And remarkably, the exclamation point in this instance has been typed without a trace of sarcasm. Once a year, our inspired bishop arranges for an adults only beef bbq of some type. Last year, we had tri tip cooked on rig similar to cowboy's impressive trailer. This year, he and his sainted wife have gone out to a specialty store and purchased dozens of filets. However, at a meeting last night she told Mrs. PAC that given the size of the group, they were going to have to grill the filets. My wife recoiled in horror, having enthusiastically embraced cowboy's method for preparing a fine steak.
Fortunately, our bishop welcomes dissent and, after a lengthy conversation, he and his wife accepted Mrs. PAC's inspired counsel. Consequently, she and a few others are gathering at the bishop's casa (much nicer than a basketball court) with cast iron skillets, the requisite salt/pepper rub, etc., and in two hours I expect to enjoy a fine meal.
It certainly beats the usual ward dinner fare of spaghetti merging with liquefying Jell-O in the middle of a bent paper plate.
Fortunately, our bishop welcomes dissent and, after a lengthy conversation, he and his wife accepted Mrs. PAC's inspired counsel. Consequently, she and a few others are gathering at the bishop's casa (much nicer than a basketball court) with cast iron skillets, the requisite salt/pepper rub, etc., and in two hours I expect to enjoy a fine meal.
It certainly beats the usual ward dinner fare of spaghetti merging with liquefying Jell-O in the middle of a bent paper plate.
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