Dark Tower. I know this is sure genesis coming out of my finger tips right now. It takes a very deep insightful person to figure out what it means on the service. The small band of gunslingers would stop at nothing and let no one or anything get in their way of finding the Dark Tower. They went to the end of worlds to quench their never quite satisfied thirst to drink from the Dark Tower. 

My point is that the world is changing. I am moving on with the world. I am not sure when it happened or how, or what even triggered it, but I know it is happening. I can feel it; I can see it in my actions. 

I guess I woke up one day and realized life is too fucking short to worry about the shit that doesn’t matter. That in order to lead a happy healthy life, then one must first become happy with one’s self. One must grow up and become the person he or she was meant to be. 

In order to do that one must know what one wants to become or at least have an idea of what that is. I think I figured that out. I think I know now what I want. You truly know when that want becomes passion and obsession and that thing is worth everything to you. That want, that idea, that obsession becomes your purpose and you will stop at nothing to get where you want to go. Then that goal becomes your Dark Tower. Therefore, every day you do something to work towards that, the Tower is closer.