Dinner when your six feet under

And you've grown weary of feasting on mulch and worms. While you're rattling about in your casket and playing the xylophone on your ribs and find that despite all your molars having dropped through the hole in your skull you are feeling a bit peckish after all...

Two neiman ranch pork loins, so thick and so succulent that you'll sorely regret the loss of those molars.
Brown them over medium high heat, eight or so minutes on each side, if you can't tell if they are finished, cheat, I always do. Finish with a splash of madeira and try not to set the confines of the coffin alight.

In a bowl swirl equal parts sesame oil, tamari and rice wine vinegar. Finely slice and quarter a peeled cucumber and chop a fistful of mint. Combine.

Slice and fan an avocado.

Halve a dozen or so sungold cherry tomatoes.

When the pork is well rested, slice against the grain, insert charred ends into waiting maw, chef's perogative.

Toss greens into bowl of cucs and sauce, plate.

Garnish with tomatoes, cooling loin and avocado, consume with cote du rhone blanc while watching your favorite family of morticians dabble ever closer to a tragedy Greek in scale. Wish you had opted for the double wide GV of caskets.

Flail at the television, want to smack Nate, want to smack Brenda, want to smack the red headed sister with the back of your boney hand, want to put Billy on his meds, want a composite boyfriend of David and Keith, want to weep for George.

Climb hill towards home, sit at laptop, compile recipe, take bath, what to do with all of that excess flesh, fall asleep, fitfully, plagued all night long by minty fresh mini-belches. Deep from underground am a lady afterall.