Waiting on Supper-- Baguette Blues

Our recent Friends weekend was a smashing success, and we pulled out all the stops--it was Devil May Care! Actually there were no stops to pull, as we did what we do best. A most restful and chill out time to decompress. If it were wine or fine spirits we could sum it up with "Hints of roasted nuts, Aqua Velva and testosterone."

And speaking of fine spirits, we took with us on our sabbatical a donation from my brother, Bubba. It was his own blend of home brew. Previously, his lab experiments have resulted in exploding corks and bottles, so while being charitable and cautious the spirits were enclosed in a insulated box lest it explode in my car enroute. Uncle Bubbas' small batch nearly bonded Panther Piss, Lube and Rust Remover proved to be a good fit for King Ranch, and he it. But that's another tale for a different day.

Part of the experience of a Boys weekend is the culinary aspect. Randy is the cores designated Chef. On every previous excursion we've had, he has cooked at least one meal. He has expertise in the use of spices, food pairings, grills, smokers and cooker maintenance and shopping of specific brand names.

In the area of food preparation, King Ranch has no peers. Food prep is his thing, and he spends hours and hours on food prep.

Hours.

More times than not, it results in late night meals. Our weekend was no exception, but we ate like Kings. Thus, we have renamed Randy 'King Ranch'.

On Thursday our menu called for steak. Food Prep started at 1800 hours and ended at 2230 hours. Since King Ranch prefers to work alone, Steve and I were left wondering what happens during the food prep stage. Peering out the window in the direction of the grill, we saw Randy, headlamp attached to his head like a coalminer, toiling away. Randy ALWAYS, and I mean ALWAYS, has a basic load of tools and assorted items ranging from culinary art to overhauling a Cummins Diesel engine. The man, as we refer to him, is a living Swiss Army Knife. There is no one you'd rather have on your side during Armageddon than King Ranch. The Uncle Bubbas' may or may not have been nearby, but was not near open flame thank goodness.

We got increasingly hungry (to the point of gnawing our own arms off) and whilst King Ranch worked the grill. I chewed the ice from my scotch while Steve paced the floor like a caged animal.

"WHAT IS HE DOING?!?!" exclaimed Steve, to no one in particular.

"It is one of lifes biggest mysteries", I replied. "It is inexplicable, and we just have to suffer it to be so".

Finally, when we were unable to withstand our hunger any longer, Steve and I took advantage of the ongoing food prep and snuck a couple of Baby Ruth’s, some mixed nuts and half a baguette. We consumed them with the gusto of a pet food commercial hound dog.

For the record, Steve noted that the baguette was the greatest piece of bread he ever ate. I agreed, and said another couple of minutes and I would have eaten the foil wrapper. After our pre-meal snack, he said "It was touch and go for a while, but I think we are going to make it!

Indeed. 

I normally eat 'nursing home hours' and we were some 6 hours post cheese and crackers--I mean, Charcuterie board.

We ate at 2300 hours. Had we waited an hour we could have called it breakfast. It was epic in every way, except for perhaps the lingering effects on my colon.

King Ranch, who has always been one with the night, improved the process , however, and on Friday and Saturday, our menu (grilled and boiled Low Country, respectively) were served at the more appropriate time of 9:30 pm (ahem). 

Steve and I both agreed that we could eat Randy's cooking from now on, if we didn't starve to death in the process.