It’s Pork, it’s a Cupcake, and it’s in D.C.

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Okay, so remember that scene in The Lion King?  The one where right after lion cub Simba is born, Rafiki the baboon shaman carries him with reverence to the precipice of Pride Rock and lifts him on high for all the animal subjects of the Pride Lands to behold and adore?  The following food item has presented me with the nigh undeniable temptation to carry it to a mountaintop and raises it above my head in similar fashion, to cast its spell to every corner of the world, that all who gaze upon its majesty might commune for an instant with something greater than us.  If this doesn’t serve us incontrovertible evidence that the universe wants mankind to be happy (not to mention well-fed) then I don’t know what does.  Washington D.C’s Bourbon Steak has given us…the Pork Cupcake.

Go on and let that sink in for a moment.  I’ll wait.

Back? Good…

It begins, as do so many gastronomic wonders, with cheese, onion, and bread; the cheese being cheddar, the onions being green scallions, and the bread the grande-sized biscuit where they come to mingle and flirt with your significant other while you’re sucking down leafy greens.  As if a mammoth cheddar-scallion biscuit doesn’t sound delicious enough, as if it required even the slightest embellishment, one bite reveals that it has been stuffed with smoked pulled pork.



This cupcake is a savory affair, and it means business.  Just don’t look for it on the menu, because it won’t be there; you’ll have to request it by name. That’s how you know it’s up to no good: because it conducts itself like a covert operative under deep cover, identifiable only to those to whom it chooses to reveal itself, feared by many but respected by all.  This cupcake will steal your newspaper right off your front porch. This cupcake will borrow your clothes without asking.  This cupcake will seduce your lovers.  This cupcake will let the air out of your brand new tires, sell your most cherished possessions for beer money, and kick other foods off your plate and onto the floor while you watch without doing anything about it, because you know what time it is.  That’s how the Pork Cupcake rolls.

So, go.  Go to D.C.’s Bourbon Steak House, say the magic words, and get the Pork Cupcake into your life.  Maybe I’ll see you there.  I’ll be the guy standing on the table with a cupcake thrust toward the face of God with both hands.

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