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| Slow cooker pork roast with apricot jam. |
My first pork roast recipe- ever. And it's a home run. I apologize for the sports metaphor but I've been sitting at my desk for an hour. And not a single sentence has been birthed. Even after one hot mother of a mug of coffee (and a decaf peppermint green tea that really doesn't count because, well, it's
tea), I'm still in a post Sunday fog today, basking in the afterglow of a Sunday afternoon spent with friends. We ate and drank our way through six hours of non-stop conversation. I get all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it. And I'm more than a little tempted to wax poetic about friendship and how we choose our true family and what a head banging blue-in-the-face
relief it is to sit at a table with soulful people who wrestle with big questions and hunger for authenticity and integrity while also making you laugh out loud without covering your teeth and feel proud of your
mayo-free potato salad.
But I won't. I'll tell you about my first pork roast instead.
I'll say it up front. It took decades to get me here- to ease into a place in my life where I might actually, finally, consider buying a hunk of pork and roasting it. I started off slowly, slyly, trying turkey bacon ten years ago. Then I graduated to the real deal roughly six years ago. Organic Sunday smoked bacon. Nitrate-free, of course. And when my body did not protest and the world as I knew it did not go up in a hellish ball of blistering flames, I decided to move on to the hard stuff. I was ready.
It was finally time to roast a pork loin. And Dear Reader- was I intimidated. You know it. In fact yours truly was almost quaking in her Rocket Dogs. Well, maybe not quaking. More like, shivery-nervous. So I decided two things.
First- that I would use my trusty slow cooker. Simple. Familiar. Not too much to screw up. Second- that I would make a sauce with pomegranate juice and a jar of apricot jam. It just seemed like a good fit.
And guess what? Tender, juicy, tangy-sweet deliciousness ensued.
READ MORE and get the recipe ...
kind of baker than a precise "mis en place" to Sarah Brightman
kind of gal. But if cookie cutters are your middle name? Knock yourself out.)
and hoodies
to keep warm. I stood shivering at the Santa Fe Farmer's Market (wind always makes me cranky). It felt more like March than May. This weekend? It was quintessential summer weather. Hot bright sun. Dry air. An almost too-warm casita. We turned on the ceiling fans.
and peel off your long sleeved black jersey
, opting instead for the lime green tank top
. You feel your bones begin to knit as you soak up the longer daylight and linger by the roadside during post-dinner walks in the rose hued sun. You smile at the young jackrabbits and their impossibly erect ears. And your thoughts turn to dining al fresco, sitting beneath the dappled shade of the portal with a chilled glass of white and a zesty potato salad.
