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Thursday, December 23, 2010

Let Me Show You How It's Done - Part I




It's not that the food in Canada is weird, it's just that there is a definite lack of southern comfort. Forget about grits, they've never even heard of them. Sausage isn't the same either. I'm no expert on sausage but I know there is more to it than just links. For example, Jimmy Dean = John Doe here in Canada. It doesn't exist. I don't know how they expect to make a decent breakfast. How does one make breakfast casserole? Sausage egg scrambles? Sausage cheese balls?

Let me show you. 

The Canadian has to bring more food to work tomorrow and when I suggested sausage cheese balls he kind of looked at me like I had eight heads. That was enough for me - it's time to show the Maritimes what they're missing and why Jimmy Dean should be translated in French.




You start with 1/2 cup of milk. No, I don't know how many milliliters that equals.




Then you go to three different grocery stores in search of sausage in a tube. You graciously act like you don't notice the weird looks you get when inquiring about the whereabouts of this strange sausage. Spicy sausage in a tube? Not happening. I was lucky to find normal sausage in a tube.




Then you add 16 ounces of cheese. No, I don't know how many grams that equals and I don't care.




Then you go to two more grocery stores looking for Bisquick. Then you finally find it, with no help from the employees, on the bottom self, way in the back all by its lonesome.

You add three cups. Again, I don't care or want to know how many grams that equals.




Then, because you're feeling sassy after all the grocery store hunting, you throw in some rosemary.




Then you mix it all up with your hands and try not to develop arthritis. Then you wash your hands and try not to contaminate your whole house with salmonella.




Then you roll it all up into little balls and remember how yesterday you won the Wife of the Year award. And you'll probably win it again today, too.




Then you bake it for 20 minutes at 350 Fahrenheit. No, I don't know what that is in Celsius.

Then you sit back and enjoy your eggnog because you just single-handily showed Canada what an authentic southern appetizer looks like.

God bless the South. And Betty Crocker. And Jimmy Dean.

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