Taste My Wiener!

Every once in a while against all seeming odds, I actually finish my work early and manage to leave just a fraction earlier than most ( a delightful rarity really! ). When I glanced at the clock realizing that my work was done, I almost took up a breathless jig of joy. Seriously, is there anything better than having your dreary work schedule suddenly cut short leaving you an hour or two of leisure time? Didn't take such unexpected bounty for granted of course and immediately took the opportunity to rush off from work to have a sausage break.

Yeah, you heard me right. Sausages. Nothing I love more than hot, thick, moist sausages with cheesy cream on top. And don't even snicker at the phallic connotation, ye dirty minded buggers! :P

I mean surely some of you out there know what I mean when I say there's nothing like a plate of sausages, hash browns and eggs in the morning, don'tcha think? Of course Charming Calvin never quite understands my carnivorous need for a plate of meat and oil without boring greens to spoil the fun. Surely a gastronomical heart attack waiting to happen - and I can easily imagine Big Bicep Barry staring at my plate in consternation.


Would you like some sausages with that?
But I can't help it. Just hope my arteries can stand that little bit more abuse!

Somehow or rather biting into a sausage reminds me of late mornings lazing about in the English sun. Right after the rigors of my final exams, I actually made a sweet escape to Cambridge one brief halcyon summer ( I bluffed an excuse about attending lectures shockingly enough! ) to camp out in my cousin's crammed pied-a-terre. Amazing how I can recall my long ago summers there with perfect clarity ( when I can't even recall the names of people I've met a week back ) but it's simple really. One of the few times in my life that I've felt really free surprisingly, totally liberated from the restrained behaviour expected of me.

God, some of the shocking things I did :) Talk about Boys Gone Wild.

Nothing wildly improper about my sausage experience though. Although my cousin dutifully dragged me to a few of her dull, didactic dronings / lectures ( where I spent my time casting amorous glances at her hunkier classmates imagining naughty licentious affairs with delicious English boys ), I still managed to sneak off for several excursions around the rustic countryside. London didn't seem so far away when I had hours to spare and change enough for transport.

As fortune had it, right before my getaway train station there was this crusty old gentleman who made his living selling fresh hot dogs from a cart. Typical Brit in tweed and jacket, I assure you - and quite possibly the shrewd salesman hammed up his thick accent just a tad to amuse the tired traveler.

Sure I know the sausages were probably full of discarded intestines, leftover crud and pumped chock-full of dangerous chemicals enough to preserve a good dozen aging Mak Datins for another decade or so. But by God, it tasted good, redolent of heat, lard and spices. And it was just cheap enough for a shoestring-budget, back-packing student like myself back then.

And did I mention that he also had an economical buy five free one offer? All prettily packaged with a loyalty card - and seals in the shape of a hot dog? :)

Now wouldn't you want to take a bite?