by

February 9, 2012

Do you like this?

She lay in front of me like a fantasy come to life. Her tender flesh was so inviting, so beautifully willing. I dared not reach out and touch her for fear the intensity of her golden skin could be too much, so I allowed her smell to intoxicate me for seconds that seemed like hours until I could no longer resist. I had to have her. Like an animal, I let her taste fill my mouth and wash over my senses. Each time my tongue flicked her pink flesh, the lids of my eyes fell shut, as if pulled by an invisible force. Time stood still and my movements slowed while I delighted in her taste.

I am taking this Valentine’s Day to tell a brief love story; a love forbidden in some cultures and simply frowned upon by those who eschew their base predilections. It’s the story of man and his undying love for that most precious of meats—pork.

My love affair with pork began as a young man, drawn  by the same smells and titillated by the heaving flesh that sets my stomach fluttering to this day. I have fond memories of sneaking off behind the church during homecoming potlucks to savor a kiss of pulled pork barbecue offered by Southern Baptist church ladies.

I can never forget the hours spent yearning and groaning for the taste of that tender little piggy-next-door who would tease me with her beautiful skin, testing the self-discipline of a young man whose hunger for fleshy delights was matched only by the raging pork-on I concealed with casual conversation and underage drinking.

As an adult I have known the taste of many a porcine siren. To my shame, I have frequented back alley pimps offering pork sandwiches from questionable sources, debasing myself with OPP (Other People’s Pork). But I have grown into a less impulsive and impetuous man. I have a more mature approach to what pork goes into my body because, in these uncertain times, one should know exactly where a pig has been. Don’t let pork of questionable origin crawl into the sack with you—stick with locally purchased piggies and you’ll never go wrong.

Like many men at my stage in life I have developed a certain pork “type” if you will. I have to admit I am guilty of the most common of pork lusts: I am a bacon addict. My obsession with bacon has transcended mere desire and become a fetish, an insatiable lust for the pixie dust of the culinary world, magically turning anything it touches into an object of unbridled licentiousness.

At 217 E. Main St. there is a bastion of respect and honor for the object of my culinary fantasies. Link 41 is a locally owned and operated sanctuary that caters to those whose love of pork can no longer be sullied by the vagaries of a Monsanto-dog or a bacon pimp hanging out at the Bi-Mart meat aisle  who is willing to hook you up with a cheap pork fix that always ends in a pile of napkins, shame, and regret.  

The artisan and cured meats at Link 41 are skillfully prepared in small batches from Sequatchie Cove and Cloudcrest Farm animals right in the shop.The front case is filled with their own house bacon, back bacon and jowl bacon, which will give you instant porkgasms—or at the least premature porkulations when you put this meat candy into your mouth.  

If you are a lover of meat in tube form, you will be in a sausage heaven at Link 41. I’m a fan of the Portugesa, Ginger-Cilantro, Potsticker and Deviled Kidney sausages, but there are many more I could easily recommend.  

by

February 9, 2012

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