Death, Taxes, and Beef Jerky

We are told that there are only two guarantees in life, death and taxes. But, at least for me, for the past four years beef jerky for Father's Day is the third life guarantee. Every June, I am asked what I want for Father's Day, each and every time I would answer "beef jerky" and could count on getting it on that sacred day of all days. And just as certain, two days, at most three days after Father's Day, all the jerky would be gone because my kids had devoured it by the fistfuls to the very last smoky sinew.

This past Father's Day, inside a brightly colored gift bag, delicately wrapped in snowy white tissue paper was my long anticipated 3/4 pound of untouched "old fashioned" beef jerky from Freddie's. The Epicurean delight itself was vacuumed sealed in a hefty protective plastic bag equipped with the ever brilliant "FreshLock" zip lock (an ingenious invention to keep the freshness in after the bag's been opened).

Predictably, the next day the shameless vultures cornered me and demanded their jerky. I confess here and now that I outright lied to them. I told them that I had lost the entire bag in transit coming home from our family beach vacation at Cannon Beach. The truth of it is, the precious cache is hidden in my underwear drawer, where I know they will never look. The last two weeks I have been slowly savoring these "smoke flavor added" tasty treats made from "solid strips of beef".

Hey, when it comes to desiccated bovine, it is the survival of the fittest, baby!