Yesterday I went to the neighborhood chain grocery because oxtails were on sale. I refuse to pay $5/lb, which seems to be the going price elsewhere. Before chefs and foodies made them trendy, oxtails were considered offal by many. Here they were $2.99/lb, a veritable bargain. I generally toss them in a big pot, and simmer for about four hours. The meat takes on a silky texture, there’s nothing else like it, especially when there’s a chill in the night air.

Trouble arose at the meat counter when I could only find one package. Summoning the butcher, I told him I needed more. He scratched his head, always a bad sign.

Butcher: I think that was the last one.
Me: When will you have more?
Butcher (looking sheepish): I really don’t know. Not today.
Me: I guess I should get a raincheck?
Butcher: Sure, ask at the checkout.

The checkout woman was a kindly sort, pointing out that I neglected to get the free 12-pack of Coke since I bought four. Wow, free Coke. The bagging clerk seemed to take his job seriously.

Bagging clerk: Paper or plastic?
Me: Plastic.
Bagging clerk: Hmmm. Oxtails. What part of the cow does that come from?
Me: (Silence. Restrain from the first impulse, which was to slap him silly.)
Awkward pause on all sides.
Me (peering carefully at the clerk): Uh, the rear part, the tail.
Clerk: Oh, really? You can eat that?
Me: You cook it a long time, yeah.
Checkout clerk: Soup. In soup, right?
Me: Yes.

See, vegans miss this kind of fun.