SOUSE

Never heard of souse until I started working in middle Georgia. There's a local meat and three I used to hit every morning around 6 am when I was running the Wednesday delivery route years ago. The breakfast selection consisted of about 10 different meats, including fatback, strick-o-lean, scrapple, and souse. Souse is a fuckin eyesore. Looks quite wrong and jiggles like it should be topped with Kool-Whip. Inquired once and was told it would "set'cha straight" and "get'cha right." Feeling arrow-straight already from 10 cups of shithouse coffee, I respecfully declined the offer.

A few months ago I returned to aforementioned meat and three and asked about souse. I was told they made their own and did so once a month. "You go'n get yoself feets and snouts and cook up slow all day. Dat souse. Dat da good souse." I told her the recipe wasn't terribly descriptive, but I'd try. I picked up some plastic wrapped pigs feet and a jar of snouts from the meat aisle at Webb's and waited in line with folks stinking of wine before lunchtime. Loaded the paper bags of parts into the car and watched men pop their quarts and slink to the store's back, watching the trains go by. Locusts screamed in mimosa. Teens pregnant and indifferent smoked menthols in the lot, crows poking about the ground for scraps. Good scene.

Probably ran the goddamn gas bill up to the aether by setting this hodgepodge on the hob all day. I didn't think it would work out; I wasn't planning on it. Six feet and half as many snouts and celery. Two whole Vidalia onions. A few blades of mace. Some garlic. A glug of cider vinegar. I let it boil and skimmed scum off the top. It cooked down for hours. Smelled as wrong as perfume in a pig pen. Once it cooled I scraped and chopped and strained. Pulled a small worn bread tin out and layered meat and fat and skin one over the other. Ladled the cooking liquid over the top and let it set. Ran plastic wrap over the top and set it in the fridge. It congealed overnight from all the natural gelatin and I banged it out without incident on the chopping block. From there it was sealed in a Ziploc and sentenced to a long freeze. I pulled it out a day ago, thawed and sliced it, browned some bread and chopped some pickled green tomatoes given to me by a former middle Georgia commissioner into bright green batons.

How was it? It was rich and sweet and sharp. Strangely contrasting textures. A taste like grass, like blood, like the earthiness of slow roasted pork. Probably the most "piggy" essence I've ever tasted and the pickled tomato cut the richness without overpowering what little nuance the souse held. With cold canned beer and the promise of a weekend looming, the shit hit the spot, and it's handsome enough to entice even the most fettered of tastes. Just don't tell 'em what's in it.