Chocolate Eggs On Sauerkraut

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I've known folks that start a meal with dessert. It could have been that the person was afraid he'd miss out on that chocolate pie in the buffet line by the time he finished his fried chicken.

I have witnessed folks that don't let one food touch the other while on their plate. God forbid if one pea should roll over to touch the mashed potatoes and therefore become contaminated. Folks like that eat one food item at a time, including a separate dab of mustard. They chew and send the portion to one of the dozens of individual stomachs they think they have been blessed with. To them it is inconceivable to have all food enter one stomach and be mixed together.

Then there are folks who are very proper and only eat their individual courses in the proper sequence. Sitting erect, chewing every bite twenty-four times, with mouth closed. Folks like that make sure they are using the small fork for the salad, the smaller knife for––I don't know what. Of course, they never slurp their soup. They never cut more than tree bites and always switch the fork back to their right hand. They are the kind of folks that don't care for gravy, too messy.

Then there are the germ-o-phobes. They wash their hands, then right-off grab the doorknob to exit the bathroom. They shake hands with friends at the table, then use a wet-wipe to clean their hands. Settling in to partake of the meal, they scoot their chair closer to the table, touching some dried out chewing gum under the chair that a snotty nosed kid stuck there the night before. Then they proceed to inspect the water glass for greasy fingerprints and the empty coffee cup for leftover lipstick. They look at the forks and knife to see if some of yesterday's Eggs Benedict withstood the dishwasher.

While all this is going on, I usually come back to the table with seconds.

I'm seventy-two years old and haven't had a cold in years. Growing up, we ate whatever the Lord blessed us with that day. I've seen my mother use a little spittle on her finger to wipe a dried speck from the dinner plate. Germs and calories hadn't made it to the dictionary then.

Now there are eighteen Beissers, and all are aware of germs. At a family spread (bigger than any church picnic buffet), some start their meal with salad, some with cheese and bread, some with fruit, some with veggies and dip, and some with the stuff that really counts––wurst.

I order the best of the wurst from Usingers out of Wisconsin. Ah, we have some in our bunch that analyze the sausage and its ingredients. Some don't like the looks of the natural casings which show little things that were once connected to the circulatory system of the swine.

The men say little. All of us just want a straight path to the wurst.

  
Whether the delicacy is simmered or grilled,

The Beisser men are adventurous when it comes to food. We all like to cook and concoct. The fact is, none of us have yet been discovered. How would anyone know what sardines in buttermilk pancakes taste like if you have never tried them? How would anyone ever be pleasantly overjoyed if they have never tried liverwurst melted on apple fritters?

Trust me, you folks have to step out of your routine and live!

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