Sensing Up a Storm: Flagstaff and Pork

Sometimes I take it for granted. Despite my Southern Ontario upbringing, which was void of snow-capped mountain views and lush green pine forests, I still sometimes manage to overlook the beauty that surrounds me in Flagstaff, Arizona. But not today.

Eating my slow cooker pulled pork in Flagstaff trumps its consumption in any other location. I made it in Yuma, Arizona, but the incomparable smell of sweet and savory barbecued meat clashed with the hot desert air. The quiet calmness, the cool, biting air, makes the pulled pork sandwich that much more enjoyable.

Sometimes I go for hikes on Mount Elden and gaze at Flagstaff from a distance; from a decent height, the civilization of the city is clearly the anomaly. Thick forests carry on seemingly forever outside city boundaries, and the smell of the natural world is extenuated as I immerse myself in the mountain.

Still, my appreciation for Flagstaff is never greater than when I lift the lid of my slow cooker and hear the slight hum of the barbecue sauce combining with the meat. The explosion of flavor, from the acidity of the vinegar to the dry marinated whiskey, all combine to form a bite of pork that cannot be surpassed. The natural environment of Flagstaff is the perfect complement to this bite, and only in Flagstaff can I fully appreciate the delicate, slow cooked delight.