Well lets face it, you just shouldn’t force yourself to eat a sausage you don’t like. As I sit here digesting, my intestines tying themselves in knots and my stomach letting out the occasional weary groan, I wonder how they tempted me in the first place.
I recall the moment I obtained them– it was as if lady luck herself had handed them to me. Clive and I were at the fancy food show in San Francisco, right at closing time. We had deliberately hung back knowing that after three long days of desperately hawking their products to potential buyers, the exhibitors just might forsake the leftovers, the reason for their toils. Clive and I split up. He took the Italian pavilion while I did Spain. We walked swiftly as it was only a matter of time before we would be kicked out. They knew our type, those security guards. That’s why we had been given clear plastic bags at the start of the show, bags marked “for literature only”. There were prominent signs posted on the walls, reading “samples must not leave the building”. We knew our task had to be quick.
I zeroed in on my targets: cheese, charcuterie, olives and truffle mushrooms. It happened like a drug deal in fast forward. I would approach the open pastry case, sidling in and whispering,”you giving anything away?” ”Take what you want but be quick” they’d say, “they’re coming to shut me down any minute.” Into my bag would slide the manchego, chorizo and salmon pate.
As my eyes searched frantically for olives and truffles, they fell on one of the most decorated booths in the whole building. Trophies lined the top of their pastry case: outstanding product award 2004,5,6,7,8. Lo and behold, I was just in time. “Here you go” the strapping young man said as he handed me a pack of truffle mushroom and chicken sausages. Looking a gift horse in the mouth, I read the ingredients and sure enough, actual Truffles were the second ingredient. Yes!
It didn’t phase me that they were warm to the touch, although I should have taken that as a warning.
Armed with my various logs of meat I met Clive at the end of the aisle. We dashed out just as they began ripping the carpets up, oliveless but grinning nonetheless.
Once in the car we overturned our bags of loot for examination. Bruschetta, Brie, foie Gras, cured meats of many colors, blood sausage (that was Clives pick) and truffle mushroom sausages. We could hardly wait to get home and eat.
Almost a week later, here I sit, several cholesterol points higher, staring at a breakfast plate of truffle sausages. They taste at once bland and sour, but they contain Truffles goddammit, so I choke down a few bites. Long story short, I think about kneeling before the toilet for a little while but no, those sausages were free and I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy them.
