Posts Tagged ‘Butcher Shop’
How to Make Homemade Maple Sausage
When I was a little girl and our town had not yet experienced the rapid building and influx of people of its later years, we had small neighborhood markets. The kind you still see in some larger cities or European countries. Think the Butcher, or the Baker, but no Candlestick Maker. We had small grocery stores and five & dime shops that were breeming with all kinds of curiosities – from hardware to gardening to sewing supplies, all displayed in one shop.
My favorite was the butcher shop; a long narrow store with a meat counter on one side and all kinds of meat accompaniments on the other. Behind the counter were stainless steel tables for slicing and wrapping meat. There was a large band saw for cutting carcasses into quarters or large roasts. Saws and hooks and other tools hung from the “C” shaped track that brought whole carcasses from the cooler to the cutting tables. The walk-in freezer sat at the end of the room, adorned with posters from the Lamb Council, the Pork Producers Association and the American Beef Council. In the fall, the shop owner would put a large poster on the freezer door announcing the time to order special holiday meats like fresh turkeys, hams, ducks, geese and prime rib or tenderloins.
Each week my mom would take us with her as she did her weekly meat shopping. The butcher would talk to her about what was on special, what had come in that day and what would be good choices to feed a family of five on a budget. But, without fail we left with the same thing every week – chicken, ham, homemade sausage, ground beef, stew meat and something dad could grill on the BBQ during the weekend. The butcher would wrap each cut of meat in pink paper and secure it with white butcher tape. There were no plastic bags or carts, just an arm load of meat to feed a hungry family. Before leaving, the butcher would hand us two bones as treats for our dogs, a large one for Sam our Great Dane and a smaller one for Shelly, moms Cocker Spaniel.
Decades have passed and days of neighborhood markets are mostly memories now. The butcher shop of my childhood has been paved over along with many of the stores we shopped at during my childhood. But, I’ve never forgotten the fun I had going to that butcher shop and how polite and helpful and friendly the butcher was. Read the rest of the story »
Barnyards. Butcher Shops. & Blog Posts.
It seems like all we did was run this weekend, but I know that isn’t true because I have the aching muscles to prove it.
It all started bright and early Saturday morning. I woke to shattered dreams, delusions really that fall was setting in early. Whatever cool weather convinced me it could be so was now gone. I could feel puffs of hot wind coming through my open bedroom window, the telltale sign that the east winds were on their way; those hot, dry miserable winds that start somewhere out over the desert, carry dust and debris from hundreds of miles away and end up – well – here. I was not happy. But, life and farms go on.
I received a call on Thursday. The lambs we dropped off Monday were ready to be picked up from the butcher shop. Not just any butcher shop mind you, an old fashioned butcher shop with coolers and freezers; smokers and sausage makers; hooks and knives and rails. All the equipment needed to custom slaughter and process both domestic and wild animals. And, all done right in plain sight. No back room processing here.
When we dropped off our 4 lambs left over from the state and county fairs Kent was busy finishing up a truckload of grass fed beef from a rancher the next county over. Rather than stay until he had time to “do the deed” we put the lambs into a holding pen and went on about our day. It’s been a long time since I’ve butchered my own large livestock, but situations change and so must we. I doubt my neighbors would be pleased if they woke up some Sunday morning to the sight of carcasses hanging from the rafters of my garage or blood trickling down my driveway. I’m out of the loop on this one.
When we arrived the shop was already bustling. Pick up trucks loaded down with deer and wild boar lined the small street waiting impatiently for their turn to offload. Matt, one of the cutters, and another worker quickly hooked the carcasses and hoisted them off the beds and onto the rail so they could be moved into the cool room. I know better than to get between a hunter and his prize so Brianne and I walked around the corner and entered the shop through the front door.
Kent was on the phone, Brandi was packaging and labeling an order, and Gill was bringing out a pig to cut up. When Kent came out we talked briefly about the hunt, the fair, life, kids, school and sports. In 10 minutes we had caught up on the goings ons of our lives since we last talked three months ago. There wasn’t time for more. His little shop is busy this time of year. Between hunting and county fairs, custom slaughters and special orders Kent’s all about business. And, I can appreciate that, so to business we got. While Mark fetched the boxes containing our lambs I asked Kent how they looked. He threw me a “you’ve gotta be kidding” kind of look before saying “girl you sure know how to raise a lamb worth eating” and “I wish all the lambs I process looked like yours”. Brianne and I smiled. We were proud.
With boxes loaded in the truck we headed back over the hill. Back to the work that lay ahead.
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Aenean nonummy hendrerit mauris. Phasellus porta.