When the 'rents came up this weekend, they brought the farm with them. I suppose they always do, since even my dad's cell phone has what my sister once called "a faint piggy smell." In this case, though, I mean they brought veggies from the garden and a variety of pork products.
I asked for bacon (duh!) and brats, as I was running low on both. Well, I wasn't really running that low on brats. But shit, it's summer! Who knows when I might get invited somewhere for grilling? I can't be showing up with *gasp* store-bought brats. God, how embarrassing. People have come to have certain expectations when they invite me to things where I might bring meat.
There was a problem with the brats, though. Mom said that when Dad told the butcher how to cut up the hog, he forgot to tell him to make some brats. Dad, of course, said he was sure he told him that we needed brats and it was the butcher's fault there were none in the freezer at home. So, Mom got the meat market (ha!) brats, which are the same, but the pork comes from one of our neighbor's hogs. I can live with that.
She got what was left -- a couple of fresh brats, a couple of beer brats, onion, mushroom and Swiss and cheddar. There may be another one or two in there, but I just can't remember all of the varieties. I was glad to hear they were out of wild rice brats. Mom insists they're delicious, but I loathe wild rice. So, upon hearing this, I'm all, "What am I going to do with all of those weird, flavored brats?"
Then I thought: brat tasting party! I could either label the ones I knew (apparently you can see the mushrooms and onion and there's some other identifying characteristics ... since I can't see through butcher paper, I cannot confirm this) and just let people try them, or! we could do taste tests and try to figure out which one is which.
I'm pretty sure this makes me crazy. Or slightly more crazy than I already am. But I so want to do it.