SCOTT LUDWIG: Chewing the fat

My wife has a handful of fears that border on being irrational. At the top of the list are – in no particular order – lizards, frogs and werewolves. To put those fears into perspective, her fears would be comparable to you or I waking up in the middle of a minefield and finding a note with “good luck getting out” pinned to our shirts. In other words, they are — quite simply — terrifying.

Accidentally getting a piece of fat in her mouth would rank high on her list as well. Before taking a bite of anything in the meat family, Cindy cuts out every last iota of fat with the skill and precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Just thinking there’s even the slightest possibility that she missed any fat puts her gag reflex into overdrive.

So it came as a surprise when we stopped for lunch on our way home from a family vacation and Cindy ordered a beef brisket sandwich, especially since she didn’t have a knife available to remove any sliver of fat that might accidentally end up in her mouth.

We ate at a place just south of Macon that can best be described as a convenience store/gas station on steroids, only with cleaner bathrooms. One other major difference: what was sold inside the store were quality items, not the overly-priced, well, junk found in other convenience stores. From what I can tell, the company is based in Texas and owned by a rather large beaver. While Cindy enjoyed her brisket sandwich that “didn’t have an ounce of fat in it,” I loaded up on salt water taffy because it’s one of my favorites and not always easy to find.

Two weeks later, my grandson and I returned for a second time. For Krischan, it was a reward for helping me around the house for several days. For me, it was already time to restock on salt water taffy, because eight bags don’t last nearly as long as one might think.

After we did our shopping, we decided to have lunch. We both ordered sandwiches: Krischan wanted pulled pork, and I chose beef brisket because I remembered how Cindy touted it as being “ABSOLUTELY FREE OF FAT!” We decided to eat the sandwiches on our ride home instead of in the parking lot, mainly because salt water taffy holds up better in an air-conditioned vehicle than it would in the summer heat of Georgia.

As we pulled onto I-75 North, we unwrapped our sandwiches. According to Krischan, his was absolutely delicious – a fact he made sure to remind me of after every bite.

As for mine:

· Bite No. 1 contained a small amount of fat. I was certain it was a minor oversight, and that the next bite would be just fine.

· Bite No. 2 was not fine; in fact, it had more fat than the first bite. Being an optimist by nature, I was sure that was the last of it.

· Each one of bites No. 3 through No. 9 contained various amounts of fat, ranging in size from that of a very small raw oyster to an oversized gummy bear. With each successive bite, it became harder and harder for me not to gag. Suddenly, Cindy’s foremost fear no longer seemed so irrational.

· As I approached bite No. 10 – my last – I was determined to have at least one bite of brisket that didn’t have any fat in it. I examined what was left between the bun, and found a humongous piece of fat — and the tiniest sliver of beef. I removed the fat with my teeth and dropped it on the napkin on my lap, then ate the one and only bite of my sandwich that Cindy would have deemed edible. (Using my teeth was my only option, because one of my hands was busy holding the sandwich and the other was on the steering wheel, leaving me without a free hand for the aforementioned fat extraction.)

Krischan thought it was hilarious. After teasing me relentlessly about how his pulled pork sandwich didn’t have any fat and that I should have gotten one, too, I told him I’d give him $50 if he would eat the last piece of fat. To my surprise, he refused. I couldn’t believe this was the same boy who I’ve witnessed eating dried seaweed and chocolate-covered crickets.

I’m recounting this story now in the hopes that someway, somehow it will catch the attention of the Head Beaver in Texas and that he – and it could very well be a she, because by no means am I an expert on woodland creatures – will offer an apology.

I’d even settle for a bag of salt water taffy.

But only if it’s fat free.