Gremlin Grill

Butts are about a zillion bucks a pound. Why, I have no idea. Pork producers aren’t making any money. By producer, I mean a farmer who raises hogs. In Ag and for any poor schlub who has to write Ag advertising (Hi!), we have producers, growers and farmers. I’d tell you who is who, but I think they change their minds a lot, just to confuse me.

Where was I? Pork butts are expensive. I don’t know why. If everyone is buying ham for the holidays, there should be a glut of butts. Where are all the butts going? I’ll tell you where. No, not Israel, but that’s funny. I like the way you think, kid. No, the pork is going to Mexico. Almost 400,000 tons in 2004. But no one gives a pig’s ass about pork exports, and that’s not why I can’t get any cheap butts anyway, and it’s not why my plan to smoke ain’t gonna happen.

The plan ain’t gonna happen because there’s a foot of snow on the smoker. I know what you’re thinking: “Pat, snow has never stopped you before. You’ve smoked meat in a rusted bullet smoker when it was 10 degrees out. Now, you moved to the lake, bought a new smoker, and you’re a wuss.� I know that’s what you’re thinking and you can bite me. It’s too much snow.

I’m not exaggerating. There’s a foot of snow out there. On the smoker, on the wood, and on everything in between. It’ll take me an hour just to shovel a path from the door to the smoker to the woodpile. Then I’ll have to move the smoker, because it’s too close to the deck to build a fire in. Not that the deck would burn much, because it’s beneath a foot of snow. It’s too much snow.

It’ll be warmer this weekend, too, so the snow will start to melt. No, that doesn’t make it better; it makes the snow heavier to shovel. It’ll be a wet, sloppy, muddy semi-frozen swamp out there. I’ll track mud in the house, and Sara will beat me. Again. Also, all the dog poo under the snow is going to start to melt. Have you ever smelled that? Ok, then. It’s too much snow and poo.

So, the plan is no smoking this weekend. I’ll put up Christmas lights and make a meat loaf or something. Another no-que weekend. There’s no bbq in the freezer, either. I’m out of bbq. Haven’t had any real Gremlin Grill bbq in months. It’s not enough bbq.

Ok, that don’t work. I’m smoking. I’ll shovel the wet slop, I’ll dodge the poo mines as they melt, and I’ll leave my shoes on the porch before I come in the house, so Sara doesn’t beat me. Again. Or, I’ll just fire up the Smith & Wesson , which is the postal worker of smokers. Rain, sleet, snow: that crap doesn’t slow it down. But if you make it mad, look out.