4505 Meats has a new line of “Spiritual T-Shirts” out and they would like to give you one FOR FREE.
All you have to do is tell us your best meat-related tale in the comments section below. Maybe you invented the coffee-rubbed pork shoulder. Maybe you traded your wife for a bacon-wrapped hot dog. Maybe a side of beef kilt your paw. Whatever it may be, share it below.
4505 Meats honcho and all-around MEAT CELEBRITY Ryan Farr will be in charge of judging. One winner will be chosen, based on merit, and awarded the t-shirt of his or her choice, in whatever size she or he wants. Contest ends one week from right now.
(Now, we don’t want to discriminate, so if any of you vegetarians or whatever write in with a truly earth-shattering piece about your love of Boca Burgers or Tofu Pups or Buffalo Girls, we will try to at the very least get Ryan to read it all the way through.)
Oh, and if you’d rather just BUY yourself a t-shirt (they’re American Apparel, btw) RIGHT NOW, visit the 4505 Meats Shop.
[P.S. The winner of our previous contest was the guy that saw Radiohead with Anna Paquin and Stephen Moyer. Congrats, guy!]
Previously: (some links may not be safe for vegans)
Swine So Fine: I Love Chicharrones
Easy. I’ve been a vegetarian for fourteen years, but every time my friend Alli and I get drunk at Elixir (which is less and less now, thank you douchebags) she tries to shove chicharrones down my throat. She has actually held them to my lips, gently applying pressure, while simultaneously carrying on a conversation with a group of new friends, because, as far as her logic goes, I will have to open my mouth sometimes.
Yes, we turn into eight-year-olds when we drink.
Anyway, I recently decided to give in and eat the meat, although slowly so I don’t puke and poop at the same time. I have had a few bites of prosciutto here and there, and the other night I stepped into Elixir (filled with d-bags, to the brim), and Alli was there. She looked H-A-P-P-Y-D-R-U-N-K and exclaimed, “Close your eyes and open your mouth!”
Under normal circumstances, I would have given her a dead leg, but I knew where we were and what was coming. I obliged, and had my third intentional experience with meat to-date. Although I’m not sure if chicarrones are meat. I mean, I know they are meat-based, but do they qualify as meat? I don’t know.
My birthday’s in February and oftentimes when I was in school it would fall on a snow day (I’m from Michigan). When this happened my senior year, my group of friends decided to do lunch. One of my friends hadn’t gotten me anything, so she stopped by the gas station to pick up some gifts. Included in her odd brand of humorous gifts was a bacon flavored hot dog.
We had a good laugh and then thought about how to have some fun with it. We ended up hiding it in our school’s band room to see how long we could keep it hidden. Had we not been so incredibly conspicuous when checking on it, that hot dog would still be hidden under that drum, I’m sure. We did manage to conceal it’s location for about two weeks, at which point the bun turned black. (and nobody ate it). True story!
I spent the last few years of my college days as a vegetarian. Easy, peasy. After all, the Bay Area has a cornucopia of meatless options. I moved to Italy and I simply had to try the delicious fresh panchetta from the Roman market stand. Crispy, salty, smoky heaven. I could not deprive myself of such deliciousness. Thus ended my meat strike. Fast forward.
After cooking and gifting 50lbs of bacon in a harsh, dusty, dry environment, I thought, “What if we bacon lovers could gather together and celebrate outside of the dessert?” That led to BaconCamp, an annual bacon bash for chefs, artists and enthusiasts. Hundreds attend to share food, recipes, and tips and it’s coming up again.
Defy the macrobiotic, vegetarian, raw food, next-fad diet. Laugh in the face of false nitrite-cancer scares. Embrace your love of the fatty pork belly. Join the meat minority and come to BaconCamp.
I would love to rock your awesome shirt this year at BaconCamp.
BC deets here: http://baconbakin.com/baconcamp/faq/
While staying in the Los Llanos region in Venezuela, I spent a few nights sleeping at a ranch. There was limited electricity, and I sleep on the floor of the tractor room, which was guarded by roosters at night. On the first day, the rancher took us on a tour of all his animals: pigs, cattle, and chickens. His son and wife collected iguana eggs as well. I asked where he stores his meat, since I hadn’t seen an ice box around the property. He walked me over to the side of the tractor room, where barbed-wire fence held a large cow carcass, cut in a way where meat could easily be sawed off. I asked if the meat rotted from sitting in the sun all day, and also asked why the meat didn’t smell bad. The rancher explained that the saliva from the insects that picked on the beef contained a preservative that keep the meat from going bad.
