The weekend before last, I used the approximately 27 minutes of free time I had to visit the Beach Rib-fest. It delivered everything a rib festival typically promises: a reasonable variety of sauces, trailers with confederate flags on them (not the one pictured, though, which is from a lazy Google image search), overpriced beer, and a band attempting pop standards from the 1970s with a singer who sounded just enough like Ethel Merman to unsettle the median listener.
This festival, however, offered something I had yet to see at any other: the Pulled Pork Parfait, from the Hank Daddy’s trailer.
It was a punishingly humid June day. The clouds looked ambitious, but it was the weekend, damnit, and four hungry young urban professionals would not be kept from our overpriced barbecue in a vaguely country-like Toronto park. The sights, sizzling sounds, and – most of all – smells of the park made it obvious we were right to brave the heat. As we made our way through the lines of fellow gorgers, admiring the lavish arrangements of trophies adorned with pigs instead of awkwardly posed men, a heavenly vision emerged before me.
Being at a rib festival, my brain was primed for pork, and the shreds of it were easy to identify as they sat in a clear plastic cup, but the fluffy white substance in which they were scattered was more difficult to collar. It looked at first like vanilla ice cream, but who would be so bold, especially among the purists who populate these events? As I moved, awe-stricken, toward this beacon of deliciousness, the sign on the trailer of its origin became clearer:
Pulled Pork Parfait - $7
It couldn’t be! Could it? Would the chew-requiring pork even work with cold ice cream? As I got close enough to take a critical look, it dawned on me: mashed potatoes. Of course! A deliciously creative twist on a classic combination. This was truly the work of geniuses – a testament to the potential of humanity if ever there was one.
Through a salivating mouth, I managed enough speech to order one, topped with baked beans. The existence of the dish had taken me by surprise, but it didn’t matter. No amount of preparation could have readied me for the sensation I would experience. Each bite – a little bit pork, a little bit potato, and some a little bit bean – attacked my mouth with the ferocity of a Joe Louis left hook. In that moment, my taste buds went twelve rounds with a heavyweight, and suffered an unimaginably gratifying defeat.
Ten days have passed since that glorious moment, and I haven’t stopped thinking about that meal. Sure, I’ve been able to get by without another one, but every now and then, when the humidity picks up, as it will in Toronto at the end of June, I can still close my eyes, smell the grills, and taste little bits of pork, potato, and bean in the damp summer air. For just a moment, I get knocked out all over again. As I get up from that mat of pure ecstasy, all I can think about is how fortunate I am to be alive in such an exciting culinary time.
Ratings:
There will be no ratings. From this point forward, the Pulled Pork Parfait is the stick against which all other food items will be measured. A rating of 1 Pulled Pork Parfait is equivalent to absolute perfection in every conceivable manner.
