conquer this... even if I had to imagine a
faux world of wonder to tame the Beast of Terror that lurked inside the cave of
my mind.
Bring it on.
Chapter Nine-
“Let's roast a pig for the Fourth.”
Dmitri got his jollies by being the host
with the most. The garage already housed two kegorators and his home brew
set-up. Back yard was a man-scaped realm of a huge brick grill and shish-kebab
pit built for socializing. The deck stepped down to a flagstone patio with huge
glass topped picnic table under a portable gazebo a few feet away from the
grill at the far end. Beyond the patio was the lawn and swimming pool with a
natural-looking rock waterfall nestled into a corner. My small veggie garden
was set against the back fence. Green foliage, iris, fruitless mulberry trees
and tall conifers lent an out-in-the-woods-feel. Around the fence perimeter
were my Damascus Roses. Old-world apothecary roses of pink and red, untouched
by green-thumbed geneticists. They were prickly, heavily scented, and finicky
to grow. But perfumed summer nights made them well worth the effort.
“Roast a pig?” The closest thing to
roasted pig were the brats and wieners I planned on, in addition to chicken and
burgers to be grilled.
“Specifically wild pig.” A big grin grew
on his face as he skimmed leaves out of the amoeba-shaped swimming pool. I was
at the filter, checking it and the amount of salt for the saline system.
Mid-afternoon sunshine beat down upon us. One-hundred three degrees in the
shade kind of day, where even a swim suit and shorts combo seemed too much.
Must tend the pool first so I could cool off with a rewarding dip.
While on my hands and knees, I looked up
at him and my eyebrows raised. “Where would you get a wild pig? How would you
roast it? I don't want a pit dug in the backyard... unless you mean to use the
shish-pit.”
“Wiley got a Caja China roaster he's
itching to break out for a special occasion... and has developed a pig problem
out at the ranch. It meshes perfectly into the plan for a bitchin' barbeque.
Ever had lechon asado? It's the diggity. The shizzle mutha-dizzle bomb diggity,
babe. Alton Brown and Tony Bourdain would get into a fight for the crispy skin,
guaranteed. I'm talking pay-per-view good. Bomb. Diggity. Think of it as Iron
Chef Kaylis.” His hands made a great gesture of parting palm-out before his
upturned face, as if he imagined neon lights emblazoned with his vision.
Caleb “Wiley” Boldton was to Dmitri as
Jet is to me. He and Dmitri met in the Marine Corps and served two tours in
Iraq and Afghanistan together. Nine months ago, Wiley moved up to our neck of
the woods when he relocated for his Game Warden gig. He bought a ranch out of
Stonyford where wildlife ran rampant. Elk, deer, wild pigs, bears, foxes,
coyotes and other fauna existed under his benevolent thumb. The man truly loved
the outdoors and all the creatures it contained. In general, Dmitri wasn't game
when it came to hunting... but if Wiley was involved, any idea automatically
became an awesome one.
“So let me get this right... you guys
are gonna go hunting out at his ranch and do what now with it?”
“He's got a pig roasting box... so we
add the required swine, a couple bags of briquettes and a few magic hours then
crackling good roasted piggy, beer, friends and fireworks. How is that not a
great equation?” His enthusiasm was contagious.
Dmitri had a point. A roasted pig with a
red apple in its mouth would make an awesome presentation. I warmed to the
idea. Medieval style gluttony topped with a pyrotechnic display... a long table
with chairs around so everyone could dig into the beast. Greasy hands, happy
smiles and an everflowing font of beer... it could work. “You know, if Wiley's
going to be here, you can't light off the bottle rockets you got stashed.”
“I know... we'll save those for the
Halloween party. I bet he'll be working that night.”
“Does he have any idea how much shit you
do that
faux world of wonder to tame the Beast of Terror that lurked inside the cave of
my mind.
Bring it on.
Chapter Nine-
“Let's roast a pig for the Fourth.”
Dmitri got his jollies by being the host
with the most. The garage already housed two kegorators and his home brew
set-up. Back yard was a man-scaped realm of a huge brick grill and shish-kebab
pit built for socializing. The deck stepped down to a flagstone patio with huge
glass topped picnic table under a portable gazebo a few feet away from the
grill at the far end. Beyond the patio was the lawn and swimming pool with a
natural-looking rock waterfall nestled into a corner. My small veggie garden
was set against the back fence. Green foliage, iris, fruitless mulberry trees
and tall conifers lent an out-in-the-woods-feel. Around the fence perimeter
were my Damascus Roses. Old-world apothecary roses of pink and red, untouched
by green-thumbed geneticists. They were prickly, heavily scented, and finicky
to grow. But perfumed summer nights made them well worth the effort.
“Roast a pig?” The closest thing to
roasted pig were the brats and wieners I planned on, in addition to chicken and
burgers to be grilled.
“Specifically wild pig.” A big grin grew
on his face as he skimmed leaves out of the amoeba-shaped swimming pool. I was
at the filter, checking it and the amount of salt for the saline system.
Mid-afternoon sunshine beat down upon us. One-hundred three degrees in the
shade kind of day, where even a swim suit and shorts combo seemed too much.
Must tend the pool first so I could cool off with a rewarding dip.
While on my hands and knees, I looked up
at him and my eyebrows raised. “Where would you get a wild pig? How would you
roast it? I don't want a pit dug in the backyard... unless you mean to use the
shish-pit.”
“Wiley got a Caja China roaster he's
itching to break out for a special occasion... and has developed a pig problem
out at the ranch. It meshes perfectly into the plan for a bitchin' barbeque.
Ever had lechon asado? It's the diggity. The shizzle mutha-dizzle bomb diggity,
babe. Alton Brown and Tony Bourdain would get into a fight for the crispy skin,
guaranteed. I'm talking pay-per-view good. Bomb. Diggity. Think of it as Iron
Chef Kaylis.” His hands made a great gesture of parting palm-out before his
upturned face, as if he imagined neon lights emblazoned with his vision.
Caleb “Wiley” Boldton was to Dmitri as
Jet is to me. He and Dmitri met in the Marine Corps and served two tours in
Iraq and Afghanistan together. Nine months ago, Wiley moved up to our neck of
the woods when he relocated for his Game Warden gig. He bought a ranch out of
Stonyford where wildlife ran rampant. Elk, deer, wild pigs, bears, foxes,
coyotes and other fauna existed under his benevolent thumb. The man truly loved
the outdoors and all the creatures it contained. In general, Dmitri wasn't game
when it came to hunting... but if Wiley was involved, any idea automatically
became an awesome one.
“So let me get this right... you guys
are gonna go hunting out at his ranch and do what now with it?”
“He's got a pig roasting box... so we
add the required swine, a couple bags of briquettes and a few magic hours then
crackling good roasted piggy, beer, friends and fireworks. How is that not a
great equation?” His enthusiasm was contagious.
Dmitri had a point. A roasted pig with a
red apple in its mouth would make an awesome presentation. I warmed to the
idea. Medieval style gluttony topped with a pyrotechnic display... a long table
with chairs around so everyone could dig into the beast. Greasy hands, happy
smiles and an everflowing font of beer... it could work. “You know, if Wiley's
going to be here, you can't light off the bottle rockets you got stashed.”
“I know... we'll save those for the
Halloween party. I bet he'll be working that night.”
“Does he have any idea how much shit you
do that
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