I enjoyed the fence beef with Hamburger Helper that night (no icebox, but Hamburger Helper?) and it was delicious. Smoky flavor I haven’t ever found since in a cut o’ beef.
I am an avowed omnivore, and I love pork, but this year I turned vegetarian for Lent. Hardest thing that I’ve ever done, but the reward was that for Easter morning brunch, I made waffles with bacon inside, and they were topped by a brown sugar/bacon ice cream. It was all phenomenal, and I cannot wait to make that ice cream again.
Also, a few years ago, my sister was studying abroad in a Muslim country, and she really missed pork while she was there. When I picked her up at the Oakland airport when she came home, I came with a cookie tin filled with bacon brittle that I made. Also delicious: crunchy, sweet/salty, and just perfect.
My Mamaw (southern word for grandmother, etc.) used to keep all kinds of things in her purse to have on hand, you know, just in case. Of all these things, by far the best item she always kept with her was bacon she had cooked at home and then wrapped on cling wrap.
Need a snack on the car ride home from school; want some bacon?
Waiting in the lobby for a doctor appointment; want some bacon?
Standing in line at Carowinds (amusement park in NC); want some bacon?
Waiting on your order at a restaurant; want some bacon?
The answer to all those questions was yes.
No story, but I did invent an awesome Bacon-Maple-Pecan Scone recipe, which you can sample at **whiperwhisper (secret location) whisperwhisper**.
I woke up at 4:50 AM. On purpose. I was going to go hunting with Oscar today. At least, that’s what I thought I was doing. Lets rewind.
On Monday I had lunch with the whole family (Luca, Donatalla and all of Donatella’s family). Luca and I ended up at Oscars house watching a video about how he goes hunting and uses dogs to point out the birds. It was pretty cool, and he offered to take me with him. It ended up that he was going today, and I went with him.
What I ended up doing was not what I expected. If you don’t like hearing about guns, dead animals, or gratuitous nudity (just kidding, or am I?), then please, don’t feel like you have to read the post.
So like I was saying, I woke up at 10 till five this morning. After deciding that I really had nothing other to wear, I went with the dirtiest jeans I had, and a T-Shirt. Oscar arrived at 5:30, and we drove to his friend’s house. It took about 10 minutes to rouse him, and half an hour later we were on the road. I wasn’t introduced to his friend really at all, but got in his good graces when he tried to light his 7:20 cigarette, and didn’t have a lighter. Luckily, I had mine, and he finally talked to me.
By 8:30 we got to the game wardens house. Then the oddness started. I had noticed that Oscar had a pheasant in the car, which was strange. Then, he bought 7 quail from the warden. Now I was really confused. Why would he buy the birds? To release when he shot others? To shoot? To eat? I had no idea, I just kinda rode along.
We drove down to two connected, open fields, that both were cut low, but had patches of higher grass. There were signs around that said “Type C Dog Training Ground.” After letting the dogs run around for half an hour or so, Oscar went and got the quail.
When he opened the box, one of the quail managed to hatch and execute an escape plan. Oscar let loose with a string of curses in Italian that I really wish I could have written down. I’m sure it was impressive.
After Oscar got one of them out of the box, he tucked it’s head under its wing and started swinging it around. This evidently sufficiently confused the bird, and he stashed it in a patch of the taller grass. Oscar hustled back, loaded his shotgun, and gleefully handed it to me. I dutifully took it (I hadn’t held a shotgun in 5 years, but it came back pretty quickly), and he let his dog loose.
It was sort of neat, watching the dog find the bird, then freeze close to it, then wait for me to get close, then scare it up. The first I cleanly missed, and didn’t realize that 3 rounds were loaded. Oh well.
Oscar quickly stashed another bird, and we went at it again. This time, I had gotten a feel for the gun, and summarily put the bird down. The dog went and retrieved it, and I felt both proud and guilty. It really wasn’t hunting, it was just target practice.
Since Anthony’s dogs were still scared of the shotgun, he just hid his birds and let the dogs chase them around. I think the most impressive thing I saw all day was when one of his dogs scared a bird up, then chased it across the field, leapt up in the air, and brought the bird down himself. It ended up getting away, but it was still pretty awesome to watch.
