#11 - Special Thanksgiving Special!

Thanksgiving has come and gone; particularly perspicacious readers surely expect this to be a post about venison sausage.  It is not, and I can explain.

I went to see a man about a deer.  It turned out that he only dealt in horses.  The tale is long and convoluted, and is best expressed in verse.  You may recognize the meter:

Twas the eve of Thanksgiving, and all through the house
No game could be found, deer, capon or grouse.
In stalls at the market, the butchers demurred,
“Whyfore seek ye Venison, rather than bird?

“Of turkey, there’s plenty; pork shoulder, as well.
So why not just pick something else that I sell?”
Salt-Peter considered; Salt-Peter thought hard.
He longed for an elk; his eyes fell upon lard.

A banquet, he pictured, all plates in their place,
Steam rising from protein, gilt platters on lace.
“Give me ground turkey, and pork for good measure.
Lastly, a piece of your fattiest treasure:

Pork belly, pork belly! The guests will rejoice!”
He knew, in his gut, that he’d made the right choice.
“Have turkey, have pork,” The butcher replied,
“And here is your last one, Hog Maw on the side.”

Salt-Peter ran home on a cushion of air.
Too excited to wait, he checked what was there.
His spirits sank quickly, as he scanned the lot:
Pork belly he’d asked for; pig stomach he'd got.

His banquet was bungled, his feast hopes forlorn. 
What was he to do with this stomach, so torn?
Salt-Peter considered; Salt-Peter thought hard.
What was it he’d printed on his business card?

“Artisanal sausage-maker,” for a start.
“A master of forcemeat, his work is an art!
Sage of all spices; no offal too tough,
Champion of casings, intestines, and stuff!”

And Salt-Peter then cried, as joyful men do
When they find the answer, they already knew.
For what is stomach, if not sausage in need,
Of stuffing, and roasting: a sausage indeed!
"Now Pork! Now turkey! Now cornbread and taters!
On almonds, on spices; No, not the capers!
Top with the cranberries, mix that meatball,

Now stuff away! Stuff away! Stuff away all!"
The stuffing complete, the opening sewn,
Salt-Peter sat down to rest his poor bones.
If, on the morrow, the dish was deemed quirky,
He’d call it by name: “Susquehanna
He went to his bed, tummy all aflutter,
Gave thanks to the chance, brought on by the butcher,
and was heard to exclaim, ‘ere he turned out the light,
“Thanksgiving, after all, is my favorite night!”
Susquehanna Turkey
And that pretty much sums it up.  The stuffing ingredients are given in the poem, and both pork and turkey sausage were seasoned in similar fashion to last year's Thanksgiving turkey sausage.  The enormous sausag- er, Susquehanna Turkey was cooked in a grill at 350 degrees F, with attentive basting, until the poultry and pork sausage inside reached 160 degrees.

After a brief rest, it was carved.

Giant sausage,  Meat Loaf, or Susquehanna Turkey? Yes.
And at long last, it was eaten.

Gobble Gobble.
 Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good sausage.



  1. Well, it was good enough to conjure those heady stanzas of verse; it was inspirational!