I met a sausage producer at a party the other day, one of the really good ones, it turned out. What a thrill it is, sometimes, to meet new people. Going to parties too.

He had been working in Germany for some years, as something else, and had probably developed or refined a sense of sausages, which they are rightly known for down there (I’m not kidding!). Later he came home and started a small company which makes stuff.

The ones I bought was not of a German type, a naturalized French sausage, it seems, originally from Algeria and other parts of North Africa, in short, a Merguez. It seems to have immigrated to France in the fifties and stayed on.

I am pretty sure I have tried similar things somewhere in Oslo during the last couple of years, but I can’t remember where or when.

According to my different dictionaries of food and different languages, the name is an Arabic one or maybe Berber, frenchified, no doubt.

I could buy this great stuff just two minutes from my humble residence, in a shop of mixed health food/eco friendly goods.

They were frozen, admittedly, but Christ, very well balanced with their spicy pepper things in them, cumin and other stuff, a coarse type made from beef. It resembled a little a type of French sausage I managed to get home from Paris many years ago, fresh not cooked from the workshop like this one (even if this one was frozen, which the sausage from Paris was not). When we came home from the airport in 2003 or thereabouts, I barely managed to rescue it from turning rancid.

Having learnt from that experience I threw all 4 sausages in the pan with some butter as soon as it had thawed, and nothing more than butter, in order to see what it was. A little sauce emerged, full of the flavour of…yey, another world. I am still getting slowly to rest as I write. Someone did a really great job, in creating the idea and executing this little bombe.

Excuse the connotations these days, but this one is the better alternative.

I had a couple of pancakes left over from yesterday, put them one half at a time in the sauce, and I thought it was brilliant. Almost better than the sausages.

If anyone can spot the difference between such things as the sausages prepared fresh instead of frozen, please invite me for dinner – I’d love to bring my cooking up to such a level of performance. Sorry, I am still the professional amateur, a little out of laziness, a little in order not to leave behind all other amateurs out there.

An absolutely normal Norwegian pilsener went very well with the food.

And, yes, the producer’s name, Pølseveven. Rubbish, nonsense, if you translate the untranslatable pun. The web, the loom of sausages. Useless
blah-blah. According to one of my kids’ sources of entertainment (and my own), one of our large books of jokes, it is the favourite hobby of cooks, I think it was.

Or maybe it was another profession. I’m not quite sure.