Many moons ago someone a lot smarter than me said something along the lines of, "There can be too much of a good thing".
Taking that statement literally and pondering a bit, I came to a few quick caveats.
While I'd like to write that I immediately rattled off countless other exceptions to that "rule", the reality is that once I had pork on the brain, salivation and obsession quickly followed. Can a guy actually have too much bacon?
Or so I theorized. Which quickly morphed into a need to test the theory. And it didn't take long to find the means to do so.
I didn't come up with any other exceptions on the way to the market, but I *did* get there PDQ.
(To my dear, dear non-meat eating friends that find themselves sickly fascinated but afraid to read further: Click HERE).
You've been given ample warning.
Back at the ranch, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
Take 12 strips and weave 'em.
How much? 'Bout that much.
Unwad 2 (yep, two) pounds of sausage and cover your weave.
Meanwhile, sizzle up another pound in the background.
Once that pound is done to taste, chop it up and cover the sausage, then roll the whole slithery beautious mess up.
Delicately place this priceless gem onto the grill. Ovens can be used in a pinch, and a smoker is purported to be the best way. Run what ya brung.
Common practice with this critter is a BBQ theme. I'm not much of a BBQ fan. Never have been. Friends afflicted with a BBQ problem have suggested that I just haven't had good BBQ yet. Following that rationale, I haven't had good saddle sores yet either, but I've had enough of both to have formed an opinion.
Anyhoo, I punted the BBQ theme and used maple syrup to baste the outside of the weave.
That 4" thick slab o' lean, juicy flesh takes awhile to cook through. Get some other stuff done while you wait.
Check in on occasion, noting the sumptuous sizzling.
After three hours at 225*, I couldn't wait anymore.
Ahem. I mean after three hours IT WAS DONE!
When I started the project Herself showed little interest, tossing her hair and sauntering away muttering something like "Men... sheesh...". Curiously, she reappeared at the Ultimate Moment.
Herself, not being afflicted with the chronic quite the way I am, savored a few quick forkfuls, emitted some perfunctory yummy noises, then walked away. Just like that--she walked away. Impressive.
I stuck with it. The superdeliciousness of it is, of course, completely indescribable. After about 3/4 of a pound I felt *zero* need nor desire to stop eating. If anything I wanted to eat more, faster. In fact, I'm 100% sure that I could, without hesitation, guilt, or even a second thought, easily polish off the whole thing.
Completely confirming my original theory.