The Pork Boys Do Christmas-New Year's-Kings Day-Whatever

An approximation of the ham we had last night

Last night the Pork Boys got together at my place for their long-planned holiday feed, and boy howdy, was it good.  Unfortunately, due to ongoing technical difficulties at both ends of the line, I'm still not able to post any pictures for you guys to see, so I had to rely on a stock photo above to give you an idea of the main course.

But just for the record, the menu went like this:

Appetizers:

* Chips and onion dip
* Cheddar and Jack cheese cubes on Ritz crackers
* Smoked oysters, ditto
* Duck liver paté with bacon and mushrooms (made by M.P. with livers he saved from the roast duck he made for his family Xmas feast)

Main course:

* Baked picnic ham with orange glaze
* Mystery Dream Casserole (a collaborative effort:  see below)
* Baked sweet potatoes
* Blackeyed peas with bacon
* Hot rolls and butter
* White Zin

Dessert:

* Homestyle vanilla ice cream on warm slices of chocolate cake, with chocolate and caramel syrups
* Champagne
* Coffee

After all of which, we were moaning and groaning with stuffed bellies and damn near unable to get up from our chairs.  But oh my, it was good.

Now about that mystery casserole, which came about in a very peculiar way.  A week or so ago, in the middle of a sound sleep one night, I dreamed I was watching someone cook an unfamiliar dish, with just a few ingredients:  a sort of yellow cornmeal-looking mush that I interpreted as grits; some chopped leafy vegetable like spinach or turnip greens; two or three eggs; and a fourth element that seemed like cheese.

Somehow I knew - in my dream, but also in a sort of half-conscious way - that I had to tell M.P. about this, so I forced myself to repeat the ingredients, "Grits, greens, eggs, cheese," the rest of the night every time I had a half-waking moment.  Well, subsequently I called M.P. and told him about it, just for laughs, as it resembled no recipe I'd ever heard of.  However, he being a very skilled and knowledgeable cook, immediately recognized that the "grits" I was describing sounded a lot like something called polenta.  (Your Head Trucker admits he ain't too familiar with all them furrin-soundin' dishes, being just a plain home cook as you can tell by the menu). 

The end of the story is, he decided to try making it, with some collard greens instead of spinach, to bring to our dinner last night, and what do you know:  it's totally yummy!  The polenta is smooth and creamy, lighter than grits would be, and makes a great side dish.  Now he can't wait to make it again to serve at his next family get-together.

An approximation of our Mystery Dream Casserole

Which is absolutely the strangest damn thing.  I have never dreamed up a recipe in my life before.  First time for everything, I guess.

But where in the world did it come from?  I don't cook much myself, and I never try inventing new recipes.  Strange.

Just Dreamin'

I read something long ago that has turned out to be very true: there comes a point in middle age when you realize that a great many things you once may have dreamed about will never, ever come to pass. No doubt this happens to all of us but the very highest achievers.

For example, once upon a time, you might have dared to hope that you would someday have a house big enough to have its own well-appointed bar, and wouldn't this look awfully nice in there, with you lounging around in a velvet jacket and slippers and pipe, saying:  Another piña colada, James.

And there may have been a time when you actually believed that you would would one day have the heart to take up piano lessons again, and if you did, wouldn't this be grand to make music on?

And again, you may have somehow longed for some lovely, solid home with an actual fireplace and then wouldn't this room be something nice to come home to and snuggle up in with a cozy book, or dog, or lover?

Although who could possibly keep those white chairs white for long?  Not you, certainly.  So perhaps it is really for the best that these things did not come to pass.  It may be that you would only have made a mess of it, after all.  Had you torn through the iron gates of life, you would perhaps have had only a broken gate to show for it.  Had you dared to eat a peach, you would have dribbled the juice down your shirt front.

And would it have been worth it, after all?

A spilled drink, a broken key, a soiled fabric, a cold draft, a spent flame - reality has that annoying way of intruding on even the cheeriest of dreams.

Well, no matter. Perhaps the kindest thing we can do for ourselves in this mortal life is to dream beautifully. Some say life itself is but a dream.

What do you say?

WTF: Dreams

It's only right that you should play the way you feel it . . .

The mind is a strange and curious thing.  Funny, isn't it, how it often scoops up the stray experiences and thoughts of a day and weaves them into an elaborate narrative in the night.  Sometimes bizarre, sometimes scary, sometimes funny, sometimes - well, sometimes they make you pop right up in bed, don't they? 

You truckbuddies recall that post I made the other day about my very infrequent, um, thoughts about women.  And then I had the strangest dream.  You wouldn't believe me if I told you; but I think it only right that I draw the veil of modesty over a scene that would never, ever have occurred to me in my waking moments.

Man, I can hardly explain late last evening.  Oh brother, a magical adventure.

Let the reader understand.

Don't even ask me to explain that one.  Sometimes I amaze myself, you know?   Grin.