Our pork roasts are stored in the barn freezer which means I keep forgetting to use them. But a couple weeks ago when we had friends coming for supper, I started remembering.

I thawed the meat the night before but didn’t bother to look for a recipe until that morning, and then I regretted my last-minute tendencies because the recipes were all over the place: browning meat ahead of time, insta-potting it, marinating, etc, etc. 

I finally found a recipe that seemed pretty straightforward — rub a spice blend all over the meat and then roast it low and slow — but then I didn’t get it in the oven soon enough so it was still baking when our friends arrived. We ended up visiting for nearly an hour, with me periodically jumping up to go jab a thermometer into the butt hunk. I was worried it’d be tough — I’m not good with meat, and our friends come from families which dominate when it comes to pork roasts (what was I thinking?) — but everyone was like, It’s gonna be fine. LET’S EAT.  

So eventually, even though the temps weren’t a uniform 180 degrees, I decided to just go for it. I sliced the roast thinly and set it on the table along with the corn, mashed potatoes, and collards, and hoped for the best.

And the best is exactly what happened! We devoured it, literally. The five of us ate (all but two slices of) that whole entire roast. 

“I guess this means I gotta change the week’s menu,” I said. “I was going to make pork tacos with the leftovers, but not anymore!”

“Just take off the ‘s,’” my husband said. “There’s enough meat for a pork taco.”

This week I roasted another pork butt (the one photographed here). This one I ripped into shreds and served it with fresh corn tortillas, a purple cabbage and carrot slaw, and an herby mayo dressing.

Once again, there weren’t many leftovers. 

Best Damn Pork Butt Roast
Adapted from Recipe Teacher.

Since leftovers are amazing and there are never enough, consider doing two roasts at once. The oven’s already running for the whole afternoon, so you might as well.

1 3-4 pound boneless pork butt
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon each granulated onion, granulated garlic, smoked paprika, black pepper, and ground mustard
¼ teaspoon chipotle powder (or cayenne)

If the roast is encased in mesh, remove it. Cut off extra fat, leaving a quarter-inch cap. 

Mix the dry ingredients together and then sprinkle them over the roast on all sides. If you have time, let the roast rest in the fridge for up to 24 hours. 

Place the roast in a roasting pan on a rack, fat cap facing up. There is no need to cover the meat while it bakes. Bake at 350 degrees for 3-5 hours, or until the internal temperature reaches 180 degrees. It’ll look like something left behind in a house fire, but no worries: the fat keeps the meat tender and juicy. (If a longer bake time is desired, feel free to drop the oven temp to 300 degrees. )

Let the meat rest for 10-20 minutes before thinly slicing (or shredding) and serving.

This same time, years previous: my new office, the quotidian (1.9.23), classic Christmas fruitcake, my new kitchen: pendant lighting, the quotidian (1.9.17), sourdough crackers, one year and one day, between two worlds, the qotidian (1.9.12), hog butchering.

A few weeks ago, one of my coworkers mentioned that she’d gone to some warm springs for a soak. We have hot springs around here? I asked. Oh yes, she said, and they’re amazing. I decided not to tell my husband about our conversation because maybe I’d want to take him there someday for a surprise. 

That day came sooner than I expected. Saturday morning, what with a wide open weekend and the Sunday evening snowstorm bearing down on us full force, I decided to leap. After I made the reservations, I looked at a map and realized the springs were further than I thought. Oops and oh well! Looked like we’d be having an adventure. 

I told my husband that we were going out that evening and he had to be ready to go by 2:45. As the departure time approached, his questions increased.

“How far away are we going?” he asked. 
“Two hours.” 
“There and back, or one way?”
“One way. And take your swimming trunks.”

I made him drive so I could “nagivate” (our older daughter’s word), but the trip really wasn’t complicated: just one road the whole way there. Who knew Route 42 went so far?! It felt like we were driving into the hinterlands, which made me increasingly nervous. Had I read the directions correctly? Were we going to the right place?  

(My navigating-to-new-places anxiety is rather PTSD-esque, most likely due to Our Devastating Family Vacation of 2013 in which we made a mistake enroute and ended up on a sewage-infested beach as opposed to the two idyllic bungalows over the water that I’d reserved. I’m still recovering from that one.)

We made it though, and in the orientation, the employee (who reminded us both of an older version of Cunk on Earth) briefed us on the basics:

• The water was 98°F, flowed at 1200 gallons per minute, and was packed with minerals, including lithium (to calm the nerves) and magnesium (to relax the muscles). 
• Thanks to the minerals, we’d probably feel a reduction in small aches and pains, and we’d most likely sleep better than normal that night. 
• To allow for optimal mineral absorption, we should avoid showering for four hours after bathing.
• No talking, only whispering. No photos when people were in the pool, and don’t drink the water unless you wanted to get diarrhea (from the magnesium). 

There were two bathhouses. The pool in the Gentlemen’s Bathhouse was six feet deep and was the same one that Thomas Jefferson bathed in. The Ladies’ Bathhouse was newer, bigger, and the water was not quite as deep. While the warm springs have been in use for 9000 years, the first bathhouse was built in 1761, making it the first established spa structure in the United States.

Because our 5 pm session was at max capacity, Madam Cunk divided us into two groups. My husband and I were assigned to the Gentlemen’s pool.

The building was unheated, the ceiling open to the sky. It was about 30°F outside and dropping. My husband and I went into one of the little dressing rooms and changed as fast as humanly possible. Stepping from the frozen wooden floorboards into the water, my feet tingled so sharply that I had to pause to allow them to warm up before I could go all the way into the pool.

For the next fifty minutes, I dangled from my pool noodle, my eyes closed, half dozing. The water wasn’t that hot, and the cold air blowing across my head was shivery cold, but mostly, I was comfortable. The steam, the lapping water, the whispering voices — it was all so soothing.

And then our time was up and we did everything in reverse, except this time the floor was slick with ice wherever we’d dripped water. 

On the way home, we stopped by Pizza Luca for supper. I’d neglected to pack water or food for our outing, so we were famished. We ordered hot honey sesame wings and a meat lovers pizza, and I got white wine, and we devoured every last bite. 

Back home, my husband was still reeling, not from the warm springs or the supper out, but from the fact that I’d planned a date that was two hours away. I felt fantastic, luxuriously relaxed and satisfied. My skin was so ridiculously silky smooth that I ended up waiting a full 24 hours to shower. 

So there you go! If you’re looking for a fun little adventure, hit up those springs! During the week it’s $30/person for a 50-minute soak, and on the weekends it’s $35.

This same time, years previous: Alpine cheese, how we kicked off 2016, what it means, so worth it.

Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
everyday; ordinary; commonplace

Fried egg and chipotle on top of my beloved collards.

Note to self: raisin bars are easier, and have a better dough to filling ratio, than individual cookies.

Roasted beef bones transforming to broth.

Simple and nutritious.

Lucky: when my younger daughter works fancy dinners, we sometimes get leftovers.

Raisin bread butt’s got a hedgehog face.

Gleanings from bakery experiments.

Some Christmas ornaments deserve to be year-round kitchen decor.

Cold baked potato, bottle of ketchup, teen boy.

So smooth and creamy: it keeps getting better.

Elbow patch artwork by his sis-in-law.

Inseparable.

Chore boy.

This same time, years previous: do it right, a new dress, how we homeschool: the Suburban Correspondent from Northern Virginia, today…, marching, high on the hog, breaking the fruitcake barrier, the quotidian (1.6.14), headless chickens, buckwheat apple pancakes.