Dear Pork

Hi Pork. It’s me, Ann. I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and I’d like to start over.

I’ve been thinking about our relationship, and can see how I’ve hurt you.

When I said I was a bit reluctant to become the pork cook, I should have also mentioned that I was super excited to learn a new skill. In fact, I try to live my life by the motto “always be learning” -- especially in BBQ. I should have told you that.

I know there have been times when I have been less-than-enthusiastic in digging through steamy butts to find the best muscles to put in the box. I should have also let you know that that moment is actually a pure adrenaline rush. That moment when I’m pulling back your sooty foil and see your yummy, porky goodness. Delish.

It was probably pretty offensive to see me so unkempt and groggy at 4:30 in the morning when lighting your pit. You didn’t know it, but in reality, I just couldn’t wait to get the fire burning so we could embark on our approximately 4 hour, 30 minute journey together.

And Pork, perhaps worst of all… I can see how upset you probably were when we switched your pit from Fatboy to Clownfish, who joined our family back in April and was totally untested on the competition trail. I should have at least given you a heads up about the change so you could have warmed up to the idea. I totally suck for springing that surprise on you like that.  

I am so sorry for all of this. The pain and suffering. The doubt, the frustration, the feelings of being unloved and unwanted. It doesn’t have to be this way…

I love you, Pork. I really do.  

I’m your biggest fan, your most tenacious pitmaster and I am so Freakishly determined to transform your delicious offerings into Freakage the judges can’t turn their backs on.

I hope you can forgive me. Ideally before the Effingham Jam this weekend.

Freak ON!