By Deirdre Bourdet
My brother Andy does a killer pulled pork. Every time he makes it is cause for celebration... and fevered, uncontrollable gorging by every family member and friend within driving distance. My brother consistently stuffs himself to the point of needing Mylanta intervention, but thanks to my own iron will and samurai-like discipline, I limit my own consumption level to only slightly over the one-pound mark. Smoky, succulent, and richly seasoned, it cries out to be stuffed into corn tortillas with mango salsa and cotija cheese... or piled onto little Hawaiian rolls with a dab of barbecue sauce... or shoveled directly from plate to mouth with the assistance of leafy green vegetables.
My brother Andy does a killer pulled pork. Every time he makes it is cause for celebration... and fevered, uncontrollable gorging by every family member and friend within driving distance. My brother consistently stuffs himself to the point of needing Mylanta intervention, but thanks to my own iron will and samurai-like discipline, I limit my own consumption level to only slightly over the one-pound mark. Smoky, succulent, and richly seasoned, it cries out to be stuffed into corn tortillas with mango salsa and cotija cheese... or piled onto little Hawaiian rolls with a dab of barbecue sauce... or shoveled directly from plate to mouth with the assistance of leafy green vegetables.
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