Help, my home is a meat locker
My son-in-law shot a deer this past hunting season and my husband told him to bring it to our house so the two could process the meat.
Now my husband thinks he’s a butcher and has turned our home into a meat locker.
First he started making jerky and snack sticks, and he’s now graduated to bacon. Who makes their own bacon? It was good, but seriously, who makes their own bacon.
He said that making his own bacon is cheaper than buying it in the store, which I’m not so sure it true. I do know that judging by the amount of meat we have to throw away — stuff that is too spicy, salty or burnt — has to be costing us more than we are saving.
And he smokes everything in his new smoker. I bought a big package of chicken breasts from Sam’s Club and wanted him to cook the chicken on the grill like we always do. But he smoked it instead. It was so salty, neither one of us could eat it.
He buys huge cuts of pork and fills up the deep freeze in our extra fridge that sits in the garage, which smells mostly of garlic and smoke.
And Amazon has memorized our address, as he is constantly ordering meat processing tools, seasonings and skins (I don’t know the proper name for this) for brats and sausage.
The other day, I found a newly delivered package on my kitchen counter that said to put it into the freezer immediately after it’s delivered.
He has a slicer, grinder, sausage stuffer, big gray tubs, a smoker, a dehydrator, a thermometer thingy and enough spices to start his own restaurant.
I don’t think the thermometer thingy works very well. Last night I came home and he pulled three or four racks of jerky out of the dehydrator that were clearly overdone.
He even bought a book about charcuterie, which I found out is a French word that translated into English means pork butcher. He doesn’t even know how to pronounce charcuterie.
I don’t know if this is ever going to end but I wish he would ditch meat making for housecleaning.