Sausage Fest - Day 15.

If there's one thing we all love in this household, it's a good old-fashioned blind taste test.  You'd be amazed at the the number of like things we have found in recent years that can be tested blindly.  But, mostly, it's either sausage or champagne.  So, with three butchers within three blocks of each other who make their own sausage in-store, I was neither surprised nor confused when, upon asking Dad Eater what he wanted to do for dinner that night and he responded, "sausage fest."  So, off we went in search of sausage.  On the way, we decided to get two each of hot and sweet from each place.  We went to the bikini butcher first where, upon checking out the shopkeeper enthusiastically gushed "That is such good sausage, isn't it?" with such pride it was inspiring.  "Yes!" I replied, matching his enthusiasm, though I had not, in fact, ever had their sausage (why, oh why, am I so socially awkward).  We then trotted down the street to the long-standing butcher, the one that's been there for 50 years, Little Eater racing ahead of us and then racing back laughing and gleefully shouting, "SAUSAGE!  SAUSAGE FOR DINNER!"  Two large links later we kept on marching down to the Italian specialty market.  I let Little Eater do the ordering here.  He walked right over to the butcher counter and, when asked what he would like "Sausage, please.  Not too spicy."  Both the bikini butcher and Main Street butcher sell their sausage for $3.99/lb.  At the Italian market, the sausages go for $5.49/lb.  We headed for home and the day went on as it usually does.  When Uncle Eater got home from work and asked what we were having for dinner, he also understood, without further clarification, the rules of the meal.  Like I said, we really love our taste tests.

Sausage Fest, Eater-style.  And, Uncle Eater's foot.
Hello, foot.

While the guys hung out in the living room, I grilled the sausages without telling them what sausages came from where.  So, the taste testing was only truly blind to Dad and Uncle.  Little Eater had eaten his not-too-spicy sausage earlier.  We started by tasting the sweet sausages.  I sliced a small piece of each of the three, placing them in identical locations on all three plates.  Top sausage, middle sausage, and bottom sausage.  Everybody tasted and remembered but did not discuss their preference.  We then repeated the process for the hot sausages.  There was little deliberating and everybody picked their preferences.  And the winner was...
By unanimous vote, the oldest butcher on Main Street was our favorite sausage both hot and sweet.   The biggest surprise, though, was not that Main Street butcher was so tasty, but that the more expensive sausage from the fancy specialty market didn't make top pick on any list.    In fact, though their sausage was quite good, and I wouldn't kick it out of bed for eating crackers, it was last choice for each of us with only one exception where it was my middle choice for hot sausage.  In the case of this experiment at least, more money did not equal better quality.  



 

A Walkable Feast - Days 5, 6, and 7.

I don't miss Whole Foods at all.  I really expected to.  I figured after a week, I might start to get a little frustrated as I ran out of favorite products, or tired of having to walk to three different stores to get three items, or even bored at losing one of my most reliable daily activities with Little Eater.  But, the daily grocery store drive has been replaced with our "Spendivore Stroll."  We've left behind traffic, road work, and crowded parking lots.  And we never run into overly manicured women wearing designer velour sweatsuits, cascades of jewelery, and floor length fur coats who bicker with each other at the prepared foods counter over who got there first and then proceed to try to out-order the lady before in a two-pronged effort to show off how much more she needs for her family and to make the lady she jockeyed out of position wait as long as possible.  Instead, Little Eater and I make our way, hand in hand, onto Main Street stopping to look at every plane that flies overhead, touching every bit of grass poking up through the sidewalk, and stomping into every puddle along the way.  It takes a long time.  I don't mind.  The time I was trying to waste in the car and the grocery store has been given back to me full of life, fresh air and my son's enthusiasm for small things. 
I didn't manage to blog about our weekend shopping and eating mostly because we were all too busy eating our faces off.  The whole family was home together all day each day, an occurrence rare enough in recent months, that I can't remember the last time it happened.  Dad Eater kicked off Saturday with "bone in" French toast, so named by Little Eater who mistook the thick crust from the bakery loaf for a bone.  We all dug into the garden with our hands, turning up the soil and giggling as we pulled out potato after lovely potato - reds, fingerlings, yukon golds - that we've been waiting for since spring.  Little Eater could hardly contain his excitement, grabbing neighbors by the hand as they emerged from their houses to show them how to dig potatoes and giving the baby potatoes a hug.  We left the taters out to dry and set off on the Spendivore Stroll, excited neighbor in tow, for the days groceries.  I was uncharacteristically without a meal plan, confident that I'd find something exciting to toss on the grill. And did I ever.  Two full racks of pork baby back ribs.  They weren't in the case at the Italian Market, where they sell them cooked on the weekends, but when I asked after them the butcher replied with a cheerful, "For you?  Of course we have some" and went to the back to fish some out of their brine.  The next afternoon saw me back at the same counter as Uncle Eater ordered up a treat of four prime dry aged strip steaks and chatting with the butchers about how generally disappointed they were that I didn't bring Little Eater on this visit.  On to the cheese counter where I selected a gorgonzola cremificato that the cheesemonger was so excited about he exclaimed, "Look!  Look a it.  It's still alive!"  I also got into a polite argument with the other guy behind the counter that a cheddar from Vermont isn't exactly what I'd label a "local cheese."  Then again, Vermont is a lot more local than, say, Italy, so we agreed to disagree.  The steaks were excellent.  I served them with green beans, and the potatoes we dug up the day before.  We opened and shared a bottle of wine we've been saving for a year; is there a more special occasion than a feast with your family? And sipped port and nibbled the gorgonzola for dessert.
We wrapped up the weekend by ordering in from one of our favorite family-owned local places.  Dad Eater and I have been eating there for years and they know us, even when we call.
I have struggled a bit with this post.  I really couldn't decide what it should be about, evidenced by the somewhat meandering scratchings above.  Should I write in detail about the exquisite food?  The relative prices between Whole Foods and local vendors?  My internal worry that I should be shopping at the smaller, cheaper shop instead of at the specialty market?  My slight embarrassment at being blessed with such a bountiful table when others struggle?  I realized, though, that what stood out in my mind from this weekend was my beautiful, unique family with whom I shared those glorious meals, sun-soaked discovery-filled walks, and the vibrant community in which we live.  In places it looks shabby, run-down, or even a too-strange mix of have and have not, but it is a rich, welcoming place.  And we are becoming "of" this place, adding to it's vibrancy, bringing more life to Main Street not just with our dollar but with smiles and shared stories, a common interest and a common goal - to live, hungrily a part of the world around us.

Emily's Rib Rub
1/4 cup light brown sugar
3 generous Tbl kosher salt
1.5 Tbl sweet paprika
1 generous Tbl black pepper
1 Tbl garlic powder
1 Tbl dry mustard
1 Tbl dried oregano

1. Mix all ingredients together in a bowl.  Rub on ribs and cook as you normally would.  All measurements are inexact, and I adjust them to taste each time I make a batch.  For my ribs, I liberally rub the racks on both sides with rub, wrap in foil, and let them sit for at least a few hours. I grill them 15 minutes or so on each side (starting with meaty side up) in the foil.  Then, I remove the foil and  grill, charring the outside just enough to mark them nicely and give them a bit of a crunch.  They can be served with BBQ sauce, though I don't typically use any.