At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017


During 2012 several essays appeared on this blog which dealt with the Mexican death sausage (Linguiça) that lurked around the corner. With which I experimented several times. Can't remember the brand.
Suffice to say that the product is no longer there.
And the shopkeeper retired.

[All posts detailing the killer wurst are here: Linguiça..]

The amount of venomous ground chili in the mostly fat ground meat mixture guaranteed "adventure". Even though I am a man who uses hot sauce and chilies on a daily basis.

[Sriracha transforms a convenience store sandwich into an exquise (!) delight.]

There is not much to recommend single life, but the change in diet is quite beneficial. There is no longer anyone urging me to eat, eat, eat, and that luscious extra piece of fatty roast duck no longer magically appears on top of my mound of unfinished rice when I'm already somewhat full. And instead of regularly heading over a hill for Indian food, I'm more likely to cook some veggies with fishpaste and chilies.

Since cutting the murgh makhni and chicken tikka masala (with fresh naan bread slathered with butter) out of my routine I have once again become the svelte young man of everyone's dreams.

Mexican death sausage was part of the journey.

[First essay about the beast here: Brutal.]

Monzer El Shawa at Sam's served its tamer cousin as his house Polish Sausage. Somehow he got the concepts "Kielbasa" and "Louisiana Hot Link" confused -- they are so very much alike -- and his customers late at night never objected. Not many of them were heading to a svelte new self, but they all loved adding scads of Sriracha to their pizza, cheese burgers, fish and chips, fries, and grilled "Polish sausage".
Et cervisiam, ingentem flumen.
Post bibens.

This morning I realized I missed both of those sausages. The supermarket down the block closed a couple of years ago, the Vietnamese shopkeepers around the corner retired, and a lot of white techno-yuppies moved into the neighborhood, so now all the nearby liquor stores also specialize in icecream, hot pockets, and frozen pizza. And salad dressing.

Aber ein mann muss sein würziges fleisch haben!

I long for a kinder, gentler, and more toxic city than the present.
Plus girlish company and dangerous meat products.
Food and love should be an adventure.

Suggestions welcome.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.



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