Apologizing and admitting I’m wrong is not something I like to do.
I’m not good at it.
You might say…it’s not my “gift.”
However, when I am proven wrong, which fortunately seldom happens (okay…admitting that I was proven wrong seldom happens, that first one happens all the time…) I step up.
A few years back, we had the great honor of taking part in the Amy Roloff Charity Foundation’s “Starry Night Auction and Fundraiser” at Roloff Farms. It turned out to be the first in what’s now a long list of great events and great memories where our MY KITCHEN Outreach has joined up with our amazing pals, Amy Roloff and Lisa Dixon.
At this event, we set up an area to bbq, and cooked and served our pulled pork sliders to the guests as they arrived and checked out the auction tables. It was hot outside, and under our tent, with two huge grills going, it hovered somewhere between oh-my-lord, and the-Devil’s-armpit hot.
It was hot.
We worked hard, sweated a lot, served a lot of great food, and just generally had a heck of a good time.
(Here comes the part where I have to admit I was wrong…enjoy it…)
Watching the episode a couple of months later on TV, I noticed that, if you were super fast with the pause button…we actually made it on the show!
So, I thought this was pretty cool. Then caught THIS glimpse…
Yes…the horror…Chef Chris caught red-handed, sauntering out of the event tent with a cold beer, while Chef Terry and I are left sweating like pigs in a hot-tub, serving pulled pork, and perishing of thirst.
So, I have, with all self-righteousness and moral high-ground, given my dear friend and faithful business partner no end of merciless grief, at every opportunity, in the years since over this gross betrayal on his part.
Fast forward to this afternoon…
I’m re-watching the episode on my phone and, as usual, grumble as I catch the moment of Chef Chris’s selfish betrayal…and then something caught my eye.
Something I didn’t want to see.
I freeze-framed back through the scene, and sure enough…
Yup, to my everlasting shame…that is me, beer in hand, leading the way.
I humbly beg forgiveness. I was wrong…I am pond-scum…no, I am worse than pond-scum…I’m a McRib Sandwich.
If you look carefully (and believe me I have) you will note that NEITHER of us rat-bastages are carrying a SECOND beer for poor Chef Terry, who we have obviously and heartlessly abandoned to work in the hell-tent alone, while we selfishly made a run.
We should both be horse-whipped, or live on nothing but Buster’s BBQ for a month. (Personally, I’ll take the horse-whipping, thanks…)
I. WAS. WRONG.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go throw up.
Plus, you’ll be helping us teach nutrition, shopping, and hands-on cooking classes to at-risk kids.