Tuesday 27 March 2007

The Draught Sausage Adventures, cont.

Regular perusers of this chronicle will know that on Sunday morning I failed to find a door snake at Kmart. On Monday morning I complained, en blog. By Monday evening I was committed (a) to making my own door snake, and (b) to ensuring that, henceforth, the once and former door snake be known as a draught sausage by all my heirs and successors unto the seventh generation. Hear that, heirs and successors? Draught. Sausage.

Amongst my worldly goods, I keep a geriatric and slightly temperamental Singer (TM), whose temperamentality I forgive - nay, even rejoice in - because the cranky old beast fell into my arms for a song (a $10 song, to be precise) some years ago at the Rozelle markets. My Singer was unusually obliging this evening, and in five minutes flat, between putting on the kettle and dissolving the cocoa, we had whipped up this rather smart draught sausage case:


A fine beginning to homemade-draught-sausagedom, but as any draught sausage connoisseur knows, a draught sausage case alone doth not a draught sausage make. No ma'am. This draught sausage case needs a-fillin'.

Being something of a lentil-fancier, my thoughts had naturally turned to lentils. Being congenitally miserly, they had then turned to rice, which is cheaper. Copper Witch wisely pointed out that lentils and rice both favour small creatures, or that small creatures favour lentils and rice, and my draught sausage was at risk of being eaten from the inside out. She suggested sawdust, as the lesser of two weevils. (Ha! Get it? Weevil pun, and there are plenty more where that came from. Just ask me. Please.)

But sawdust? In this day and age? When furniture is made out of recycled lemonade bottles and houses begin as prefabricated plastic pallets? I can't remember the last time I saw sawdust. The pet supplies shop down the road sells woodshavings - by the box - but sawdust, no.

Happily, premature Winter seems to have gone into recess, so the draught sausage's services are not immediately required. But I dare not presume, in these strange southern climes, that the weather will continue to be undraughty. Meanwhile, I will hunt high and low for sensible quantities of sawdust and continue to audition other substances for skills in draught-sausage-stuffing and weevil-retardance. The homemade draught sausage will prevail.

13 comments:

BwcaBrownie said...

lesser of two evils ...

oh the pain.

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

Thanks, Brownie. Oh what a tangled web we weevil ...

JahTeh said...

I don't know about these young'uns Brownie. If you have an old dribbled upon Tontine pillow. Take off the cover and shred the innards and stuff tightly into sausage. Given your extreme thriftyness I wouldn't dare suggest a bag of polystyrene beads as in bean bag filling.

I have a row of stuffed fabric kittens with button eyes and necklaces as my draught stopper but that's quite a nice plain one you have there. *wanders off sniggering*

Anonymous said...

where's its face? i look forward to seeing your final draught.

Tony.T said...

They'll always be door sausages to me.

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

Oh, so it's a DOOR sausage now? Fancy such a humble beast getting about with so many names. I wonder if there's an international disambiguation committee that works on this kind of thing.

Emmy, you're funny. The nice thing about calling it a draught sausage is that it doesn't need a face.

Anonymous said...

Ideas for stuffages of sausages: very tightly packed shredded newspaper (or Wordsworth poems, as you prefer); pieces of fabric (or last season's skirts, as you prefer); the hair of your enemies (or of random strangers on the train, as you prefer).

Alternatively, show some wherewithal and, as befits a woman of this century, Make Thine Own Sawdust.

Anonymous said...

Back in the Olden Days, Chez Spaniel harboured a green sand-stuffed draught dodger at the foot of the front door. We know the stuffing was sand because one day some of the stitching came undone. Sew carefully!!!

lucy tartan said...

Sausages have faces all right, it's just that the faces have been ground to a pulp and distributed evenly throughout their bodies.

Anonymous said...

alexis, there's nothing 'nice' about not needing a face!

lucy tartan, too right old girl.

TimT said...

'There are two things Man should never see: the draughting of legislation, and the making of sausages'.

Quote courtesy of That German Guy. You know, That German Guy With The Name That I Can't Remember.

Anonymous said...

Tim, that is why I try not to watch Parliament on TV. Legislation and sausages are a really bad combination at the best of times, and the wurst thing of all is when the pollies make mincemeat out of their opponents.

Which reminds me (not sure how, but it does) of one of my favourite company names ever: Legal Eagal Begal & Briefcase, a firm of customs brokers in Sydney.

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

"Legal Eagal Begal and Briefcase" - oh, that IS lovely. Almost lovely enough to have me reconsidering the customs brokering line of life.

Regarding the draught sausage's face, I offer here two assurances: assurance the first, the draught sausage, to the best of my knowledge, contains no ingredient that ever was sentient; moreover, all sausages at Hôtel Harlot - including a pack of rather tasty chickpea numbers from the fridge at Coles New World - are one hundred per cent vegetarian; assurance the second, due to popular demand, the draught sausage will have a face. I am stuffing with newspaper (many thanks to Jennifer for the suggestion) and will get to physiognomical details in the fullness of time. Photos pending.