Growing up I was scared shitless of my Dad’s meat slicer. He instilled the fear of god into me about the thing, and rightfully so; I never touched it until today.
I was convinced I’d lose not only a finger but and arm or a leg in some freak ham slicing incident.
So I was both excited and full of trepidation when he let me slice up a mound of peameal bacon for dinner tonight.
I started off ridiculously slow but by the third slice I was plowing through that hunk of meat. It didn’t stand a chance, really. I felt the slicing lust run through me and I wasn’t going to stop until I had a mountain of meat.
That was awesome, but I think I enjoyed it a little more than I should have.