Boulders and lakes and forests, oh my. Långsjön calls me each morning to circle its depth of sky and water and trees. A walk of ritual and greeting with the light ever pouring out green and blue into the air. And in the middle, slowly turns a white platform from which you may dive into the lake or dive into the sky. But, to the rub.
“To sleep, perchance to dream . . .” of pork belly. Hamlet stands in his kitchen, looks over his spice rack, and pulls down what he will need for today’s deep alchemical work.
Black pepper, cinnamon, chili pepper, paprika, nutmeg, ginger with salt in the front and brown sugar in the back. “That patient merit” of rub and marinade. Hamlet works the rub with his fingers across the skin, into the pores, and deep within the fissures he’s cut into the belly of this most marvelous beast. So begins the nigredo.
“The undiscover’d country” of marinade at the bottom of the belly features apple cider vinegar and Woodford Reserve bourbon mixed with the rub. Ah the tang and the fire, apple-picking and charred wood. Hamlet licks his fingers. Never mind the raw meat. He smiles and dreams some more.
Look at that “native hue” of goodness. This slowly altering and transforming pig will rest in the refrigerator overnight and then, the next day–day of my birth–I shall begin the cooking of this most amazing gift. So says Hamlet. And all night, from that small part of night that is dark to the night that is bright, Charles Mingus‘ Pithecanthropus Erectus shall play and play and all shall rise and all shall fall apart. Dance to the night sun, dance to what’s marinating in the dark. With plenty of Woodford Reserve bourbon. Bon Appétit!