The group meal shopping is just about finished, so I've got a few questions and need a bit of assistance. I'm assuming that with eight folks signed up, and perhaps another last-minute addition or two tonight, that I'm cooking for 10 guys. Steve and I are picking up the pork and tomatoes tomorrow on the way out. The total per-belly charge will be £4. I'm attached to the notion that this is cool with everyone.
Stu: you seem to have a reasonably well-equipped kitchen packed in your truck as a matter of course. If I recall, the only decal missing from your Disco is a couple of Michelin stars, so please forgive me for asking these few obvious questions. Will you have a cutting board? You're bringing both an eight and a six litre iron dutch oven to hang over the fire all day, right? That's what we'll probably need. I'm also assuming that you have a big spoon or ladle. We'll also need a curvy Mexican waitress who repeats "Meeeester Mark… you're so naughty" when she fetches margaritas. Do you have one of those lying around?
The official menu is a thick, reasonably spicy Green Pork Chilli. I can certainly make a milder one in one of the pots, but I'll need to know before 11am on Saturday, because this one is cooked slowly. I'll be making white rice and black beans to go with it, and have picked up enough big flour tortillas for us each to have two burritos. I never know whether I'll make a burrito or have it in a bowl or on a plate until the very last minute. Green Chilli is odd that way; you never know how you want it served until you move toward the cauldron with purpose and a crazed glint in your eye. That means we'll need to keep a close eye on Russell. I saw him last month with the pork chops and made sure to keep a sharp object nearby in case it got weird. We don't need anyone rolling around in the dirt craving meat. So we'll have that to deal with.
If anyone would like to help feed the chef, then a few stout beers and some tortilla chips would go a long way. Green chilli chefs need both these things when dealing with the Santeria rituals required to get the spices just right. Applying the proper Hoodoo means that I need to keep my sh*t screwed on tight. My friend Jimmy lost his mojo hand in the middle of a fish fry once on a moonless night in Cheesman Canyon and the resulting carnage confounded even the sheriff, who did two tours in Nam and was no stranger to the bizarre. He quit his job and wandered off into the woods a few nights later. That was 15 years ago and I ended up dating his daughter, who never really recovered from the trauma and slept with a hammer under her mattress. Let's try not to go there, so someone bring a few extra beers, ok?