Spanferkel Success!

The annual Spanferkel over at the Johnny K/Laura S residence was another success, despite all early indications to the contrary.

The day began ominously enough. The sky was blackened by thick, dark clouds that looked for a while as though they might hold back their fury and let things slide for once, but as I drove to Chicago to pick up Kortney at the airport the malevolent bastards spat upon me with a scattered spritz that quickly built into a full-fledged downpour. The entire ride to the airport was spent in an underwater wonderland, the windshield wipers keeping time to the music on my iPod while I dodged in and out of traffic that was moving somewhat less aptly than I.

But I was motivated; not only was I on my way to get Kortney (once again – I swear, at the base of our relationship is an air traffic control tower), I was also a bit askeered of being too far removed from a dump station (Flushing: it’s not just a town in New York) at any given point in the journey, what with a recent bout of intestinal difficulties that, as of that morning, had shown no signs of remitting.

But all was well. I met Kortney in the usual place and we drove through the tail end of the storm as it passed over us on its southeastern journey toward… well, wherever the hell it was going. And once we emerged from the storm, the weather remained gorgeous for the remainder of the day.

When Kortney and I arrived at the spanferkel things were already in full swing. There were scores (if not hundreds) of people gathered between five backyards. The tables were piled high with food, the beer flowed freely, and everyone ate and drank and was merry. The pig, as usual, was delicious – moist and tender and flavorful; maybe even moreso than usual, because Johnny K and Marie injected it the night before with a couple of different marinades. I brought along some cachaÏ‚a, limes and sugar to whip up caipirinhas as a way to remember my days in Brazil (and because caipirinhas are delicious!) but the aforementioned intestinal difficulties – or askeeredness thereof – prevented me from having much more than a sip. They must have been good, though, since 3/4 of the bottle disappeared by the end of the night.

And the good times ended, as all good times should, sitting around a fire, talking and enjoying everyone’s company as one by one, the fires around us died down and the neighbors went quiet.

But next year, I am going to eat and drink everything, intestinal percolations be damned! After all, that’s what Depends are for.

Right?

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