By Abby Sexsmith, Staff Writer
Our story opens in the kitchen of a castle. The year is 1300-something, and an Irish woman is very proud of what she created. “This is it?” Her butcher friend asks, not in English, but in Irish Gaelic, because the British haven’t waged war on their language yet. There is dried blood on his apron from the beef he had lugged on the table earlier. It now lay on the same table in front of them after being salted, put on a spit over a fire set for 325 degrees fahrenheit for a time, and finely seasoned to perfection.
“This is it.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Salted beef. It should last a while.”
The butcher leaned forward and studied the grains of blackened meat. “Is it just me, or does it look menacing? Like it’s up to something.”
A posh man sits at a poker table 500 years later in central London. “Get me something quick, some good food,” he says to his servant. Of course, good food wouldn’t be invented for another 300 years when the first Wegmans touched ground, but his servant found Salt Beef and added it to bread. The 4th Earl of Sandwich was so impressed that he could eat something so delicious without interrupting his gambling addiction he gave the food his name, having been blessed with an edible name (many, including me, weren’t!). History will never know if he won that game, but Salt Beef won the honor of being the first sandwich. Was this coincidence, or a part of its plan?
One famous sandwich lover, as the story goes, got into some trouble while getting his go-to lunch. And by trouble, I mean assassinating ArchDuke Ferdinand and starting World War One. His name was Gavrilo Princep and we are unaware of the meat inside the sandwich on that day. May it have been Salt Beef? Salt Beef still had copyright over the sandwich from its invention. I have gotten no comment from Austria-Hungary.
By now, one might be noticing the fishy dealings of Salt Beef. But the plot, much like a good steak, is thicker than that. And much juicier. And goes with potatoes. Because with WWI comes many problems, and, when looking beyond the obvious we see the banning of 16% or above liqueur in France. Tres mal! But never fear, Paul Ricard saved the day by breaking the law. The French started brewing their own homemade liqueurs that were above the 16%, and his used a star-anise mixture that took off becoming the brand Ricard! Though it got him into some beef with the law, it helped him bring home the bacon and it became a great drink for every occasion. But one. And, oh boy, did one man find the wrong occasion.
Henri Paul was intoxicated, having drunk a Ricard before getting behind the wheel in central Paris. But what happened? You readers will understand the dirt I’m ripping up on Salt Beef as you’ve followed me through the sausage-links of time, and see what it’s been cooking up all along. That is the day that Princess Diana died. Henri Paul was the driver, Salt Beef was the mind. The culmination of 700 years of planning from Salt Beef.
We still don’t know why Salt Beef did this, or the cut it took from this heinous crime. Buckingham Palace and Ireland have offered no comment. Hush money was offered, but I refused, because I need this story to get out. I broke three non-disclosure agreements just pitching this story.* Heed my warning and beware of Salt Beef, we don’t know all it’s done.
Or what it’ll do next.
*For legal reasons I am required to say I did NOT break any non-disclosure agreements