I had to go to the supermarket today to pick up some stuff. While I was there, I got transfixed by the various meats in the refrigerated section. I am a carnivore through and through, but sometimes, when I look at processed meat, I wonder how I can summon the nerve to put it in my mouth.
At the same time, I always wonder if I'm missing out on something awesome because there's a lot of weird-looking crap that I won't put in my mouth.
Which is how I found myself staring at the chorizo this morning. I've heard great things about this stuff from pretty much everyone who has ever eaten it. They always feel the need to tell me what it's made of, though, which kind of ruins it.
As I was staring, an old Hispanic woman walked up beside me.
"Do you like sausage?"
I looked over at her. My first thought was that she was trying to pick me up for some sort of a nasty three-way with her and her disgusting, old-man-balls husband. I'm a bit egotistical.
"Yeah," I told her cautiously.
Yep, definitely hitting on me.
"I've...never had it. Not sure I'm ready to take that step."
She reached out and grabbed a package of chorizo. "Well, if you're going to try it, you should get this kind. It's made in the valley."
"Oh," I said, and took the pack of meat she was pushing at me. I tried to think about what valley she was talking about.
"You go with something else...look, read the ingredients in this other package."
I don't know why I did it, but I picked up the other package and began reading the ingredients out loud, like I was in a freakin' infomercial or something. She cut me off.
"You get thyroid glands."
"That's why you want this--it comes from the valley." I had questions, of course, such as what does coming from the valley have to do with thyroid glands? Do pigs not have thyroids down in the valley? And what about this threesome thing?
She tapped the chorizo-from-the-valley. "You take this home, you cook it up, you'll love it."
"Oh. Okay, then." I dropped the package of grody-looking meat into my basket and walked away. I swear she must have hypnotized me.
I got home and told my princess that I had bought chorizo. I felt like Jack after he bought the magical beans, only insted of bringing them home, he traded them for a STD-laced lap dance. Ahsamed, grossed out, and a little confused about how this had happened.
"That stuff is disgusting," she told me. "You aren't going to like it."
"I figured I might as well give it a try."
"You still got my cinnamon rolls, though, right?"
I wanted to be able to write about it step by step, but knew I wouldn't be able to write things down once I started messing around with raw meat, so I used my mp3 player to take audio notes. My voice sounds a little funny in the above clip, like my nose is stopped up or something. I don't know why that is, except maybe I just have a nasally voice. Which is fantastic when you have an abrasive personality like mine. Because if you can't make friends by being a huge dick, at least the irritating voice will help.
Speaking of huge dicks, check this out:
Mmmmmmmm. Curvy phallic innards.
At first, it didn't seem so bad. I mean, it still felt like I had chopped off someone's penis and was preparing it for breakfast, but aside from that, it didn't seem so bad. Still, though, better to get a little caffeine before attacking the job.
I bought this mug at Goodwill for one buck. I'm pretty sure that dollar for dollar, it is the best purchase I have ever made.
So I had a cup of coffee and then got back to the task at hand: getting the meat out of the creepy, could-be-a-condom-or-could-just-be-foreskin casing on the meat. At first, I tried cutting it a little and peeling it off, but that creeped me out way too much, so I just used the knife to cut a long slit, and then pulled the casing off in one horrid piece.
I picture San Manuel looking at his production manager going, "I just don't think it looks enough like a cock. Can you slap a rubber on there, maybe give it a kind of venereal disease look?"
"Can do, boss, no problem."
Really, I think that most of the story from here on out can be told with pictures and audio clips. Probably how I should have done it from the start.
You think it looks gross now, imagine it stretched out over your face like you're robbing a bank. Incidentally, I am not allowed in the bank anymore.
It's like that expression out of the frying pan into the fire, but instead, it goes from looking like a dick to looking like a pile of poop. Chorizo has it rough.
Come on, man, how could you not want to eat this?
The shape looked like a face to me, but the texture looked like a bloody mess. Breakfast is so violent these days.
See? It's a face! I'm not crazy.
Little egg, little cheese, how bad could it be? Answer: really freaking bad.
Just looking at this picture makes my stomach want to kick my eyes in the balls.
I made it about halfway through, but the weirdness of the meat was cumulative, apparently, because I had to stop eating. I felt gross and greasy and it suddenly felt like I was choking on the smell of chorizo.
I threw it away and looked around for something else for breakfast:
"Let's see...sweet delicious bread, or vinegary pig entrails? Sorry, chorizo-munchers, you lose."