Under the Wire

Sue is always trying to add variety to our meals. Since we both have worked out of our home offices the entire thirty-five years of our marriage, this is a very good thing. “Eating out” is a luxury reserved for only the most special and the most desperate of times. To her extreme credit, she can make a meal out of anything and sometimes, nothing. I mention this because of something she brought home from our grocery visit recently. Unpacking the bags she proudly removed a plastic tray full of chopped, stringy, brown meat. “Pulled Pork” my partner in life, love and lunch proclaimed.

We have had pulled pork many times before but for some reason it’s somewhat odd appearance, coupled with its name, caught my attention. I did not want to jeopardize family harmony, personal injury caused by a container of pulled pork hitting the side of my head, or lunch itself, so I kept my thoughts to myself. They did, however, stick in my mind. “Why is it called pulled pork?” was my main question? It doesn’t look pulled. Mangled, maybe, but how could you pull on a pig and get it to explode into so many little pieces?

Unable to get the pulling mechanism out of my head, I began to wonder “why pork?” my mind asked, “Why have I never heard of pulled Beef? Does such an item even exist?” I answered myself almost immediately, “Of course there is such a thing as pulled beef. Any team roper can attest to pulling a corriente steer all over the arena waiting for their partner to heel the darn thing. Roping steers are pulled beef. The problem is, the process doesn’t turn their ribeyes into little short pieces of meat that closely resemble shoelaces cut into one inch lengths. It is impossible to pull a corriente long enough to make it tender. I had several heeling partners who could have tenderized an elephant it took them so long to pick up those two hind feet. In all fairness, I heeled for several years of my team roping career. There was lots of pulling going on waiting for me to throw my rope, pull my slack and “Dally For Pete’s Sake," as my headers were probably thinking.

I suppose marketing plays a role in what gets sold as pulled and what doesn’t. “Pulled Corriente” may not catch the average American housewife’s fancy. Likewise for “Drug Around Muley” and “Long Rope Longhorn.”

The end of this story is I chewed, chewed and chewed some more for several weeks trying to get our “pulled pig” off the refrigerator shelf. After two gallons of barbecue sauce the container was finally empty.

Sue edits these stories before they are sent to the newspapers. I’m not sure if she will decide to never bring pulled pork home again or suggest I go back to team roping to create our own “pulled sandwich stuff.”