Yesterday I had a revelation. Not that jetlag is a bitch – no, that was just the sudden realisation of something pretty obvious. And staying up for 24 hours before realising it’s only 10pm hurts my very soul. No, this revelation is a food-based one.
I had been told about the miracle that is pulled pork: slow-cooked for hours, marinated in whatever spices, barbeque sauces and other unhealthy crap they want and then torn from the pig carcass, before being served to you. I was lucky enough to have a sandwich version of this very meat, and I would just like to point out that it is the single greatest food-based experience of my life. All other food now pales in comparison. Two of my companions may have had fist-sized burgers, but sod that – my sloppy (yet firm) bundle of glee has set a new standard. America has a lot to live up to, if Canada is capable of producing this kind of nosh (YES I SAID NOSH).
Anyway, going to get on a plane to San Francisco now and write about 3,000 words. Apologies for the shortness of this entry – thank Vancouver airport there’s even internet connection at all.
Oh, and the one a day aspect of this will be skewed, as it’s 5pm here, and midnight (I think) at home. IT STILL COUNTS.