Our first two batches of sausage in the freezer are diminishing at an alarming rate.
This is mainly due to the fact that the sage-flavored breakfast sausage goes so well together with the maple syrup that we brought back from Virginia in October, that the chestnut-white-wine sausage was a smaller batch and that the chorizo-flavored variety was a welcome addition to a larger quantity of Sauerkraut the other day. So I made sausages again.
At the shop, the cheaper pork chunks were gone, no shoulder, no sides. The butcher happened to be available after a few minutes, or rather after concluding a boxing and tickling episode with his young children: end of the day. He offered to give me the meat that he normally grinds into minced pork.
So now I know that my theory has been correct: it is indeed better to grind one’s own minced meat at home using a careful selection of not-too expensive cuts from the counter. You never know what they are using. This, as it seems, applies even to a nice and helpful butcher who still minces his own meat (as opposed to packaging factory minced meat). The 2 kilo batch of pork chunks for sausage that I got here looked fine and the fat content was indeed suitable for the task. It was fresh enough (though perhaps not superfresh) too. But when I opened the bag, a very strong meaty smell instantly filled the house: these meaty bits stem from areas that the pig doesn’t touch even when standing under the shower.
I managed to make a nicely spiced new batch of breakfast sausage. The smell is, after all, not a matter of freshness, but rather of a general strong aroma of these really underprivileged sections of the beast. But during the making I felt reminded of my mom who once, after helping her share at the local farm slaughter feast, came home and said: “I won’t eat a sausage in a half year.” The pepper, sage, garlic and the onions are now in the sausages, the sausages are in the freezer, but their raw smell stayed in my nose. Pancakes today (Sunday) instead.