It's a truth I've taken years, possibly decades, to accept. Despite engaging in countless heartfelt struggles both internal and external, mental and physical, maturity has forced me to face my intrinsic, impure nature with blistering, fluorescent honesty. As much as I would love to be a virtuous consumer of things only organic, rooted, and incapable of rational thought, I have come to accept one of life's unfairest realities:
I Am Woman, and I Love Meat.
While soy-based sausages no doubt have their pride of place in refrigerator meat compartments of Tofurkey Lovers all around us (bless their tasty lil' hearts), I still maintain there's nothing quite like the satisfying crunch and splurt of well-seasoned juice from an artisinal-quality bratwurst... washed by a mouthful of wheaty, white Belgian ale. Yes, animals will continue to die ~ hopefully humanely ~ for my dining pleasure, and in my heartfelt appreciation I lay wreaths of fresh herbs at their altars of applewood smoke.
And yet, for my sins, I am obviously not alone.
One of my Boy's fondest friends, Meat Packer, is A Carnivore of The Highest Order... and how. Dude's not only built an actual smokehouse in his urban backyard, but has developed close, spiritual relationships with his casing supplier and organic butchers citywide. I suppose the day of his ultimate conversion to La Côte d'Omnivore came when he took to running around the office one afternoon shouting, "It's here! It's arrived! Ya wanna come see my Dick? It's huuuuuuuuge!!!" This was, of course, followed by an interminable onslaught of jokes containing surprising variation, great maturity, and philosophical insight. Of course.
Nevertheless, Meat Packer's Machine of Sweet, Squirtin' Lovin' has proven to be one of the most delightful culinary additions to every household it's graced ~ including ours. Indeed, MP's acquisition of The Dick gave birth to a dream-like haze of Summer Sausage Parties at his home in Ballard, where the most esoteric and wild of fillings spurted out of their crispy casings and into our joyfully salivating mouths. Ah, the dusty, golden days of grilled bratwursts, smoked kielbasa, and Bavarian brews. May those days please come again... and soon.
Shortly after we moved back to Seattle at the arse-end of last year, MP generously offered us the use of his surprisingly heavy Dick. Intense, groaning pleasure followed almost instanteously. In the weeks of The Dick's residence here, Boy went gleefully nuts concocting our own gorgeous fatties that surged into our deepfreeze for far too little time, and we declared unanimously that our KitchenAid's sausage-making attachments sucked balls compared to impressive capabilities of The Almighty Dick... and it was a black day indeed when Meat Packer came 'round to pick up his beloved, sorely-missed stuffing contraption.
Now, I wanna get me a Dick. A good, sausage-filling Dick. For my Boy. It's a pricey little bugger, but a worthy one if you love your bangers and brats, are interested in culinary experimention, and prefer to eat healthier. (All you have to do is read this article from The Independent to be well put-off commercial sausages forevermore.)
So, baby steps. This Christmas, I gifted my gorgeous live-in Chef with the following bounties that will not only bring in the meat, but show him what to do with it:
(And this is what my True Love gave to me...)
Next Christmas, and I'm tellin' ya this right now: my Boy's gettin' a gigantic Dick, and he's gettin' all excited-like just thinkin' about it. Or maybe we won't be able to wait that long and crack with our joint birthdays in May. Regardless of which, we'll be cranking out the big, fat, juicy ones and serving 'em with brews and cake before too many moons pass... Respond to this post, and we'll throw you on the invitation list! After all, us filthy meat-packing savages gotta stick together in this healthy, tree-huggin' régime we call the Pacific Northwest. (Be still, thy beating phytoestrogen-fuelled hearts; we shall concoct some vegetarian-friendly versions as well!)
In parting, here are some fine fightin' words for us cookin' carnies from the ever-delightful and feisty firebrand, Julia Child:
"The best way to execute French cooking is to get good and loaded and whack the hell out of a chicken. Bon appétit!"
In honour of today, here's my Merry Belated Christmas present to y'all. Because I, too, like the sound of slapping meat.
Pepe Deluxe ~ "Salami Fever"
And because I loves ya so, here's another hit of WTF wonder for your viewing discomfort. Again... Merry Christmas.
Kids in the Hall ~ "Sausages"
And back by popular demand ~ well, maybe not really, but I need to justify this somehow ~ here are some quaint, old-fashioned mid~19th century tinklings for your gentle entertainment. Added bonus: a cameo by none other than Lemmiwinks himself!
Electric Six ~ "At the Gay Bar"
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