Trimming the Fat

Like everyone else in the country, we are cutting back. For once we are not unemployed. Yet. The school district budgets look worse each time the state projections come in and most of us are bracing ourselves for layoffs.

My bright idea to save money this week was to buy a picnic pork roast that I could put in the crock pot and turn into bbq buns. Picnic roasts are cheap, but easy to transform with slow cooking. For an added bonus point, I bought one with a bone in the center for you-know-who. A little free insurance for a quiet evening tonight.

There is a reason those roasts are cheap.

When I went to throw it in the crock pot, I saw the bone was surrounded by meat which was surrounded by fat.

A very, very thick layer of fat.

So I took out a knife and started to saw.

My knives aren't very sharp because I rarely cut much other than the soft chicken and vegetables that come to me from the store. My hands started to ache because the meat was so cold.

I ran my hands under warm water in my nice indoor sink and went back to work.

As I kept hacking away, my hands started to cramp again, this time because I was tired. I kept stopping for breaks so they could relax.

My hands have never been very strong. Other than a short stint on a farm, most of my work has been indoors at a computer or a typewriter. I started thinking about native american women doing this for generations. Crouching for hours with knives cruder but sharper than mine.

--Crouching for hours in the snow, with knives cruder but sharper than mine, cutting up an entire animal carcass.

As I slowly peeled off the layer of fat, I started thinking about stories my mother has told me about the Great Depression. Immigrant women yelling at the neighborhood butcher.

"This is nothing but fat!"
"It's the best I have right now!"

Meanwhile, the dog, lured from his slumber by the smell of the meat, kept nudging my hands. I remembered how many people I've seen in Mexican villages cooking most of the fat for dinner.
--And how I'd seen them still hold back a scrap or two to sneak to a dog waiting patiently nearby.

And I thought about Asian countries that look at dogs for other reasons at dinnertime.

And I kept cutting.

Finally, I was done. I threw the hunk of fat deep in the trash can because all the websites tell us fat is not really good for dogs after all.

And I threw it away because I could.
I have garbage service that comes to my home every week.

Then I washed my hands several times--this time with plenty of the hot water that comes straight to my tap. And I sat down to write this to you on my electronic computer that in a few moments will send these words flying to my friends all over the country.

I'd write, but I am trying to save on stamps.

Like I said, we're cutting back.