The wife surprised me on our anniversary with a cookbook. This is a risky anniversary gift for a dude, since most dudes don't get overly excited about cookbooks. This dude was excited though, because the cookbook wasn't an ordinary cookbook. It was a Feastbook. Specifically, a Game of Thrones inspired cookbook complete with medieval meals transcribed word for word in barely readable Middle English (thank you Mrs. Petticord, for requiring us to read Chaucer). The meal we picked required squirrel. Enter the Meat Shop.
If there is a reason for a place called the Meat Shop to exist, it is either to sell things like squirrel or because prostitution has been legalized. And while I'm all for the legalization of prostitution, I'm also glad there is a place in Phoenix that sells squirrel.
How do you eat coney? Young, tender, nice coney? Eat them raw! Eat them fresh! Or...put them in a stew like a good Hobbit. Am I mixing my fantasy worlds? Perhaps. Regardless, I enjoyed my 17th Century Hobbit meal from just south of the Wall.
Thanks Meat Shop, for delivering.