My Dad, mother, sister, and I pull up to this house. (I am withholding real names and location to protect the guilty). We had been invited to eat with the Hogans. If you have ever been to a church eating function you know that there are those people whose food you don’t eat. You know what I am talking about. Don’t act like you don’t. If you don’t know what I am talking about, then you are that person. This would explain why you always bring home a full dish. When you tell people to try your succotash surprise they say, “I’m full.” They aren’t full. They are exercising intestinal defensive warfare. Well, Mrs. Hogan was one of these people.
My family and I enter the house. I already knew that I didn’t want to eat. It looked like they kept a petting farm in the house. I also believe they subscribed to the “Someone Else Will Pick It Up” style of cleaning. My level of comfort for eating in this house was diminishing by the minute. I wasn’t real fond of sharing my meal with parasites and critters. I guess I’m funny that way.
The dreaded mealtime finally arrived. We all filed into the dining room/kitchen/storage area. The table was set. It was at this point that I realized we were going to be having steak. This encouraged me. I figured that putting the meat over an open flame would take care of most of the germs and critters that might have hopped onto the steak while it was in the kitchen. Then, my fears were increased by the tidbit of information that Mr. Hogan gave to us.
We were informed that Mr. Hogan had raised the cow himself and had butchered it. This was a troubling thought not because it was a cow with a name, but because it had likely been butchered in the back yard by the barn. I could see Mr. Hogan standing outside, just so happened that he had his gun, and he says, “I think I’ll butcher a cow. He shoots it and goes to work on it right there. Oh I’m sure he hosed it down before he started. I couldn’t imagine that his butchering would meet the U.S.D.A standard for cleanliness.
They slapped a slab of meet onto my plate. They asked me earlier how I wanted mine cooked. As usual, I said medium rare. It really didn’t matter. They all came out looking like they had been run through the jet engine of an F-18, blown out the back, and slapped onto the plates. I now know where charcoal comes from.
I cut into my meat. I’m sorry I need to be more specific. I chiseled through the outer layer. That explained the toolbox on the middle of the table. There was a chainsaw down on the floor in case the tools didn’t work. Anyway, I made it through. I took a bite, actually I took about a hundred bites on the first piece. Eventually I swallowed not because I had successfully chewed it up. I simply gave up chewing and sent it down. It had the consistency of shoe leather. Another cool effect was the nice deposit it made at the roof of my mouth. After about three pieces of steak, or jerky, I noticed that there was about a 1/2 inch of lard that had formed in the roof of my mouth. I was trying to find a way to discretely shove my napkin in my mouth and rake the lard off the top. It wasn’t easy. I simply did as I had been taught. I grinned and continued to eat. The only thing that I can figure is that Mr. Hogan had evidently chased this cow around the pasture for about 30 minutes before he caught it and killed it. He just wore out the poor creature and it gave up.
People often cringe when they find out that I eat sushi or snails or raw oysters. I guess if you have eaten cow that was just chased through a pasture you can eat anything, anywhere.
My family and I enter the house. I already knew that I didn’t want to eat. It looked like they kept a petting farm in the house. I also believe they subscribed to the “Someone Else Will Pick It Up” style of cleaning. My level of comfort for eating in this house was diminishing by the minute. I wasn’t real fond of sharing my meal with parasites and critters. I guess I’m funny that way.
The dreaded mealtime finally arrived. We all filed into the dining room/kitchen/storage area. The table was set. It was at this point that I realized we were going to be having steak. This encouraged me. I figured that putting the meat over an open flame would take care of most of the germs and critters that might have hopped onto the steak while it was in the kitchen. Then, my fears were increased by the tidbit of information that Mr. Hogan gave to us.
We were informed that Mr. Hogan had raised the cow himself and had butchered it. This was a troubling thought not because it was a cow with a name, but because it had likely been butchered in the back yard by the barn. I could see Mr. Hogan standing outside, just so happened that he had his gun, and he says, “I think I’ll butcher a cow. He shoots it and goes to work on it right there. Oh I’m sure he hosed it down before he started. I couldn’t imagine that his butchering would meet the U.S.D.A standard for cleanliness.
They slapped a slab of meet onto my plate. They asked me earlier how I wanted mine cooked. As usual, I said medium rare. It really didn’t matter. They all came out looking like they had been run through the jet engine of an F-18, blown out the back, and slapped onto the plates. I now know where charcoal comes from.
I cut into my meat. I’m sorry I need to be more specific. I chiseled through the outer layer. That explained the toolbox on the middle of the table. There was a chainsaw down on the floor in case the tools didn’t work. Anyway, I made it through. I took a bite, actually I took about a hundred bites on the first piece. Eventually I swallowed not because I had successfully chewed it up. I simply gave up chewing and sent it down. It had the consistency of shoe leather. Another cool effect was the nice deposit it made at the roof of my mouth. After about three pieces of steak, or jerky, I noticed that there was about a 1/2 inch of lard that had formed in the roof of my mouth. I was trying to find a way to discretely shove my napkin in my mouth and rake the lard off the top. It wasn’t easy. I simply did as I had been taught. I grinned and continued to eat. The only thing that I can figure is that Mr. Hogan had evidently chased this cow around the pasture for about 30 minutes before he caught it and killed it. He just wore out the poor creature and it gave up.
People often cringe when they find out that I eat sushi or snails or raw oysters. I guess if you have eaten cow that was just chased through a pasture you can eat anything, anywhere.
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