Grown Children And Beef Jerky Burgers

Experimental cooking helps me focus when I otherwise cannot. This past week I decided I would learn how to make beef jerky with a jerky gun. Those videos that show smooth ribbons of ground beef going onto the wire shelves of a dehydrator are clearly AI generated.

In real life, beef ribbons are uncontrollably thick and thin, round and flat and, mostly, lodged on the wall behind the work surface. Additionally, just one jerky gun session will leave most adults with a Popeye like dominant forearm. The trigger pull is about 30 lbs and the finger span is Sasquatch like. Apparently, new tariffs on China have not yet dissuaded the Happy Beef Pump company from offering a 27% discount on Amazon. Hey, live and never learn.

I made my jerky mix from top round roasts that were on sale at Costco. So, 10 lbs of top round, approximately 99.8% lean meat and 0.2% fat, black pepper, Cayenne pepper, red pepper, Kosher salt, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce… other stuff I can’t recall at this moment. The 2.5 lb capacity gun was filled and discharged three times, filling the dehydrator racks, boring me into a stupor and unable to go any farther.

That’s when it came to me that if I liked beef jerky, I would love burgers made with the same mix. That became my dinner. To suggest the burgers did not taste good would not do justice to the rancid squirrel like mixture that survived the frying pan. Salty, smelly, Worcestershire sauce poison. They were dry, near brittle and strongly odoriferous. Yet, the oddly formed finished jerky was excellent, which led to the experimental recipe note, Enigmatic Jerky.

Two days later…

Gees, I have to sit down for a couple of minutes. I just finished spot and powder cleaning the carpet, and vacuuming up the residue. Tomorrow is a wet shampoo day to finish the carpet and, hopefully, I’ll have time to scrub the bathrooms, make up beds, and stock the refrigerator. Why?

I’m getting ready to receive visiting grown children. They are coming to support and care for me and to tend to my needs. My job is to make sure I need no support or care, and to have the house spotless before they arrive so they can’t conclude I am an incompetent housekeeper in the absence of my wife’s supervision. I’m getting ahead of myself and, I suspect, you also.

Why I walk like Ol’ Slewfoot…

Did I mention I am very old? No? OK. I am very old. Consequently, I have a scheduled medical procedure next month. Why? Why? Why? Gees, you ask a lot of questions. The human vascular system in old men, is very similar to the oiling system in a pre 1959 Ford Y block; 272, 292 or 312 versions. Oiling passageways get gunked up, which means, oil doesn’t get to vital bearing surfaces. Sometimes, oil collects under the valve covers and can’t find its way back to the oil pan for redistribution.

Where does this blocking gunk originate? Skipping oil and filter changes, using cheap oil, pushing the engine beyond its intended use. In old men? Same thing, A haphazard diet, not enough exercise, life’s stresses, having fun, and not listening to one’s wife as often as one should. My fix is much like the Ford fix; scrub out oil passages and route some auxiliary feed and return lines so all essential location receive… oil.

No big deal. I’ve been there before, brought on by an impressive array of heart attacks, strokes, heart bypass surgery, and a body that can manufacturer arterial plaque in quite impressive quantities. A few days recovery, then back to all of the outside work that needs to be done before winter and a good dose of manual labor that will help to keep me walking upright.

Kids visiting…

I told my Texas kids, in a very truncated and diluted text message, that I was taking a few days off. Only for the eventuality that they might try to reach me and could not. I was planning on having Cindy… You may remember Cindy from Real Guns, do a drive-by drop off at the hospital, and then pick me up when they kicked me loose. Cindy is a friend and often nearby, as she took over the Real Gun office before kicking me out and proclaiming, “Who’s the king now?”. Anyway…

Unfortunately, initiating communications with my kids was enough for them to assume something was up, so they pestered until I told them I was going to be in the hospital for a routine procedure, which led to them deciding they needed to be here with me. I love my kids, although they are hardly kids anymore, with adult children of their own. I just don’t like to share my personal information with them; health, finances, social activities, political party affiliation, Zip+4 code, cell phone number. Other than that, for them, I am an open book.

So now they are coming to visit, take care of me, tend to my emotional and recovery needs. Right, I’d let that happen. So I need to get back to cleaning, and the garden won’t weed itself, the lawn needs to be mowed, the kitchen floor needs to be mopped. I’ve got to move to a downstairs bedroom for recovery and PT.

I need to get ready to confirm for them that they still have a dad. On their part, it is a very nice gesture. They have to travel far, take time away from their respective families and very busy careers. I need to be patient, more thoughtful and more appreciative, knowing that this will be a train wreck of wills and egos. Yes, of course I am the problem in the equation. The Lord treats me a lot better than I deserve.