Friday, April 27, 2007

Rosario's Italian Sausage

This Chicago sign is weathered. And obscure. "Sausage by Rosario made fresh daily." We could be anywhere within the kingdom guarded by the Big Shoulders. From this vantage point, only that tantalizing legend gives any hint to the world within.

Now, we see. The hogs have transformed Chicago—Hog Butcher to the World—into a ghastly paradise. One where our every need is met and we are freed from the tiresome toil of butchery. At Rosario's, not only do the pigs assist in their own killing—they tumble gaily into the grinder to be stuffed into casings by the sheer force of their thoughtfulness. We need not lift even a finger. Our clothes bear not a drop of gore. "Sausage made fresh daily," indeed. "Self-made sausage" is more like it. The pigs exist only to smooth our path, to serve us to the last. Like unbottled genies, they unleash a blessed magic of generosity.

And isn't this the meat-eater's Promised Land! A place where meat rains from the sky and flesh ripens on the vine! (And all with no need to reflect, no need to pause, no need to wonder at that nagging thought in the back of the mind.) A place where the disconnect between carnivores' appetites and what's required to satisfy them is tolerated. No, not just tolerated. Exalted.

But this is not the time or place for such solemnity. This is a wake! Let us use this moment to remember the dearly departed. Let us at least remember our hogs in a more festive light. Namely, the brash neon of Utopia.

(Thanks to Drs. William and orangexw for the referral.)


Anonymous said...

I love your Blog. It's both delicious and hilarious. It's even funnier because of you pretentious, preachy, militant vegan posturing. Keep up the good work, meanwhile I'mo have some bacon. Cheers!

Michael Meiser said...

"pretentious, prachy, militant vegan posturing" = Yummee!!

LOL. I don't know how a vegan could hate this site... it's like vegan ammo... proof that eating meat is for the morally contemptable. :)

Seriously though, I love your blog.

I just wanted to ask if you had blogged about two of my favorite examples of suicide food.

1) a few years back SNL did a advertising skit for "Clucky's chicken" Not sure exactly how they spelled clucky's though, unforetuneatly I have not tracked it down. In it a disemboddied head of a chicken, presumed to be klucky narrates the commercial talking about how he's raised, slaughtered, smuthered in sauce, and finally served to you. For example...

Kluky: Howdy kids! Golly I look good! How do I taste!?

Re:Gee Kluky you sure to taste good!"

2) While the roots of food that's happy to be eaten can be traced back much further I think we owe a tremendous amount to the Schmoo

The Schmoo is the good father of all suicidal food. Some important points from the wikipedia article. :)

* They reproduce asexually, and are very prolific. They require no sustenance other than air.

* Shmoos are delicious, and are so eager to be eaten that if they are looked at by someone who is hungry they will gladly jump into a frying pan, after which they taste like chicken, or into a roasting pan, after which they taste like beef (Raw, they taste like Oysters on the Half-Shell). They also produce eggs, milk, and butter (no churning labor needed.) Their fresh pelt is a perfect boot leather, or house timber depending on how thick it has been cut. Their eyes are ideal suspender buttons, and their whiskers are perfect toothpicks. Naturally gentle, they require minimal care, and are ideal playmates for young children. In short, they are simply the perfect ideal of a subsistence agricultural herd animal.

* The frolicking of shmoos is so entertaining (such as their staged "shmoosical comedies") that people watching them feel no need to go to movies or turn on television to relieve their boredom.

Hence Schmoo's are quite possibly the perfect suicidal food. :)

I hope this helps you in this very important and educational documentation of the history of suicide food. It is a cultural enigma well worth studying and documenting, and I truely hope that your endevour will one day turn into a published litterary work. I for one dream of having a copy on my coffee table. It's such a great idea in fact, I would be seeking out a publisher already but for your already authoritative position on the subject.

Peace and thanks for the laughs.


Anonymous said...

I'm still eagerly awaiting self-sacrificing caribou. For religious reasons, I cannot consume pork. I'm getting on in years and it's getting harder to chase them down. Even my pack has begun leaving me behind. This is the only reason I have begun eating cattle. They do not taste as good, but they are slow and stupid, easy prey even for one such as I.

Peace be unto you and to your family.

Anonymous said...

This is like a Sue Coe drawing, but without the pathos. I feel especially sorry for the one poor bastard looking wistfully out through the fence. I also like the way the third one from the right just seems to be floating up toward the grinder, magically drifting toward his gruesome end....

Scotty Dog said...

Years ago, when I saw this very sign, I wished I had taken a photo of it. In fact, when I heard of this blog, this is the very image taht came to mind. I can now salt myself with nitrates in peace...

Anonymous said...

Wow! I know this store at 8611 South Pulaski quite well. It is truly a south-side Chicago classic. If you think the pigs are happy on the outside--you should see the collection in the inside--a sight to behold! Not only are the pigs happy, but so are the owners and their happy customers who lick their lips in anticipation as they leave with their tasty delights--all nitrate free! Yum! Happy pigs never tasted so good!

Unknown said...

!!!!!!!!!!!!MEAT IS MURDER!!!!!!!!!!!

Tasty, tasty murder!