Nothing Says Home for the Holidays Like a Pot of Posole and the Police

Happy Hump Day everybody! Welcome to the Wednesday edition of CCB, coming to you live from the Compound.

Kind of a busy day yesterday here at the Compound. The Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter (P.O.J.O.C.) met here yesterday afternoon to plan our very special upcoming holiday activities. Oh, and we also met to vote on Cousin Fred as a “Prospect” for the club. Since, Cousin Fred is pretty much living here full-time now, it’s hard to exclude him from P.O.J.O.C. activities.

Fear not, he’s in. He’s wearing a plain leather vest now without any patches. He’ll have to earn those.

We didn’t get too far along on the holiday activity planning. We set off to the north pasture (just north of the compound) to a draw that the Sister and I always called Death Valley. There we spent the remainder of the afternoon and well into dark, making BBQ pork butt and drinking large amounts of refreshing adult beverages.

Death Valley has become our favorite spot for holding meetings. The Wife has long since banished us to the north pasture and out of the house. She always comments that KY-Kelly smells funny and that the Dogs eye him in a weird way.

That draw keeps us out of the wind and we can build a largish fire down there to stay warm. I told Cousin Fred to keep Lassie, the barking goat in Hellkat One’s trailer, lest my fellow P.O.J.O.C.ers get the idea to BBQ a goat.

Actually, a fire is probably not necessary since we’re constantly adding anti-freeze.

It was Terry Two-Fingers’ turn to provide the beverages. He showed up with three gallon jugs of his very special fortified wine…it’s only wine in the sense that there is likely some grape matter in there somewhere. The stuff is dang near lethal. Between that and the pork butt, life was good.

If it snows on Sunday, as the KFOR weather dude was gleefully predicting last night, we’ll probably have another meeting in Death Valley. This time we’ll grill beer can chicken and drink even larger amounts of refreshing adult beverages.

Since it’s the season of good tidings…whatever the hell that means…I thought I would share a story I found on the Huffington Post web site that kind of, for me, says it all when it comes to the holidays and family.

Take for instance a fellow from Albuquerque whose mother had made a traditional New Mexico stew called posole. If you’ve never had it, I can highly recommend. But then, I’ve always enjoyed stews and soups and such. Hominy is the main ingredient in posole and who doesn’t like hominy?

I’m guessing that his mom had made the dish to save for serving over Christmas. Posole is one of those dishes that gets better the longer it sits.

So sonny-boy texts his mom and tells her that he wants some of her posole. Mom texts sonny-boy back and tells to stay the hell away from her posole.

Mom comes home from a long, hard day at work to find her gate and garage door “broken” (insert theme from Dragnet here) and the pot of posole missing! ίAy Caramba!

Now, granted, I don’t know anything about the family dynamic here. No word on whether mom and sonny-boy had a testy sort of relationship. Maybe sonny-boy had long been a problem child and mom was at her wit’s end.

And maybe sonny-boy was just hungry, but we at CCB prefer to think of this as a holiday tale, so let’s say that sonny-boy was seeking redemption and searching for a way to find his way back into his mom’s heart. Now, isn’t that nice?

So, he goes to mom’s home where he finds all of the doors and windows locked! He knows that mom keeps the posole in the fridge in the garage. He deftly breaks through the back gate and into the side door of the garage faster than a Cosmic City cop can write traffic tickets on Downs Ave.

So much for redemption.

There, in the garage fridge it rests. A stainless steel pot. The smell of posole wafting from beneath the lid. He peeks. There it is…the tasty greasy nectar of life. Globs of cooled fat float across the top.

He realizes he has no means for heating the posole. He knows if he breaks into mom’s house to use the microwave, she’ll really be pissed.

He decides to remove the pot to his place where stove and microwave beckon.

Redemption flies out the window like a meth entrepreneur with a case of Sudafed.

Mom, later discovering the burglary, knows the perp is sonny-boy. Who else could it be? But, she gave birth to sonny-boy. Nurtured him in his childhood. Taught him right from wrong (how’s that working out now?).

What’s a mother to do? She calls Albuquerque PD who promptly find sonny-boy and arrest him for burglary and probably gluttony…he ate the entire pot of posole!

Now, wasn’t that a heart-warming tale of Christmassy family love?

Stay tuned tomorrow for more.