The Butcher and Me

Did I ever tell you that my Dad was a Butcher? I thought of him yesterday as I stopped at a local meat store. CP Meat Market is a great little shop in our town and I just love going into that store - because when I am there, I always feel closer to my Dad. My Dad worked for a meat packing company in the city - around 39th & Morgan, actually. I don't know much about the company that he worked for, because Dad didn't talk about his work much. He was a hard working man, Dad was, and he left his work AT work. When he was home - he was Dad. Doing Dad things. So, I don't know much about the company he worked for or what the building looked like or even what types of meat he cut at work. He took care of all of that. And I was just . . . his kid.

I remember shortly after Dad had passed away I wanted to make a beef stew. Now, I have to start off by telling you that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about meat. Never did, and probably never will. I never had to, as Dad took care of that in our house. And let me tell you, my Dad used to make the absolute BEST beef stew (boy oh boy, I so wish I knew how he did that.) One cold weather day I really was craving it. So, I found a recipe online, printed it out and brought it to CP Meat Market. I stood there looking at the case of meat having absolutely no clue what I was doing. One of the owners was all ready to help me, as I nervously asked for what the recipe told me I needed (I'm so bad with meat that I can't even tell you what the recipe called for, or what even goes into beef stew.) Ken, the owner, said, "OK, dear, what are you trying to cook?" I said, "Beef Stew." He said, "Nope, you don't want that meat [whatever it was that I asked for]. Let me tell you what you're going to get. . . " and he proceeded to pick out the best piece of whatever it was and told me exactly how to prepare it. It was as if my own Dad was right there, telling me what I needed to do.

The next time I went into CP's, I remember buying ground beef (or something simple like that). The same owner was there, and he remembered me and my beef stew. He asked me how it turned out, and I told him it was fantastic. "You probably won't believe this, but I gotta tell you - my father was a Butcher." I said to him. "You've got to be kidding me!" he said. "Nope," I told him, "I'm not kidding. He worked for a meat packing plant in the city." "But you don't know a thing about meat," he said. "I know," I replied, "I never had to. Dad took care of that growing up. I never had to." "Alright," he said, "we've got ya covered here, then."

Since that day, any meat question or any special meat purchase has to be made from CP.

While I didn't know much about Dad's profession - there were some things (being the daughter of a butcher) that I did understand:

Air Conditioning was a MUST in our house. It seemed like as soon as the temperature hit the mid-70's outside, the air went on. I imagine Dad would probably feel pretty crummy working in cold fridge-like conditions and then dealing with hot summers in the 90+ degree heat.

And, most butchers are missing fingers. Dad was missing the tip of his right pinky finger. I used to think that he did that on purpose, just so our little fingers would match in size. I remember being a kid, sitting on his right side, and matching up my finger little finger with his. Oh, how I LOVED that his was little, just like mine.

That's pretty much it. And let me tell you, Dad would want it no other way.