Jujube: Behold, the Sausage Stuffer.

December 28, 2006

Behold, the Sausage Stuffer.

Enterprise Sausage Stuffer (before)
Originally uploaded by mere.mortal.

Mission: To restore a rust-crusted Enterprise Sausage Stuffer and Lard Press

Background: This sausage stuffer is an icon of the family sausage-making parties that took place in the cold room at my Uncle Ed’s farm in Mansura, Louisiana. I was too young (and too busy tearing ass around the farm’s back pasture with my cousin Molly) to participate in these sausage-fests, but I was re-introduced to the tradition about five years ago during a trip home. Uncle Ed, a man made of equal parts of codger-ly gruff and stellar kindness, agreed to show my sisters and me the basics of making sausage, and we cranked out about 50 pounds. After another lesson this past summer during the Cochon de Lait (a festival celebrating the goodness that is slow-roasted, suckling pig, but that’s a different porky story for another time), I became borderline obsessed with finding one of these stuffers and hosting a sausage-making party of my own.

I made a mental vow to spend $50 or less on a diamond-in-the-rust stuffer, but the search wasn’t easy. Brand new versions from Chop-Rite II (the company that owns the original Enterprise design) cost about $450. Older versions on eBay fetch over $200. And these prices don’t include shipping the 70-lb. cast-iron beast. The extreme end of the search had me standing outside of an antique store near Appleton, Wisconsin, speaking by cell phone to the proprietor, who happened to be in Chicago for his son’s wedding. He had such a stuffer, and the price was almost right. But the store was closed, and I wouldn’t be in the area long.

At last, I stumbled on this rust heap at an antique store in Ottawa, Illinois.

The owner, a big, jowl-y man in bigger overalls, seemed more amused than shocked when I asked if he had any Enterprise sausage stuffers hiding on one of the four floors. “I got two. What do you need it for? A paperweight?” he responded, eyeing me with a look that said ‘This girl doesn’t eat real sausage, much less make it.’

We never did find the first stuffer, but the second one was a steal at $29.50 One giddy phone call to my mom later—to describe the condition of the cast iron and make sure it passed inspection—I forked over the cash and lugged this brute home.

Cleaning and restoring: First, I begged a handy, industrial-tool-owning friend to take it home and sandblast it for me. He declined. Then, I spent a while researching quick, easy ways to restore this stuffer to its former glory. For the record, there are no quick, easy ways to remove 20 years of rust from a cast iron sausage stuffer.

Thanks to the Wagner & Griswold Society (named for two brands of highly-prized antique cast iron) forum, I discovered one absolutely terrifying way to get the job done, which I considered for two seconds until I saw the words “pure hydrogen” and “extremely flammable” in the directions. The process, called Rust Reduction Electrolysis, involves a 12-volt battery charger, jumper cables, PVC pipe and a vat of electrolyte solution, which is another way of saying “death by electrocution” in my lexicon. I finally settled on the method I suspected from the beginning: a time-consuming, filthy bout with power tools and steel wool.

Next, I completely disassembled the stuffer. On the wise advice of the super-Virgo in the house, I drew a simple diagram showing where every bolt, screw, nut and whatsit came from so I could reassemble it without too much guesswork.

Using a combination of cup and wheel wire brush heads on a cordless drill, a Dremel fitted with teeny wire brushes and a bag of super-fine steel wool, I set to this stuffer like a woman possessed. I inhaled lots of cast iron dust, had vicious hand cramps, and it took about three weekends, but I got the job done. The stunning, gunmetal shine underneath all of that rust was worth it.

Before reassembling the stuffer, I thought about how to season it so that I would never, ever have to worry about de-rusting on that scale again. I briefly considered a DIY enameling project, but decided on a simpler, classic method of seasoning: boil and oil. I dropped each piece (except the hand crank, which has a wooden handle on it) into a big pot of boiling water for a few minutes to remove any remaining rust or cast iron dust and ancient sludge (particularly on the rack screw), then popped those pieces into a 450-degree oven to dry completely. Once out of the oven and cool enough to handle (but still hot), I swabbed everything down with a vegetable oil-soaked paper towel (or Q-tips in the nooks and crannies), and popped each piece back in the oven for 20 minutes.

After all of the seasoned bits and parts cooled, I reassembled this glorious contraption (quite easily, thanks to the diagram). I’m still marveling at how fluid and smooth the cogs and rack screw turn. Behold, the sausage stuffer.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Uncle Ed died on September 18, 2006. It was a sudden, devastating loss that still feels too surreal to accept. This blog entry, my first, is written with heavy heart, but in loving memory of Edward Coco.

[sausage]
[sausage stuffer]
[Enterprise]
[cast iron]

Posted at 06:40 PM in Food and Drink | Permalink

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