If I’ve convinced you to try this, here’s your shopping list: one raw sausage (bratwurst or a thick link works best), a small shovel or trowel, and a sense of humor. Optional: a glass of wine to steady your hands as you commit this act of culinary witchcraft.
Pick a spot in the yard that gets a little sun exposure. Dig a hole, place the sausage in gently (yes, I said gently—show the meat respect), and cover it up. Say a little prayer, or just whisper your hopes. No one is judging.
Then, wash your hands thoroughly. Salmonella does not respect tradition.
The Final Bite
So, if you ever see a couple nervously digging in their garden the night before their wedding, don’t call the police. They’re not hiding evidence. They’re just trying to bury a sausage and manifest a happy life. Isn’t that what we all want, wrapped in a little pork casing?
Claire’s wedding was beautiful. The sausage is now resting peacefully under a maple tree. I like to imagine it’s out there right now, decomposing into good vibes. And honestly? If that’s what it takes to keep a marriage strong, pass me the shovel. I’m ready to dig.
