It’s not tragic, sad or over the top.
I have a cooking disorder. It’s called “I can’t remember $h** when I’m cooking.” My mother had it too in her later life. I didn’t understand it until I got to that “later life part.”
Pulled pork was on the menu. Easy peasy. Rub, brown, crock pot for a long time. How can you screw that up? I had to work at it but it can be screwed up.
The group was 25 to 30 people so I wanted a big pork shoulder. Since we also had barbecue chicken, I though 7-1/2 pounds would work. I could have gone smaller but it worked.
I have a large oval crock pot. Big! I thought so until I tried to fit the dang shoulder in there. I had already rubbed it with spices and browned it. It was a large slippery beach ball. Hot too. (No I didn’t fit it first. I eyeballed it. Obviously there is something wrong with my eyeballs!)
I could cut it in half. I got out my kitchen chain saw and was doing well until I hit a bone. I thought this was boneless. (Do you see a theme here? My thought process must be suffering from “later life syndrome” too.)
If I jigged a little here and jagged a bit there maybe. Nope. Out it went back on the cutting board. In the end I cut it into four pieces and it fit. Tightly, but it fit.
It was in the crock pot overnight. I woke up to a roasting pork smell in the house (way better than cat farts). I’d rather shred it in the morning than late at night. Using sharp instruments after happy hour is discouraged in this house!
All was well and it was tasty. I did forget one ingredient in my rub but no one knows but you and me and you won’t tell, right?
That was the worst thing that happened at the reunion. We are blessed (except for that highly contagious “later life syndrome.” I suspect it runs in the family.)