You know how you have one of those days when you’re in a sharing mood, but you probably should have phoned a friend for guidance before posting an allegedly controversial picture on the interweb? Well, I had one of those days recently. There I was, doing my civic duty and simply trying to uplift the nation when, instead, I found myself in the middle of a sausage controversy.

Like most people, the pandemic has given me time to try some new things. I’ve learned to read. I’ve added a little more swagger to my version of the Electric Slide, and I can’t wait to show off my new moves whenever we’re allowed to go back outside. More importantly, I’ve gotten to know my George Foreman grill on an intimate level. Because of this, I’ve refused to talk to friends and family unless they lovingly refer to me as “The Good Chef.???

When it comes to food, my momma raised me to be a well-done kind of guy. She always said, “If it’s red, it can’t be fed.??? I understand that some people feel differently about this. I felt like an outsider at a Brazilian steakhouse a while back. As the waiters walked around with huge slabs of meat and asked us to choose the cuts we wanted, I would always ask for the parts that looked burnt. However, with lust in their eyes, my friends only wanted red.

Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve never wanted to know my food on a biblical level. I don’t need my steak to be so alive that I could ask it questions and get its life history. “Well, Rib-eye, how was your day???? As for me and my household, I don’t need my sirloin making me feel bad because it had planned to go to Harvard but instead landed on my plate. Who wants that type of guilt?

I’ve never been one to judge unless it’s appropriate, but when I see someone eating rare meat, it reminds me of all those horror documentaries on the Discovery Channel where they get you attached to a dear or a gazelle or something, but then they show a hungry lion off in the background. Sure, the lion always has a hungry cub or two thrown in just to make us feel more understanding about the bloodbath we’re about to witness. I don’t buy it. I think the cubs are paid actors.

Anyway, because I’m not a bear (though I’m completely understanding of anybody who identifies as one), I can’t break away from asking for my food to be well done. Yes, people look at me like I’m not cultured whenever I do this, but I just hold my head high and proceed to ask my waiter for some ketchup to go with my steak anyway. See, regardless of how uncultured they think I am, I know NOT to ask for A.1. sauce. Ketchup is fine, but steak sauce is completely unacceptable.

The day of my controversial post started like any other morning. I woke up, crawled to the restroom, took four calls from bill collectors, and geared up for yet another day at the home office. For some reason, it didn’t feel like one of those days where you just have coffee and head to your desk. Instead, I wanted a real breakfast with the works.

Accordingly, I dusted off a box of pancake mix that had expired back in 2017. From my perspective, use-by dates are only suggestions. I’m a grown man. I’m not going to let Aunt Jemima tell me what to do with my groceries and when. Then I found some sausage links in the back of my fridge. I had no idea whether I purchased them or if they were already in the refrigerator when I moved in. After writing a letter to thank the former tenants, I got to work.

I ended up making sausage links and a waffle covered with strawberries and whip cream. If I may say so myself (and I will), it was splendid. Of course, I had to post my breakfast on social media. Like my momma always says, “If you didn’t post it, it didn’t happen.??? Although I’m typically conservative, I don’t mind posting a little food porn every now and then. If you got it, flaunt it.

Within moments of posting, I knew I’d made a grave mistake. The comments came fast and furious. Although the waffles appeared to go unscathed, people seemed really bothered by the complexion of my sausage. While I thought the links were well done, others thought they were well done squared raised to the power of ten. Because it was too late to delete the post, the only thing I could do was roll around on the floor and hide under my bed next to a pile of dirty socks that I thought were missing.

I’m almost ashamed to share with you the various forms of sausage criticisms I received. One person asked me why I had ashes on my plate. Another person claimed I had actually burned the meat out of the sausage. I responded that I had intentionally cooked them that way because I’m vegan, but the haters weren’t buying it. I called my team of shrinks and scheduled an emergency session. I could not deal with this alone.

After a few hours of consoling me, my shrinks talked me down from the ledge. They reminded me that I was not a bear, so I was entitled to make my sausage as I saw fit. It was around this time that they tried to lift my spirits by singing a few inspirational songs by Mariah Carey. None of them were capable or qualified to hit the high notes from “Hero??? or “Through the Rain,??? so, of course, I had to take over when appropriate.

While I may have room to work on my cooking technique a bit, I’ll have you know that I had the best of intentions. I simply wanted to be sure the sausage was cooked thoroughly, but I understand that maybe I overdid it just a bit in this case. That noted, because no actual crime was committed, can you please show your support and call Harris Teeter and Giant to ask them to lift the sausage ban someone placed on me? I’m ready to try again. And, if you’d like, I can even make you some too! Well done, right?

Michael Rochelle
Humor blog: www.HumorMike.com
Facebook: michael.rochelle1
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Twitter: @mikeyllo