I’m still stuck in the meat-tacular groovitational pull of Planet 805B. The majesty of the multiple-meat breakfast just got kicked clean overboard.
A number of years ago, the legendary Glencoe cook Lurlene Smith first introduced me to the five-meat breakfast. Before that earth-shattering, bowel-moving day, I had always thought that one meat was sufficient to have on a breakfast plate, especially when you have eggs, biscuits and gravy, and grits to go along with. The daughter of a farming family, Lurlene was not satisfied with one meat at breakfast, cause you never knew who would be stopping by after church, or coming up out of the field to eat. Lurlene liked to serve what the rest of the family lovingly referred to as the five-meat breakfast. The featured meats would be anything from pork products like sausage patties, ham steaks, bacon, link sausage (two different kinds: the small kind that crisped up really well, and the large kielbasa kind that had the skin so tight that when you bit into it, it burst out like the pierced intestine that it resembled) and possibly sliced pork loin (left over from the night before), to ribeye steaks and roast beef (again, left over from the night before). As a neophyte faced with my first five-meat breakfast, I felt overwhelmed and very small in my big-girl breakfast chair. But after two mimosas and a lightening round of “If I hadn’t of married you, I could’ve been a nurse” between Lurlene and her husband of fifty-plus years, I was dizzy and hungry and confused…so I ate…one of everything. And when it didn’t kill me immediately, I ate again…and drank some more. And I thought from that day forward, I would never again allow myself to think that five meats at breakfast was excessive.
So recently, while discussing the upcoming Fleegan Sunday Brunch, I very casually spoke of the five-meat breakfast. Nothing more was mentioned until this past Saturday evening, the eve of the Brunch. Kansas Slim pulled out a piece of paper and began making a grocery list. If I recall correctly, the conversation went a little something like this: “So, what kinds of meat were eaten at the five-meat breakfast? Laura and I were trying to figure them all out.” Dreamily I began to recount the list that I have already detailed above, “Well, there was the entire pork family, bacon, ham, patty sausage…wait, you’re not seriously thinking about doing the five-meat breakfast, are you?!? We don’t have the proper permits and we have to notify the fire department at least a week in advance…” Slim just smiled and started writing. The lure of massive amounts of carnivorous fare was too great. It was to be a cage match between him and the beast.
Sunday: With enough smoke billowing out of the house to cause the smoke alarm next door to go off (hah! Just kidding), Slim cooked not five, but six meats for our brunch (in addition to blueberry pancakes, hashbrown casserole and biscuits...and let's not forget all of the contributions made by the rest of the Fleegans: tasty muffins from the casa de Jones, chess squares from Terica, fruit and champagne that was grown by the Woods *snicker,* facon and champagne from the Catoes, croissants and champagne from Tami Sparks...the food just kept coming). With bodies strewn about the floor of 805B Place, the collective meatsigh that went up after the plates were put down could be heard all the way to Chattanooga (Beerganooga for all you beergrims going on the beergrimage next weekend). Meatku was written to mark the occasion.
There were photos taken of the after, but none of the before. It's like it never happened, like it was a dream. A dream that left a greasy fat scum in the tub after I showered this morning (wow, that's a new gage for meat-a-rificness).
Listening to: Richard Cheese Lounge Against the Machine
Reading: About to start Hunting Mister Heartbreak