Virgil Evetts

Since researching and writing about the whole free-range issue a while back I’ve been taking my stance in regards to free-range pork very seriously indeed (I haven’t touched conventionally farmed chicken for years). But as assured as I am of my moral choice (or obligation as I see it), it all gets a bit no-fun, spoil-sport sometimes. Shunning Hong Kong-style BBQ and roast pork from Passion Food, (one of the many outlets in the excellent Rialto car park food hall in Auckland), is a constant struggle. So when I was overcome with a sudden yearning for American hot dogs the other day, I was quite prepared to push it down to that increasingly well-stocked part of my mind reserved for ‘things I’m not allowed to take pleasure from anymore’.

But fortunately, before I put the dogs to bed entirely, I thought to poke around a bit on the mostly un-trusty interma-net, and discovered to my copious salivatory delight that Harmony Meats ^[1], the much lauded free-range outfit, produce all natural, free-range pork frankfurters.

Oh happy day!

Another few clicks took me to an online organics supplier, who not only stocks said ethically permissible small goods, but guarantees same-day deliveries.

And so that very night I was able to enjoy what was hands-down the best rendition of the American hot dog ever to pass my lips. And I mean they actually tasted really, really good, and not just from the piquancy of smugness!

These free-range franks have a firm meaty texture and a delicately spiced yet rich smoky flavour. They are a different and entirely superior beats to those red-skinned obscenities you know so well, (yes, the very same ones I have waxed lyrical about previously). They are the perfect foil for the grain mustard béchamel and caramelised onions I use to dress my dogs. Ok, so they aren’t exactly an economy option, but that’s hardly unusual, or unreasonable for that matter, with free-range products. What is a pleasant point of difference is the effort Harmony has made to make these franks a serious step up from their mass-produced supermarket counterparts. They positively reek of quality.

Pictured above is a hastily (and hungrily) shot glimpse of the finished product. A careful observer may notice that those distinctive tartan plates have shown up rather a lot in my articles and blogs of late. They’re an old Crown Lyn design called Tam O’Shanter, and my best beloved is besotted with the stuff. She has single-handedly inflated its value beyond all reason through her violent Trademe bidding wars. Anyway, I will get around to digging out some less obvious prop cutlery from the rarely visited back-of-the-pantry region eventually.

Instead of repeating myself with instructions for my personal version of Hot Dog heaven, do me a favour and click here ^[2]. I’ve said it all before – just ignore my shameful promotion of tortured pig products .

Method