I love getting beef jerky at gas stations. Teamed with a massive soda, I could drive hundreds of miles munching away at this dried meat, sipping Cherry Coke, and listening to some good tunes as the world blurs by. Oklahoma doesn't seem so devastatingly boring when you have a pack of Jack Links. Something about dried meat intrigues me. Perhaps I hardly got it as a kid, and now it's a novelty. Or perhaps the love and patience it takes to take slabs of raw meat, soak it in barbeque sauce for hours, then dry it for even longer. I prefer to think the latter.
One of my best friends and his wife recently made beef jerky. It was one of the best things I have tasted in a long while, and soon enough, five people demolished a bag of ten hours of patience. I would have felt bad if it wasn't for the delicacy that passed by my lips. A few nights ago, the same couple made even more jerky, this time wisely requesting a charge for enjoying the snack. The smell filled the entire apartment complex and everybody suspected something great coming from their residence. I bit into a piece. It wasn't forced, it wasn't micromanaged. It took all day, but the end product hardly has words to describe it.
Making beef jerky is how I see starting and maintaining a relationship. It should be easy, give it some time, and don't try and force it. Good things happen in time, and soon, everyone can sense it happening. Starting a relationship needs a good marinade, time to soak, and a long bath in the jerky maker. My biggest problem is what I do after the jerky is done. My first instinct is to devour the jerky with gusto. However, like enjoying jerky and a relationship, one must use the same patience as during the creation.
Taking your time while eating beef jerky makes the experience so much better. Nibble a little bit off, chew it slowly, and let the flavors fill your mouth. Take your time, and don't force it. If you do, as I often do, it will be over before you are ready to let go and it only ends in lonely tears and a bag that smells delectable.