I am a porkivore. Mmm, that can�t be right. Porkitarian, since I still eat mostly veg dishes? Don�t say it�s porker, either. (Please!) Well, I suppose we shall just say I am helpless in the presence of pork. I find it enchanting. I can be enthralled with beef, though rarely, and never with hamburger.

My downward spiral began in earnest the weekend of the Old 97s concert in Chicago, when our charming host and hostess spirited us across the city in a parade of cabs to Las Tablas, a fine Colombian steakhouse on Lincoln Ave. I ate a steak pounded thin and simmered in a rich and spicy tomato and onion sauce, and for the first time in my life, I loved cow flesh with a passion flowing as generously as the bottles of Miller Lite, as we waited in line for our table.

Yesterday I made the Pork Lombo, which Midwest Living alleges is a Brazilian taste sensation. The night before, I�d rubbed the tenderloin (no giggling!) with a mix of chili powder, cumin, ground mustard, salt and pepper, before putting some Great Northern beans in a pot for a cool hydrating bath. Midafternoon I cooked up a bit of Canadian bacon with a healthy bit of minced garlic, then added the beans and water, and let it cook for an hour, before draining it and adding a healthy shake of thyme. Then the tenderloin was seared in a hot cast iron pan, tossed in a baking dish with vegetable broth, and cooked in the oven till the meat was moist and tender. I cooked a package of fresh spinach down with some olive oil and dressed it with salt and pepper. The beans go down first, topped with some greens and several chunks of the tender pork, drizzled with spicy juices left from the pork pan.

I daresay I need nothing more from this life.

Good thing, too, since my recently-upgraded pal M spent several hours this weekend telling me why I�ll always be alone in this town, no matter that I�m cool beyond belief (his words, not mine, and they did follow an extensive discussion of �shroom usage throughout the years and such, so red flags were already appearing, by the time that claim was made), perhaps even too cool for people my age. Certainly men.

Smelling the blood of the weak member of the herd (28th birthday tomorrow), he went for the jugular, though it�s no more than what I know. Sarcastic and reserved. Unapproachable.

Oy. Whatever. There are hundreds of us. Or at least several. And my officemate keeps talking about someone�s backed up bowels.

Stay tuned tomorrow for more griping. And pork.