sheldel Food Journal

(Promoted from the diaries to the front page -K)

Now don't get me wrong right out of the gate (first post and all) -- I love and respect animals dearly, but I also love their tender, succulent flesh. Rubbed, sauce, seared, grilled or braised? Oh yeah. Sign me up. And go even further to take that tasty flesh, grind it up with spices and assorted whatnots and stuff it inside another animal part? Well, I'm a happy gal.

Our good friends recently offered up an all-day, hands-on sausage-making tutorial, and of course we accepted. Droolingly. Having never made sausage ourselves, but being huge fans of the stuff...we dove in head-first. Actually, make that shoulder first. 70 pounds to be exact. Pork-tacular porky shoulder. I wanted to braise it immediately, but majority ruled and it would all go into the mix. Too bad.

Chopping said shoulders were easier said than done...very sharp knives are involved, for starters. I only nicked myself once, which for me, is pretty good. Then the meat had to be sorted. Sorted. That's how serious this sausage-making business can get.

After sorting, the grinding begins. Two separate grinds (I told you it was serious). Much cranking ensued. Sore arms for days...but so very worth it.

Even the lovely chunky fat was ground and incorporated. If you've ever bitten into a dry sausage, you'll know why this is vital. I won't even comment on how much saliva was continuously generated throughout the day...

Next up: spicing and seasoning. We had three sausage "subcategories" on deck for the day: breakfast (plain, maple and apple), italian (lovely coiled rounds of red-wine and fresh garlic infused goodness) and bratwurst (plain and cheddar beer). Lovely, spicy goodness. (insert drool here)

And of course every batch had to be sampled. And re-sampled. And the palate cleansed...with beer...ahem.

Each breakfast batch was lovingly wadded into a ball, slammed into the Vacuu-Sealer 3000™, and sorted by succulence.

Next came the casing. Nothing like squirmiling through 75 yards of guts, rinsing and sorting and separating. Those guts can be pretty tricky. "Get over here you, guts, you! No tangling on my watch!"

And we then proceeded to the actual stuffing of italian and brats. And yes, more cranking ensued. We worked in shifts. Diligently. More beer flowed. All was good.

Stuffing sausage into the actual casings is not a solo project. Not by any means. The girth, width and tensile strength of each sausage must be put to test with each passing yard. Too loose? Sausage crumbles. Too tight? Sausage explodes. Which is something I did not want to experience, noo thank you.

With our diligence and quality control, we were rewarded. Oh yes, rewarded. I think the final tally was about 68 pounds of sausage.

And that, my friends, is how we spent a lovely Saturday afternoon with a huge pile of pork, sharp instruments and a lot of cranking. Not to mention everlasting knowledge, and beer.

Give a man a sausage and he eats for a day. Then burps. Teach a man (or woman) to make sausage, and watch out -- because no animal nor its' parts will be safe.

Postscript: No meat, bones nor trimmings were wasted in the making of this docu-blog. Said bones and scraps are in the fridge at this very moment awaiting their next incarnation as a lovely pork stock.