Today a great man of sausage passed away: Bob Evans of Bob Evans Farms. I’m a devoted fan of Mr. Evans’ Sausage even after his lame restuarant inflicted second degree burns to the side of my face courteous of a flaming hot coffee pot. I’m not one to hold a grudge when it comes to sausage. Besides, Mr Evan’s seemed like my kind of man:
Evans complained that he could not get good sausage for the restaurant he started after World War II in Gallipolis in southeast Ohio.
Starting with $1,000, a couple of hogs, 40 pounds of black pepper, 50 pounds of sage and other secret ingredients, he opted to make his own, relying on the hog’s best parts as opposed to the scraps commonly used in sausage. He began selling it at the restaurant and mom-and-pop stores, and peddled tubs of it out of the back of his pickup truck.
The state of sausage had to be at an all time low if a guy from Southern Ohio could sell a better link out of the back of his (one is to assume non-airconditioned) pickup truck.
Here’s to you, Man of Sausage.
