The 18th was my birthday. I don’t usually celebrate such. In many years past, I put a pig in the ground and invited many friends to enjoy. Did that last year and it was a heck of a party. This year, it was just Patty, my son John, and I, and we celebrated quietly.
We only had one rooster, he was not quite six months old, and about as noisy a bird as I can recall. He went out quietly, and we stuffed him with Patty’s fine oyster dressing. Along with mashed potatoes and gravy, and fresh corn on the cob, it was a hell of a dinner.
I slow smoked Mr. Cogburn over apple wood chips in the Weber, put the corn in the last ten minutes or so, and all I can say is, Whooooeeeee. No room for desert.
As always, read good books and stay regular.
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