The dinner is a tradition that, partly in honor of my mother and father, and partly because it has become one of my favorite meals during the holidays, I will continue to embrace until the day that I take my last breath here and head for the shores of Valhalla.  And therein lies the rub.  No… not the Valhalla thing.  It’s about the sausage.  I cannot continue the tradition without the Swedish sausage.  Now, that may sound a bit silly, because of course the meal wouldn’t be the same without the sausage.  And everyone knows that Swedish sausage can be obtained just about anywhere.  Ahhhh, but that’s where you would be wrong!  I’m talking about real Swedish sausage – not the stuff found at the supermarket chains – made by a real Swede.  Back in the 1950’s and ’60’s, my grandmother most likely bought it at one of the small, local butcher shops that have disappeared like Sammy Sosa from Wrigley Field during a Cubs game.  There were a couple of markets in St. Charles (DeBates' in the downtown area and another – I believe called The Locker - located out on west Main Street), a few in Geneva (Johnson’s Royal Blue on the far west end – 7^th Street I believe – and another one or two markets in downtown Geneva – Larson’s IGA and the Central Market).  There was also one in Batavia… I believe it was called Gricunas’s.  My mother, following in her mother’s footsteps, frequented many of these same markets in search of the best Christmas Eve dinner sausage.

This may all be quite boring to you.  But the guys at those markets could make sausage like nobody’s business!  I am afraid that, as we have lost those shops and the “old timers” who took pride in their work, we have lost something that will never again be enjoyed by those of you who appreciate really good food.  I for one, appreciate – no, cherish – recipes that have been handed down through the generations. My grandmother, and later all of her children, have purchased their Christmas Swedish sausage from those local butchers until, one by one, the stores vanished – forced out by the big “superstores.”  Well sir, I finally arrive at the point of my story.  Just last week, I finished my last ring of Swedish sausage that comes from a recipe that has been handed down in just the way that I described.  You see, I get my sausage from the son of a man who owned one of those markets that used to exist here in the Fox Valley.  My friend uses the time-honored recipe that his grandmother handed down to his father, who in turn handed it down to him… and he will eventually hand it down to his son.  That’s at least four generations.  And I promise that it is some of the most kick-butt sausage that you will ever taste.  He has always made it in fairly small batches and I have gotten some from him every year for the last… well, at least 20 or more years.