I was under the house organizing the laundry, as one does on a Saturday when one isn't working when a cheery voice called out. Huh? No one's cheery on my street.
Andy was looking to unload frozen meat as he drove by looking for customers now that winter's over. I felt safe; I buy nothing without my wife's permission. He was a great salesman and kept edging me into feeling like a fool for not buying thirty pounds of frozen beef for $180. "My last box," he kept saying, "then I can go home." Like I was his angel of release. I called my wife at the gym and she bargained him sight unseen. "Organic?" "Natural" he countered- no hormone.
My wife, being who she is and never paying retail, got him down to $150 over the phone on my promise I could stash the food in the freezer and I handed over a credit card. This was the weirdest food shopping I'd done since we cruised Central America in a sailboat together lo these many years and even down there most food is bought American style in a supermarket these days. This meat looked good to my untutored masculine eye.
There were sirloin, filet mignon, and a dozen hamburgers ("Good for a party," my wife announced). Cheyenne took a close interest in the proceedings and as Andy drove home to Fort Myers, or more likely continued to cruise the neighborhood looking for some more "last customers" (for delivery call 239-822-4091) I hauled the box up to the freezer.
Packaging as usual was excessive but I got the little frozen packets into the freezer without too much chaos, and as I contemplated a future filled with dead cow (and hoping it really is good stuff) the power went off.
WTF? After I spent time here on this very page extolling the beauty of modern public utilities in the Keys the fans stopped whirling and fridge went silent. Well, bugger, this was a message from the gods, buy food for freezer storage and we take away the motive power. My wife called from the gym, as one does: "Is the power out there too?" her elliptical encyclical was interrupted apparently. I took the boxes down stairs wondering how some people manage to make a living, "30 years of doing this," Andy said cheerfully, sweating profusely in the heat. I could no more breeze up to a stranger and sell him a box of meat just like that than I could put a revolver to his head and blow his brains out. How do some people do it? I think it's genetic. 
I will have to break the boxes down for recycling but that can come later. Meanwhile I have to finish off the laundry, interrupted by the power outage, then I have to put the gas kettle on the stove for tea, and sit down to read the Blue Paper, as one does on a Saturday morning to find out who's been naughty and who's been naughtier. All this interrupted by a visit from the butcher from Mayberry and his cheerful 1950s patter. The power outage by contrast was a non event.
Andy was looking to unload frozen meat as he drove by looking for customers now that winter's over. I felt safe; I buy nothing without my wife's permission. He was a great salesman and kept edging me into feeling like a fool for not buying thirty pounds of frozen beef for $180. "My last box," he kept saying, "then I can go home." Like I was his angel of release. I called my wife at the gym and she bargained him sight unseen. "Organic?" "Natural" he countered- no hormone.
My wife, being who she is and never paying retail, got him down to $150 over the phone on my promise I could stash the food in the freezer and I handed over a credit card. This was the weirdest food shopping I'd done since we cruised Central America in a sailboat together lo these many years and even down there most food is bought American style in a supermarket these days. This meat looked good to my untutored masculine eye.There were sirloin, filet mignon, and a dozen hamburgers ("Good for a party," my wife announced). Cheyenne took a close interest in the proceedings and as Andy drove home to Fort Myers, or more likely continued to cruise the neighborhood looking for some more "last customers" (for delivery call 239-822-4091) I hauled the box up to the freezer.Packaging as usual was excessive but I got the little frozen packets into the freezer without too much chaos, and as I contemplated a future filled with dead cow (and hoping it really is good stuff) the power went off. 
WTF? After I spent time here on this very page extolling the beauty of modern public utilities in the Keys the fans stopped whirling and fridge went silent. Well, bugger, this was a message from the gods, buy food for freezer storage and we take away the motive power. My wife called from the gym, as one does: "Is the power out there too?" her elliptical encyclical was interrupted apparently. I took the boxes down stairs wondering how some people manage to make a living, "30 years of doing this," Andy said cheerfully, sweating profusely in the heat. I could no more breeze up to a stranger and sell him a box of meat just like that than I could put a revolver to his head and blow his brains out. How do some people do it? I think it's genetic. I will have to break the boxes down for recycling but that can come later. Meanwhile I have to finish off the laundry, interrupted by the power outage, then I have to put the gas kettle on the stove for tea, and sit down to read the Blue Paper, as one does on a Saturday morning to find out who's been naughty and who's been naughtier. All this interrupted by a visit from the butcher from Mayberry and his cheerful 1950s patter. The power outage by contrast was a non event.
2 comments:
You can't have any pudding if you don't eat your meat!
From the flesh gnawer on Fleming,
Chuck.
Layne made one last night with blue cheese. It was actually very good. I was relieved she gave it her seal of approval.
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