There’s a guy that comes by my office selling wholesale, restaurant quality meat out of his truck. I know what you’re thinking…..it sounds a little fishy. Who buys meat off a truck? Well, I do. I can tell you from experience that this meat is legit. After all, this is Chicago and if you are true second city, you have to “have a guy” that sells meat. I gotta guy. The stuff my guy sells is amazing, and he knows it. He will gladly push you the first box of prime, aged, melt-in-your-mouth, perfectly marbled rib eyes for next to nothing because he knows you will come back, slobbering and crazed for more. This has earned him his well deserved nickname……..The Crack Dealer.
Once he found out my husband and I were feeding a small army of carnivores he has just happened to “be in the neighborhood” about twice a month. Just last week he came in to see if I needed anything. Of course I am in dire need of hundreds of dollars worth of steaks, lamb chops, polish sausage and Kobe burgers. What self respecting mother isn’t? At the end of the workday I pull into the driveway, walk into the house and give the usual instructions:
Me: “Hey guys, go empty out the back of the truck. I have food in there to put in the freezer.”
Sons 2-4: “Really? Is it crack dealer meat???”
Me: “Yes. Lots of it. And he threw in a 3 pound package of bacon.”
Chorus of boys: “Yeessssssssssssss!”
Only then, as I hear those words of gratitude fall from the lips of my blessed little darlings do I realize I’m the only mother on the block that lets her children refer to anyone as “The Crack Dealer”. I make a mental note to myself to lecture the boys over our dinner of marinated skirt steak about being very selective where they utter the words “mom knows a crack dealer”.
One thing is for sure, over the course of the last 18 years I have found very creative ways to feed the meat eating habits of six men. The invention of wholesale bulk stores like Sam’s and Costco are something akin to a messenger of God telling me I have a meat tree growing in the back yard. I am currently having conversations with one of my high school friends about buying one of her heritage pigs and giving the slaughter house my cut order. I can make at least 15 different meals out of bacon alone.
One of the most telling signs of our meat eating addiction was several years ago when #4 was in pre-school and we had a family night at the school. It was a craft project making table runners for our family Thanksgiving table. You could bring in photos and they had cute cut outs of scrap paper to glue onto the runner that was then put through a laminating machine. I gave all six of my men a paper leaf and wrote on the top “I am thankful for”. I asked them to write in just a couple of words something they were grateful for. Just like all the other families, my guys were grateful for “family”, “Uncle Herb”, “Grandma and Abuela”, all the usual suspects. But my four year old was just learning letters and needed some help. It was then he asked….
“How do you spell MEAT?”