The Errant Sausage
While in Ontario, one of my house concert hosts took me to a lovely Mennonite-run shop where meat, cheese and other delicious items are sold. My host told me that the summer sausage sold in this shop (and made by the shop-keepers) was some of the best she had ever tasted. I decided to get a sausage to bring home and after all was said and done, the lovely little beef/pork parcel you see in the photo was mine, all mine!
But I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to bring this back into the US. The conversations I had in the next two weeks regarding “My Sausage” were quite hilarious:
“Would you like to see MY sausage?”
“How big is YOUR sausage?”
“My, O my! That’s some sausage”
You get the idea.
At the border, I was all set to defend the Errant Sausage’s status, but instead was asked about my citizenship, where I was coming from and, when told I was a folk musician was asked, “Are you famous?” I told Mr. US Customs Guy that he could Google me and find out for himself. He smiled, said “Have a great day!” and away I went. None of the usual questions about the three infamous items: alcohol, firearms or tobacco.
The Errant Sausage arrived home intact, but not for long. It was also the best sausage I had ever eaten.
