Sausage

That Wonderful Machine

There was a strange old butcher, His name was Dunderbeck
He was very fond of sausage-meat, and sauerkraut and speck
He had the finest butcher shop, the finest ever seen
Until one day he invented his wonderful sausage machine

Oh Mr. Dunderbeck! How could you be so mean?
I told you you'd be sorry for inventing that machine
For all the neighbor's dogs and cats will never more be seen
They'll all be ground to sausage meat in Dunderbeck's machine

Sausage has a reputation for being made from all the things that would ordinarily be thrown away. In truth, so long as the sausage tastes good I see nothing wrong with that. Better to use those bits and pieces in sausage than throw them away. But if that kind of thinking makes you nervous the solution is to make your own sausage.

I made up a batch of country sausage a few weeks ago for the feast day celebration of San Antonio Abate -- the patron saint of barnyard animals. It was my third effort at sausage making and was the best so far. One thing that helped was I finally added enough fat to the mixture. I've been too conservative before and dry sausage just doesn't cut it.

There's a place about 30 miles up the road from here that sells the best country sausage I've ever had. And it's unlike any other country sausage I've had. It has a strange texture -- sort of grainy -- and a flavor I simply haven't been able to tie down. Not a strange flavor, but I just couldn't figure out what it was until this morning.

For breakfast I ate the last of the sausage I'd made and as I was chewing I suddenly realized the source of the strange texture and the odd flavor in that other sausage. The sausage maker was mixing a bit of his cured country ham into the sausage. This resulted in the graininess and explained why the flavor wasn't strange but was difficult to identify. It also explained why his sausage was so extraordinarily good.

So now I have to make sausage again. And instead of dogs and cats I'll add country ham.

One day a very little girl came walking in the store
She ordered up some sausage meat and eggs, a half a score
And while she stood a-waiting she whistled up a tune
And the sausage meat it started up and danced around the room

Oh Mr. Dunderbeck! How could you be so mean?
I told you you'd be sorry for inventing that machine
For all the neighbor's dogs and cats will never more be seen
They'll all be ground to sausage meat in Dunderbeck's machine.

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