The Best of the Wurst

Mom had a hand-operated meat grinder for as long as I can remember. It was a cast aluminum device that could be mounted on the edge of a work table or countertop. A threaded bolt was clamped to the underside of the work surface to hold the grinder firmly in place. It had an aluminum crank with a wooden handle to turn the auger. A small hopper was on the top to feed meat, or whatever you were grinding, to the auger. Mom could grind anything with that gadget.
 
I first remember Mom using the grinder at Thanksgiving. After boiling the turkey neck and giblets with onion, celery, herbs, and spices, Mom would have one of the kids pick the meat from the neck. Then she would run it and the other giblets through the grinder, preparing them to go in the dressing. After that, Mom would put a slice of bread through to push all the meat from the auger. Mom's dressing was always outstanding. She used the grinder for more than just turkey stuffing. 
 
She would also use this kitchen tool to pour a bag of fresh cranberries, a quartered apple, and an orange (with the rind) into the hopper. After grinding the fresh fruits and adding a little sugar, she had the best fresh cranberry relish in the world. Mom always made the relish the day before Thanksgiving, Christmas, or Easter so that the flavors would have time to blend together.
 
After a big holiday meal, Mom would gather leftover scraps of ham or turkey and run them through the grinder. Then she would add diced onion, celery, garlic, and other seasonings and stir in mayonnaise or Miracle Whip. Oh, and dill pickle relish – a ham salad sandwich wouldn't be complete without dill relish…and maybe some diced hard-boiled eggs, too. Mmm. I swear Mom made the best ham salad sandwich ever!
 
Mom usually used scraps and leftovers in the grinder, but I remember one time she cooked whole chicken breasts just to run them through the gadget. Then, she added her veggies, seasoning, and mayo. Next, she added pecan pieces, sliced green grapes, and dried cranberries to the mixture. "Why did you put all that in there," I asked?
 
"I'm taking this to a luncheon with my women's group," she said. "Hand me that loaf of bread, please." I handed her the bread. Mom cut the crust away and saved them to use later. Then she spread the chicken salad on the wheat bread. She topped them with leaves of lettuce, then cut the sandwiches into fancy triangles.
 
I offered my unsolicited opinion: "I'll bet the women in your group aren't going to like it with all that extra stuff in there." Mom didn't reply, so I offered some advice. "Maybe you should have put it on white bread." She finished neatly stacking the triangle sandwiches on a decorative plate. There were a few extra pieces, so Mom handed me one and took one for herself.
 
I must admit, they were very delicious – even with the extra nuts and fruits that didn't seem like they should be on a sandwich. I gobbled the morsel right up, grabbed the last piece from the cutting board, and ate it. I reached for another triangle from the plate Mom had prepared, but she slapped my hand away. "Don't even think about it," she warned.
 
"Come on, Mom. I only had two pieces," I pleaded. "That's only half a sandwich. I'm still hungry."
 
Mom set the plate in a round, shallow Tupperware container. She pressed on the top, then 'burped' the lid. "And," Mom added, "that half sandwich may be your last meal if any pieces are missing when I come back downstairs." Mom turned to go upstairs to get dressed for her luncheon. She paused at the first step, "I'm not kidding, Thomas. Leave them alone."
 
Because she used my formal first name, I knew she meant what she said. However, since she didn't use my middle name with it, I figured there might be a little wiggle room.
 
When Mom was out of sight, I opened the Tupperware to peek inside. Then I calculated, "If I carefully removed a few top pieces, I could grab one or two from the bottom, replace the top sandwiches, and she would never know the difference."
 
A little voice of logic spoke to me, "She will know." So, considering the inevitable consequences, I decided to replace the lid, leaving well enough alone. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to sneak a piece from Mom's platter of fancy sandwiches. I mean, there was even a doily on the green glass plate under them. But not all the sandwiches Mom made with the grinder were fancy.
 
When money was tight, as it often was in a large family, Mom would go to the grocery store to buy two or three pounds of bulk bologna from the meat counter. Then, at home, she would cube the processed meat and turn it through the grinder. Then Mom added diced onion, celery, and such. On a summer's day picnic, those bologna salad sandwiches were as delicious as the fancy sandwiches she made for the women's club. I still like some of Mom's 'budget' sandwiches the best.
 
Lately, I have been craving liverwurst. I'm the only one in my house who likes it, so I went to the store and bought a small piece of liverwurst in the mustard yellow colored wrapper. I sliced the Braunschweiger thick at home and put it on bread with a liberal amount of Miracle Whip. It made for a quick sandwich, and the distinct flavor was very satisfying. Unfortunately, it seems people either love liverwurst or hate it.
 
A friend once said, "Liverwurst is one of those foods that looks bad and smells bad, but I eat it anyway." So it's kind of like canned cat foot: it looks and smells terrible, but cats eat it, so it must be good, right?
 
The liverwurst brought back memories. You probably guessed it: Mom would run liverwurst through the meat grinder. Then, add some onion, dill pickle relish, seasoning, and Miracle Whip, and oh, what a sandwich it made.
 
I wonder what ever happened to that old meat grinder with the hand crank? With that grinder, Mom could even make liverwurst delicious. One might say she made the best or the wurst.