on pork chops, popping peppers and potential portliness?

Thick tender pork chops. Jalapeno peppers stuffed with cream cheese and wrapped in bacon. Fresh beets. Buttered cobs of corn.

Fresh off the barbie

Such is the succulent fare I’ve enjoyed since moving in.

I’m gonna hafta keep a camera at the ready some nights when we sit down to dinner, I’m convinced!

Roommate Kris is a BBQ aficionada … a culinary whiz at a hot grill. Barbecuing’s her passion.

And I ain’t talkin’ the black-domed grills common to back yards and parks.

I’m talkin’ a mother grill. Not this but like this:

When Kris grills, she means business. And pleasure.

She grills in summer. She grills in winter. Not as often and not in snowdrifts but the chilly air won’t stop her from firing up the patio kitchen.

And we — her mother Marcy and I — are her willing captives.

Second night I was here she grilled up pork chops an inch thick. My knife cut smooth as silk through that chop, exposing a perfectly cooked interior. Not a sliver of pink and oh so tender and juicy.

Not the dry shoe leather that I woulda turned out! {Hey, I know my strengths and grilling ain’t one, though to be fair I’ve never pursued it either.}

Accompanied by corn on the cob roasted in foil with butter, fresh sliced beets lightly seasoned with olive oil and sea salt and pan-roasted on the heat, a light green salad and a chilled pinot grigio — summertime perfection!

The next evening she dished up those jalapenos, cut in half, stuffed with cream cheese spiced with creole seasoning and oregano, wrapped in bacon and grilled. The bacon remained soft, pliable yet toasty crispy. The heat of the jalapeno popped in the mouth.

Paired with baked potatoes {microwaved}, a green veggie salad and chilled beer out on the covered patio in the evening of summer juuust as the heat’s abating … call it what you will.

I call it good living.

“I’m gonna gain weight living here,” I quipped as we cleared the dishes into the house.

“Trust me, we don’t do this every day,” responded Kris.

And a good thing! … or else there’s fancy footwork in my future:

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