Call it what you will, and who gives a sausage about the semantics, but when it comes to Italian salami, salumi or sausage, (called sausage from here on in honour of my ancestors), I'm taken home to my centre, my core. I have no shame about having sausage at my core, just pure pride - and any Italian will understand.
So too might anyone who's been lucky enough to know Italians who've shared some of their precious, garage-made, succulent, oh-so-tasty, somewhat chewy sausage with them. It's only made once a year on or around the Queens Birthday in June - and it's something that's shared very selectively.
To get a better idea of just how precious, and just what lengths (sausage lengths?) people might go to get themselves a share of the sausage action, have a laugh at this.
And to get yourself a slice of the sausage action, or salami action in his case, get to the 2016 Melbourne Salami Festa, celebrating its fifth birthday with a healthy dose of Italian culture on October 8 and 9 in Northcote, naturally.
I'd be there with bells on, or sausage dangling from my ears, but I have to be elsewhere. Family, you know who to keep in mind when making your purchases - and indeed at any other time when negotiating sausage lengths with sausage-making family and friends.
I don't get it (sausage, that is) often as my parents don't make it anymore - and I'm yet to buy a whole pig and build a smoking room .... Hence the sparing six slices, lightly crisped in the grill to savour slowly after they've been mushed into a bit of good bread so the bread soaks a bit of the flavour.
Six slices of home is better than a kilo of crap. And I've got a few more serves tucked away in the fridge. To quote Jamie Oliver when he's excited, happy days!
Foodliterary Regards,
Julia Svoice
(Julia Hebaiter in Another Life)
FoodLit Writer, Feel-Good Food Lover & Storyteller
Because Food Sans Story is Bland
Because Food Sans Story is Bland
