Onyxrising's Journal

How he can eat that stuff is beyond me.
On the island Sven grew up on, fresh vegetables or meats (other than those you hunted or poached yourself) were hard comeby, expensive, and had always aged a bit more than what a normal grocery store must endure prior to reaching him. As a result, he got used to eating canned meats from a pretty early age. He has a disproportionate love of them. His grandmother, knowing this, sends all sorts of canned meats (even canned bacon) in her care packages. To properly imitate grandma's home cooking, the pork or beef has to be tinned.
There is chicken with an apple gravy in the refrigerator. I made up a fresh pot of it. And he's eating a meat that I'm nor sure I could identify as ham if it weren't for the label.
On some level, I feel as if I've failed as a cook. I really don't think I grasp that man somedays, at least not his appetites.
I should get the meat for Lupa and Taylor's thing marinating tonight. I've defrosted pork, or what seems to be a decent cross section of an entire pig. I'm going to have to try to pick out which part is which part of the pig, and start dividing it up into cuts.
At some point, I'd really like to get one of the books Powell's has on smoking meats, making sausages, and the like. I know a little of it, from watching it done back home, but I've never actually had to do such things. I wonder if I could still talk Eliot out of his grandmother's blood sausage recipe. They reportedly smelled hideous while cooking, but once done, everyone who ever tried them swore that they were amazing.