As I am new to blogging and putting myself out there, I feel I must give you a proper introduction to the realm of JP. This telling of events is proper for my “virgin” experience. Yesterday started just as any other day would; woke up late, yelled at traffic, and was greeted by shrill cackling of my co-workers. Lets just say by noon I had been an unwilling participant in three meetings that that pushed me closer to the proverbial edge. I received a call from Chocolate Bear (big as a bear and he’s chocolate) needing to hijack my computer. During our conversation we came to one conclusion. Happy Hour!
The Plan was put into motion. I cancelled all of my meetings and placed a call to the roommate, who just so happens to work in the same building. Done, the wheels were greased and the troops, well the troops were more than willing to participate. Houlihans was the unsuspecting target and cheap 2-4-1 gin and tonics was the mission. Chocolate Bear (CB), the roomy, and I proceeded to rack up a $70.00 tab sans tip in the matter of about an hour. It was magical. The stresses of the day, hell, even week just melted away drink by cheap, glorious drink. But wait, I forgot to cook the ham! Oh wait, I forgot to buy the damn thing too.
For some crazy reason I felt I should bring the only pork product to a thanksgiving pot luck featuring several Jews, Muslims, and Vegans. Yea, I’m like that. Kind of like drinking a beer in front of an alcoholic. So here we are the 3 London Crack ambassadors, lit like the 4th of July in the grocery store. I get the feeling that the guy behind the butcher counter is holding the best hams out on me, as if somehow he is the door man for the black market of pork. He came to the quick conclusion that we were hammered and proceeded to give me a 20% discount just to get rid of me. Smart man! Our next brilliant idea was to roll by mama duke’s house and swipe a “bitchin platter.”
Back at the honey comb hideout I whipped up a concoction of 1 pound brown sugar, “splash” of mango rum, coke, cinnamon, and what ever glaze packet came with my discount ham. I put the ham in a newly acquired disposable aluminum pan (I’m lazy) and coated it generously with the concoction. In the oven it went and out came the Diplomático. CB and I went out for a smoke and exaggerated conversation, leaving the backdoor open. CB turns to me and says, “dude that ham is smelling really good.” Then I see his attention shift to the door, “dude your kitchen is on fire.” He said it so non-chalantly that it didn’t sink in for about a second, thats when the fire alarm started going off. Smoke is billowing drifting out of the oven. I go and open the oven and sure enough, that cheap piece of shit pan had obtained a small rip during the transition from counter to rack. It looked like I was cooking caramel crude oil on the bottom of my stove. A small fire had started in the back of the oven, due to the mass amount of fuel provided. So what does a trained fire-fighter do when faced with an oven fire? Right, I stuck my head in the oven and blew it out as if it was my birthday. In one big breath, problem solved. Closed the oven and back out to finish my smoke. What could I do damage was done and the ham was unharmed. After my smoke and a few refills, I carved it like a champ. All fingers in tact.
This morning, woke up feeling a little furry. Went through the routine of yelling in traffic and dealing with people, to show up with a beautifully carved ham laid out on a “bitchin platter!” I was an office rock star to all of the carnivores. No one knew my struggle and my status as the man went up a couple notches. Boo yea.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do living it. Cheers!