So for once in my life, let me get what I want.
Lord knows, it would be the first time.
These are the words I muttered to myself, while on a Sausage sourcing trip to Manchester, England, way back in early 1963. My late father had yet to meet with his untimely accident, and I was not yet anointed as The Sausage King of Chicago.
I’d just visited yet another English sausage factory, having spent the afternoon fondling mediocre sausage, and was feeling kind of low.