Recently,
good friends of ours gifted us with a sausage making attachment for our mixer
(they know me so well). After much anticipation, I finally dove into the
challenge of making my own, homemade sausage.
I
bought a “Boston Butt” – the “A” portion (actually a shoulder) from the image
above. It is my favorite cut since moving to North Carolina. That is a big
statement coming from a boy that was born and raised in an area of the country
known for beef. I’m pretty sure I knew the saying, “Beef. Its what for dinner.”
before I knew how to cook dinner.
That
confession made, I carved the butt/shoulder into small cubes before throwing
them in the freezer to get firm while I mixed spices, and ground herbs from our
yard. One portion of spices was for breakfast sausage, and the other was for
Italian sausage. I hooked the attachment up to the mixer, and apprehensively
started the process. Liz pulled a chair into the kitchen… partially because my
90’s R&B music was too loud for us to speak to one another from different rooms,
and partially to support/supervise the venture. All right, mostly for support.
We
watched the cut cubes of meat turn to ground bits as I fed them through the
grinder. It was impressive to see the meat, and fat, exit the contraption in a
way that was recognizable as… well, meat. I could see meat. I could see fat. It
wasn’t pink paste. It wasn’t sausage-flavored mush. It wasn’t elbows and
assholes. It was sausage… that I made. I knew everything that went into the
sausage before it went into my mouth. And I’ll be damned if both kinds didn’t turn
out better than expected.
