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Nov. 19th, 2013 05:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceO Internet, you do know how I love you. (You do know that, right?)
So you do know that if I could, I would so absolutely right now be showing you the sossidges that I have made, which are mine.
Sossidges!
All my adult life I have wanted to make sossidges, and now I have. And I would be posting photos (they are four, my sossidges, a little string: not quite a hand of five, and not quite even in length, but hey: sossidges!) but that I have lent my camera to Katherine, and am not able.
Perhaps if I remember I will ask Karen or Mark tonight to take pix, before and after. To be honest, I have no idea how they will cook, tho' if I cut them apart I do expect the filling to ooze out at either end; I always used to think that the best bit, the little knuckle of crunchy sausagemeat that you get at the end of oozing bangers, but these are my own and I want them to be perfect, brown and glistening and contained within their skins.
Also I have little idea how they will eat. I did fry up a test piece, but even so. You can't really tell; that's more just to judge the salt and so forth. A sausage sizzled gently within a skin for half an hour will not taste the same as a kneaded lump of filling tossed into a pan. They may be so disgusting that even the cats turn up their little furry noses. (At the moment, the cats are learning mathematics. There are four sossidges, and three of us big people. Barry thinks two-between-three is surely viable.)
Now I must make soup, because they may be disgusting; and Puy lentils, ditto ditto. There should be bread too, but I should probably have given my sourdough starter more time to work itself up into a lather, what with long weeks of starvation in the fridge and the chilly weather. The bread is not looking good at this time.
In closing, handmade sossidges. And it really is a very hands-on process, not to say hands-in: from the hand-cranked mincer to the soaked hog casings being hand-fed onto the funnel to the filling being hand-forced through (as none of my improvised plungers were half as good as hands).
Don't tell the boys, but there was still some of the filling-mixture left after my skin ran out. Even if we eat all four between us, they may yet get little patties of their own. I may be quite pleased with this. If it doesn't taste disgusting.
So you do know that if I could, I would so absolutely right now be showing you the sossidges that I have made, which are mine.
Sossidges!
All my adult life I have wanted to make sossidges, and now I have. And I would be posting photos (they are four, my sossidges, a little string: not quite a hand of five, and not quite even in length, but hey: sossidges!) but that I have lent my camera to Katherine, and am not able.
Perhaps if I remember I will ask Karen or Mark tonight to take pix, before and after. To be honest, I have no idea how they will cook, tho' if I cut them apart I do expect the filling to ooze out at either end; I always used to think that the best bit, the little knuckle of crunchy sausagemeat that you get at the end of oozing bangers, but these are my own and I want them to be perfect, brown and glistening and contained within their skins.
Also I have little idea how they will eat. I did fry up a test piece, but even so. You can't really tell; that's more just to judge the salt and so forth. A sausage sizzled gently within a skin for half an hour will not taste the same as a kneaded lump of filling tossed into a pan. They may be so disgusting that even the cats turn up their little furry noses. (At the moment, the cats are learning mathematics. There are four sossidges, and three of us big people. Barry thinks two-between-three is surely viable.)
Now I must make soup, because they may be disgusting; and Puy lentils, ditto ditto. There should be bread too, but I should probably have given my sourdough starter more time to work itself up into a lather, what with long weeks of starvation in the fridge and the chilly weather. The bread is not looking good at this time.
In closing, handmade sossidges. And it really is a very hands-on process, not to say hands-in: from the hand-cranked mincer to the soaked hog casings being hand-fed onto the funnel to the filling being hand-forced through (as none of my improvised plungers were half as good as hands).
Don't tell the boys, but there was still some of the filling-mixture left after my skin ran out. Even if we eat all four between us, they may yet get little patties of their own. I may be quite pleased with this. If it doesn't taste disgusting.