GO MEAT: The Sequel

Here I sit, in my dark basement lair, on the cusp of 2011, with nothing to rail about except Farmer H's penchant for consuming mass quantities of meat.

Perhaps you remember his towering bowl of soup, the vegetable beef that needed no bowl, as it consisted entirely of the entire rump roast I had included as the beef.

Then there was the homemade beanie weenie incident, during which an unsupervised Carnivore H consumed four hot dogs and a handful of beans.

In autumn weather, Carnivore H scored three filet mignons from a work shindig, and proudly chauffeured them home in a ziploc bag on his passenger seat, in full sunlight, the better to admire them while hurtling down the interstate.

Last year, Carnivore H won a Thanksgiving turkey by shooting one over the phone while driving. It was a radio contest. Which was at least a frozen processed turkey in a bag. Much better than the one his son, The Veteran, ran over and proudly delivered to us several Thanksgivings ago. He and Carnivore H spent the better part of an afternoon trying to deep-fry that fowl, after plucking it and removing most of the bones crushed by the truck's grill. A further fly in their ointment was the fact that the professional deep-fryer we had received as a gift had been left on the porch for too many seasons by Carnivore H, and neighbor-dog pee had rusted and rotted it. So the road-kill turkey was prepared on a Coleman camp stove with the aid of a blowtorch. Note To Self: never eat a morsel of shallow-fried road-kill turkey proffered by Carnivore H.

The recent canine ham bone caper led to Carnivore H wangling a second ham bone from a co-worker.

Yesterday he showed up with two Oberle sausages and two Oberle cheeses.








Today, I whipped up a hearty sausage/potato/cabbage pot. Not with the Oberle. I'm sure Carnivore H has separate plans for it. No, I traipsed through Save-A-Lot after the tornado passed over, nary a woman in sight to tell me that I was SO PRETTY, and made my meat selections. Hillshire Farms Polish Kielbasa, Turkey Sausage, and Beef Smoked Sausage, plus a package of Beef Lit'l Smokies (their spelling, not mine). GO MEAT!

A bag of Yukon Gold potatoes, two heads of cabbage, and I was in business. The business of preparing a carnivore feast. The problem, you see, is that whether I slice those kielbasas in four pieces, or in forty-eight pieces, Carnivore H and the #1 son will count each piece as a bite. And when interrogated over the meatless pot of potatoes and cabbage, they both will reply, "I only took eight pieces." No matter what the size. No matter what the number they actually took. I am not a math simpleton. I must protect them from themselves. So I chop those sausages into actual bite-sized slices. For their own good. So we can consume this meal more than one evening.

Yesterday's comment from knancy gave me a scathingly brilliant idea. For Carnivore H's Christmas present next year, I should get him some of that roast meat on a rack. You know, the kind you see in Brazilian restaurants, where the waiters carry the meat stick to your table, and slice slivers off the skewer as you hold out your plate. Like these:

















Maybe I can get a set of them for Carnivore H to set up in his BARn. He will be in beef heaven, and I will be rid of him for a couple of days while he gorges himself silly.

And as a public service announcement, I must advise you to never, ever Google images of Brazilian Meat. That means YOU, Mommy Needing A Xanax! Especially you!!!