Word: meat
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...decided not to let a bunch of horse freaks, regardless of how hot they once were, prevent me from eating meat enjoyed in Japan, Belgium, France, Italy, Sweden, the Netherlands, Germany and Austria. I quickly found out, however, that it's just about impossible to get a good piece of horse in the U.S. There had been three horsemeat-processing plants here that shipped meat overseas for consumption by humans and kept some behind for consumption by animals. But the two plants in Texas were ordered shut last month when a court of appeals agreed to enforce a 1949 state...
...friend in Vancouver to drive to the Oyama Sausage Co., a high-end meat store at the amazing market on Granville Island. Sadly, she wasn't able to pick up any horse steaks, or better yet Italian horse salami or German horse sausage. Not only are they supposed to be great, but it would have allowed me to say horse salami and horse sausage throughout this article. But she did pick up half a pound of salted, cured meat. On the FedEx form, she called the shipment a "leather art project," which seemed about right. Still, Homeland Security must have...
When I opened my package, I couldn't believe how deeply red the meat was. The Japanese call it sakura, which means "cherry blossom," because of the color. I kept waiting to slice it up to serve with goat cheese and crackers and an earthy bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, but my wife Cassandra kept saying she wasn't hungry yet. Cassandra, I was learning, takes her clichés pretty seriously. When she was finally hungry enough to eat a horse, I cut us some thin slices...
...turned out to be pretty awesome--a sweet, rich, superlean, oddly soft meat, closer to beef than venison. I put some slices over a salad of arugula with olive oil and a splash of lemon juice and some caramelized onions. It was like a livelier, lighter braseola...
...album get “The Carpal Tunnel of Love.” Even before you break open the shrink wrap, it feels like Fall Out Boy just isn’t trying. It’s unfortunate, since the record displays the same high-gloss, meat-and-potatoes instrumentalism of FOB’s other work. Guitarists Ryan Ross and Chad Gilbert still treat the palm mute like a magic trick, and vocalists Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz wield the same saccharine croon. Granted, the disc is stuffed with studio effects; I’d be shocked to learn...