Wednesday, March 23, 2011

that night i ate wine for dinner

It was bound to happen.  Despite all my semi-careful planning, there was going to be an unforeseen after work event that would keep me from eating at a reasonable hour.  I didn't think it'd happen the day I put a pork roast in the crock pot at 7 a.m., expecting to check on it at 4 p.m. (yes, I realize how old and boring that statement makes me sound...stop judging)

I finally extricated myself from a work happy hour at 9 p.m. I'm not sure if you've seen a piece of pork overcooked by five hours, but ugly is a polite adjective.  Not only was my dinner in charred shambles, my apartment smelled like scorched soy sauce, and there were some seriously unpleasant dishes to wash.  

But I was famished, having only had a few glasses of wine to "eat" since about 2.  (Note: I did not start drinking at 2, I just hadn't eaten anything since then). I did a commendable job of turning down the bar food everyone offered me, even though I found my hand wandering towards the fries more than once.  

So I tried the pork.  I grabbed a couple forks and attempted to salvage a little bit that wasn't hopelessly attached to the bottom of the crock pot.   And I ate it.  It was about as bad as you'd expect, so I washed it down with half a sleeve of cookies, and called it a night.  {the picture of the burn-y aftermath is downright sad, so I'm not going to force you to look at it}

I did all the dishes today, and I've mostly eradicated the scent of crispy soy sauce from the apartment.  And I've decided I need to start scarfing down a sleeve of crackers before I get talked into a marathon work happy hour, because while I like wine, I prefer to chew my meals, not drink them. 

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