After the quail were gone, Oscar tried to stash the pheasant. Almost immediately, it “woke up” and started walking around in the short grass, looking confused. Oscar scrambled back and tried to sneak around with his canine. The bird flew off into the forest, and we managed to scare it out once more, but then it was gone.
We ate lunch, which was actually pretty good. Each of the two men had brought enough food and wine for three people, and we ate basically everything. Anthony brought 4 sandwiches, dessert (a sweet bread), and a liter and a half of wine. Oscar brought fried meat (couldn’t tell what it was, exactly), tomatoes, cucumbers, another liter and a half of wine, and a big loaf of good bread. Out came the pocket knives, and we basically just tore at the food with our hands and knives.
After lunch, we packed it up and headed back. Later, Oscar gave me my prize, a very dead, very feather covered quail. I took it back to the castle and was instructed by Donatella to de-feather it. So I did. Surprisingly, I was completely fine with it. It really didn’t bother me. After service, Donatella made a great sauce, and cooked it for me. It was quite tasty.
As far as I can remember, this was the first animal I had actually killed myself, then eaten. It was a memorable experience. I’m not sure if I’d do it again with quail, though. It took me damn near half an hour to de-feather ONE freakin quail. I’ll just keep having mine done for me, thanks.
I love the smell of meat in the evening.
I was in graduate school at the University of Texas. I’m not a Texan. I grew up in the suburbs of chicago. For me, BBQ was when you put burgers on the grill in the backyard.
My fellow graduate student Smags sought to introduce me to real Texas Barbecue and invited me to a meat lover’s paradise: The Salt Lick.
We got in his car– a 1975 silver Mercury Cougar with not air conditioning, and began to drive from Austin to the Salt Lick. And drive. And drive. The city slowly began to peal away until we were driving through the pitchblack countryside. There was nothing. Okay, we did pass one structure a large Baahai temple with a huge fence around and then nothing again.
As the Cougar slowly climbed a hill, suddenly on the other side, my eyes were blinded by the lights. The Salt Lick is two enormous buildings filled with picnic tables. The air is permeated with the smell of smoke. The only police car in the county is directing traffic. We park in a gravel parking lot and put our name in– a two hour wait.
We sit with a cooler with dozen of others waiting to be seated. When we do it is all you can eat bbq for the grad student splurge of $10.99 (oh those were the days!). It’s brisket. It’s sausage. It’s ribs. It’s sides that ignore to focus on the good stuff. After not eating for nearly 24 hours we gorge ourselves.
At the end, we undertake the hour ride home in the pitch black of night, in the Cougar. The entire car smells of meat. It permeates my skin. It’s wonderful.
One Saturday morning I walked down to the Ferry Plaza Market before going to Moscone Center for a convention. I was standing in line chewing on some beef jerky from the Fatted Calf when a dreadlocked kilt-wearing hipster walked by with a sandwich board that read on one side “MEAT IS MURDER” and on the other “ALL MEAT HAS FECES IN IT”. I held out the jerky to him and said, “Want some murder? There’s shit on it!” People in line fell out laughing and the dude’s similarly coifed and dressed girlfriend dragged him away with what I swear was murder in his eye. Delicious,savory murder. I like to think I made a convert that day.
My dad sold the dairy I grew up on and bought a sheep ranch. I was visiting over Xmas vacation in high school and hoping to enjoy the beautiful barren wasteland of Southern Idaho but knowing I was actually going to be working the whole time. Sure enough dad said it was “lamb time” when most of the 300 sheep would be giving birth. Sheep normally give birth to one or two lambs. They don’t need much help and the lambs are cute as hell. Unfortunately, some lambs are still-born and some ewes abandon their healthy lambs. When this happened with cows you just sort of pushed the orphan calves over to some other cow and she would adopt it. But that wasn’t working with the lambs and we were losing lambs and money.
We had a Basque guy come out and show us a trick. He spoke almost no English so I just watched. I had seen a lot of nasty shit growing up on a dairy but nothing came close to this.
The setup
Lamb is orphaned by uncaring ewe and needs a new mom.
or
Mom with still-born needs lamb.
Mom won’t adopt and needs to be tricked.
The procedure
Take still-born lamb and first break, then cut off feet. Cut around neck and peel off skin in one big piece.
Skin will be inside-out. Turn it back correct way.
Grab orphan lamb and shove into skin like putting clothes on baby. That means forcing feet into “sleeves” and putting head through neck of skin.
Poke two holes in neck skin and tie with bailing twine to keep skin on.
