hand-chopped sausage
Submitted on June 16, 2008
Submitted on June 16, 2008
I'll start by saying that cooking at home and I had a falling out awhile back. She threw all my checkered pants and neckerchiefs out on the street, changed the locks and insisted I never talk to her again after I bought Morton's kosher salt instead of Diamond Crystal for the third time in a row. For countless weeks I ate frozen pizzas and pop tarts in my dank apartment on the edge of town to keep myself going, having my fill of high fructose corn syrup from gas station convenient stores. I sank into a deep bout of depression, and started thinking about giving home cooking a call, when it happened, completely by coincidence - we ran into each other at the grocery store.
We almost walked past each other, but I muttered an awkward greeting and she came to a halt in front of a filthy tank occupied by a single, sad lobster.
"You look good," I said. She carried a shopping basket full of dried ancho chilies, pork fatback and Vidalia onions in her left arm. I had a Red Bull and some white chocolate macadamia cookies from the store bakery.
"You look like hell. Is that what you're eating nowadays?"
She gave me a long look of genuine pity. I wasn't sure what to say. She looked amazing, as usual, and I could tell she had just gotten off of work; she wore a power suit so tight I could see the embroidery on her underwear. I couldn't stop thinking of all the time we spent in her kitchen over the six-burner Vulcan range that was so powerful she had to get a special permit to install it. I thought about apologizing for the salt and then decided not to mention it. The lobster, I couldn't help noticing, had a great view.
"Come on. You left your diamond steel at my place and I can't imagine how dull all those beautiful knives of yours are getting without it. I'll give you a ride."
What happened that evening was the greatest makeup sex of my culinary career.
Actually, that was a bit dramatic. My girlfriend's away until next month and I've got a lot of free time on my days off since I'm not hanging out with her.
Anyway, before there were KitchenAid stand mixers with flames painted on the sides of them, there were bowls and whisks. Before industrial meat grinders and sausage stuffers, there were French men with nothing more than outrageous accents, chopping blocks and knives. Today I ground five pounds of pork shoulder the old-fashioned way to make something pretty wonderful; a terrine with serrano chilies in it.
Hand-chopped sausage is a pretty amazing thing to eat when you're had burgers put through perfectly machined 3/16" grinder plates your whole life. The texture is coarse and uneven and tastes rustic, and is something I've been more and more interested in since doing steak tartare at the restaurant recently. The process is very simple: cut up meat to be ground into very small cubes, then have at it with your French knife until you get a nice, consistent mixture. Most likely, you'll have to do it in several batches unless you're doing a pound or less, and it helps a whole lot if your knife is absolutely razor sharp (the part in the story about my steel is true, it's at her house).
After I got the dirty work done and made sure the ratio of fat to meat was correct, I chopped up my garnishes and went about getting the seasoning right. When making a terrine or anything else that's going to be eaten cold, you have to season aggressively since the taste won't be as bright as a warm product. After a few tries of adding salt, chili powder, garlic and chopped serrano peppers to the meat and frying up small pieces to test, I found myself with a sausage patty that was a little on the salty side for a hot dish, but perfect for a cold plate. I pressed the mixture into a loaf pan since I don't own an expensive terrine mold, set it in a hot water bath and baked it until the middle was 140 degrees. As it is right now, the terrine is still chilling in the fridge and can't be turned out yet, so there will be a part two to this story!
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