Vraiment je ne comprends pas. Moi et la viande d’origine porcine ne semblons vraiment pas s’entendre. J’ai tenté, mais il semble qu’une partie de ma défaite vient d’une source jusqu’alors ignorée: mes beaux-parents. Attention, en aucun cas je ne me permettrais de dire que ces gens là sont des stratèges culinaires maléfiques, ils sont adorables, j’entretiens même l’espoir secret que la grandmère voudra un jour être ma meilleure amie car il n’existe personne de plus fantastique sur cette terre. M
But the pork failings come from there partially. Everytime I am invited over they cook something porky. Except the one time where grandma decided to cook ginormous potatoes in the oven and pass this off as a meal. That was the most amazing act of culinary treachery I have ever witnessed. Mais quoi qu’il en soit, le porc me bat car chaque fois que je suis invitée chez la belle famille, je me trouve face à mon ennemi. La potée vendéenne, dont l’arôme du chou surmonte tout mais fourni un arrière goût prononcé de porc, la raclette avec une bonne grosse dose de saussiflard, ou même, hier, le porc au pruneaux. Oui. pruneaux. Mettre des pruneaux avec du porc, c’est un peu comme mettre un tube rose fluo de spandex super serré sur une grosse, ça marche pas et personne ne devrait tenter ça!
Porc, tu as gagné la bataille, mais pas la guerre!
Really, I don’t get it. Me and meat of the swine persuasion just don’t seem to get along. I tried. But it seems that my failure emanates also from a hidden source: my in-laws. Don’t get me wrong, these people are the sweetest in-laws anyone could ever dream of, actually, I secretly dream that the grandmother will one day finally want to be my best friend because she seriously rocks. But the pork failings come from there partially. Everytime I am invited over they cook something porky. Except the one time where grandma decided to cook ginormous potatoes in the oven and pass this off as a meal. That was the most amazing act of culinary treachery I have ever witnessed.
Back to the pork: my mother in law made a popular peasant dish from the North West of France (la Vendée for the brioche afficionado reading this). It’s called a Potée: which means everything in a pot. In that case everything being big chunks of ham with a ton of cabbage, potatoes and carrots. Not the best thing to ease me into pork. That dish had so much pork and such a pungent cabbage smell that I wanted to hide under the table. Then there was the cheese and sausage extravaganza that left me utterly destroyed. Today, I had to face something even more daunting: pork with prunes. Yeah. I said it. prunes.
Prunes don’t look good, dry or wet. You can’t dress up pig with that, I’m sorry. That’s like bringing a chubby girl in a hot pink tube top slinky spandex number. That’s something no one would ever dare (except in France where it’s highly appreciated…).
Pork, you have won the battle, but not the war!