Lamb should now appear as if it is wearing woolen pajamas with a bowtie. (I am not making this up)
Result
Mom thinks orphan is actually her lamb and immediately starts caring for it and feeding it.
Pajama skin can be removed after two days.
Associated problems
Orphan lamb must be smaller than dead lamb so pajamas will fit, meaning that you need to save dead lambs and remember whose mom is whose.
When orphan is wearing pajamas the butt-hole and pee holes do not line up. Piss and shit collect inside pajamas for the next two days. This will sway to and fro as lamb walks. (I am not making this up)
Lamb doesn’t care but when you cut pajamas loose after two days, you will breathe in the most digusting smell of fermented piss, feces, blood and apparently, whatever the mother was sniffing for when she was wondering if this lamb came from her loin. I do not posses the talent to accurately describe this smell.
We did this about a dozen times over my Christmas vacation and it worked 100% of the time. Amazing and disgusting. I can’t break down a whole lamb very well but If you ever want to play some sick-ass Jeffery Dahmer games with farm animals, let me know.
December 2005: I love meat. I was dared by my now-fiance to eat everything on the In n Out menu in 24 hours, including the online special menu, shakes and drinks. Twenty-one hours later, with one slice of bread from the double meat, 3/4 cheeseburger minus the lettuce, one-third of a Dr. pepper, half a carton of milk, I accidentally disqualified myself by to not holding down the smallest bit of food – I gagged. I was close, but no cigar. My 6’4″ friend ate the rest and said that he felt fat. Sad. What was sadder was I was hungry again 30 minutes later. A few days later, three of my lymph nodes on my neck swelled up on one side of my neck…probably due to the large amount of meat that I consumed. But the best part of the whole deal was that I smelled like a meat log for 7 days, cuddling up nightly to my beefcake who regretted having dared me in the first place. I still love In n Out and burgers to this day. No joke about it.
Gotta love In and Out for making you splurge and then want to go back for more.
I was vegetarian for 10 years, and did not eat any pork or beef for 24 years- my last beef meal was a bacon burger at the tender age of 15. That all changed, as soon as I got pregnant. A few weeks pregnant, I was busted trying to dip my finger into a can of devils meat, on Christmas I was caught sneaking pieces of spiral ham into my mouth. I no longer hide it- I am A FULL-BLOODED CARNIVORE , AND I AM BACK WITH A VENEGANCE!! I am a porkatarian to the core and damn proud of it too!!
A decade or so ago I was living with my girlfriend in Lower Haight. She was (still is) Jewish and so am I. On a wonderful spring afternoon that also happened to be Passover, we got a craving some meat. Not just any meat. Brother In-Law’s BBQ. If you don’t remember the place it was on Divis across from what was then the Kennel Club and is now the Independent. Sadly, Brother’s is gone today and really hasn’t been replaced by any better BBQ in SF proper. (different story) Neither one of us was particularly religious, but slow roasted pork ribs aren’t exactly “Koser for Passover” (It’s a special kind of Kosher that is more stringent especially for Passover).
Yep, off to Brother’s for some Pork Ribs, leavened Wonder bread with butter pads and of course some yeasty beer to wash it all down. If there were a worse meal we could eat on Passover, I certainly can’t think of it. (To boot, I’m sure we likely made a variety of crude jokes about how both blacks and Jews were slaves. Fortunately, I can’t recall.)
The next day we decided to take a hike in Marin to work off some of that porkaliciousness from our Passover non-observance. As we drove up Divis right past said Brother In-Law’s, we looked to our left. Much to our horror, it burned down just a few hours after we finished our pork orgy. (Fortunately, they rebuilt it, but it took most of the next year.)
I’m still not particularly religious today and I love pork more than any other three people I know, but I’ve never missed a Passover since. I’m kind of thinking someone was trying to tell me something.
I was waiting for my turn at a meat market on Mission, and an elderly Latina signalled to me to help her with a selection she wanted to make. She handed me a plastic bag and tongs and pointed to a gigantic severed fish head. I complied, and was struggling to get this beast into the bag, but it barely fit. (The fish-face was big as mine) After much slipping and exertion, I finally got it into the bag, noticing out of the corner of my eye she was snickering. I wonder if she pulls this on others…
I grew up on a farm in rural Montana.
My brother and I raised 4-H steers that we raised from calves and then sold at the county fair at the end of the summer.
My brother named his first calf “Mr. Steak”.
Did anyone ever win this thing?