Story of my LIFE. I’ve lost the charger for my digitaL cam and am contempLating getting a new charger for my 5-year-oLd cLunker or getting a newer one on eBay.
So y’aLL wiLL have to wait untiL my dear brother takes some tasty shots of this week’s speciaL.
In the meantime, I shaLL entice you with a story. A bedtime story. Of a speciaL. A speciaL named Cuban Pressed Pork Sandwich.
Once upon a time, there was a bun of Pan BLanco. A piLLow-soft, innocent loaf of angeLs’ bread fresh from the warm confines of a simpLe baker’s oven.
It was a quick and siLent death. Witnesses caught but the quick fLash of a cook’s knife and two, snow-white ovaLettes faLLing away from the unforgiving bLade of the kitchen guiLLotine.
Two hands grabbed the symmetricaL, soft remains of Pan BLanco and shoved them face down on a redhot griLL. Fat sLices of juicy red summer tomatoes and spicy pork gathered ’round to mourn her death. But before they couLd pay their proper respects, the Hands of Death snatched her from her grave and sLathered her insides with fatty, unctuous gLobs of chiLi mayo.
The Hands returned to shoveL the mourners into the saLty sweet hug of the stiLL-warm body of Pan BLanco. A generous, meLting shred of jack and cheddar cheeses and a smother of saLsa verde permanentLy seaLed their voices — as weLL as their coLLective fates.
The press of a hot, stainLess steeL spatuLa finished the job.
You can purchase this story of fate, injustice and tasty death for $7 this week.
Love, tacos and murdered sammiches,