Le maudit Mo D.

meat makes think

Today, while I was sitting around the HRC reading room waiting for the nice page to fetch the Dame Enid Van Wyck Picklepussy Papers for my current research job, I was perusing the NYTimes online and learned that the owner of the Johnsonville bratwurst company has passed. Five years ago, I wouldn't have known a Johnsonville brat if you thrust one sideways into my left eustachian tube, but because of Bob, my midwestern meat-lovin' husband, I am now familiar with Wisconsin bratwurst culture and customs. Bob spent most of his youth in Wisconsin and hails from the Bratwurst Capitol of the World, Sheboygan. That we both hail from food-related Capitols of the World is just one of the countless reasons that Bob + Mo = magic.

Sheboygan's main attraction is its Bratwurst Days, sponsored by the Sheboygan Jaycees and Kohler, maker of fine bathroom fixtures. I wish that their slogan on the bratdays website was "Kohler: Where Your Brat Goes When You're Done With It," but of course it's not. Bob would object to my sullying a local tradition with my apparent poop fetish, but tough shit. BD happens in August, so I was thinking maybe Meat Man and I could celebrate 11.5 months of wedded bliss with a trip up to his hometown to eat sausage sandwiches and enjoy musical headliner Dokken. We could stay at a La Quinta and even go visit T-Square and Al down in Madison. And eat Babcock Hall ice cream! It could be an entire trip focused on the consuption of fatty foods! We could come home ten pounds heavier and with the gout.

Yesterday I attended the new Farmers Market with Nadine and Andy. Among the many vendors was a truck capped with a ceramic roast chicken that was outfitted as a mobile spit. Seasoned chickens spun on the rotisserie while improvised word-of-mouth marketing occurred in the line. I overheard one customer foaming at the mouth over how this was the best chicken he's ever had, his girlfriend nodding and wiping anticipatory saliva from the corners of her mouth. The vendor guy was loudly repeating and accepting the compliments. Both Nadine and I came away with half a chicken. The chicken is split with a pair of bone-cutting scissors and is served in a bag. I must say that the chicken is hot and flavorful and is definitely worthy of a repeat trip.

About six or seven vendors were peddling tomatoes. I wondered to myself if there is some kind of tomato turf war heating up. Some tomatoes looked healthier than others. Maybe the bumpy yellowish ones were some artisanal variety that is really delicious but just looks kind of beat-up.

There was a plethora of youngsters in the 2-5 age range availing themselves of the coolness of the fountain. Obviously the parents had prepared for this and had outfitted their kinder in swimwear. One young boy very unself-consciously made it known that he prefered to experience the water unclad and ditched his shorts in a puddle. His indulgence was brief, as Mom gave chase with the shorts in her hand, demanding he cover his bottom in public so that the surrounding marketgoers didn't think she was an inattentive parent. The young boy had the "naked at home is okay/naked in public is not okay" rule re-read to him and he scampered back to the fountain defeated. I don't think he knows that it will be another 18-20 years until he can do that, in college, drunk as hell, before society will accept public nudity from him again.