Kitchen gadgets review: sausage stuffer – my flat smells of death

‘It’s as if I’m staging Sweeney Todd the Farce.’ Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

What?

The Buffalo horizontal sausage-stuffer (£239.98, Nisbets) is a steel barrel with a hand-cranked piston. It forces sausagemeat through an interchangeable nozzle, where it can be sealed and twisted off in links.

‘If you’ve never handled industrial quantities of sausagemeat, well … it’s a bit much.’ Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

Why?

Curiosity killed the cat. Then stuffed it in its own guts.

Well?

There are things we’re not meant to know (eg who died in your house, why Mummy and Daddy make those noises at night, and so on). Above all, you’re not meant to know what goes in sausages. But I was young and invincible, so I ordered the Buffalo sausage stuffer, thinking it would be jolly to make my own. Wrong! In fact, it was a soul-revolting trauma.

The dread begins when I buy sausage casings online. I never thought much about sausage casings before. Fun fact: they are the flushed intestines of a hog. Having these delivered to your door in an envelope, built-up gases contributing to the stench of faeces and rotting, is like Christmas came early – just so it could die at home. The stuffer resembles a car’s exhaust system, with nozzles sized for chipolata, breakfast, cumberland and boerewor. Rolling the slimy colon over these nozzles is like demonstrating sex ed on an anti-aircraft gun, but I suppose it’s good to try new hobbies.

The sausage-stuffer in action.

Now that we’re practicing safe sausage, let’s add meat. I’ve mixed mine with herbs and rusk to pack into the barrel, which holds five litres. If you’ve never handled industrial quantities of sausagemeat, well … it’s a bit much. The flesh permeates my flesh, collects under my nails. Sickened, I crank the handle and watch an air bubble inflate the tip of the pig middles, followed by a slow crawl of pink. This goes on for ever. It’s as if the machine is defecating organic matter, and it’s my job to catch it all in a bucket. (After the robot uprising, this may be all of our jobs.)

In addition, the handle keeps sliding off the gear and landing on my foot, because apparently I’m staging Sweeney Todd the Farce. My flat smells of death and the photographer goes outside to have a panic attack. I’ll never eat meat again; I may never eat anything again. Sausage-stuffers are only for professionals or lunatics. This is the way the day ends – not with bangers, but with whimpers.

‘The day ends not with bangers, but with whimpers.’ Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

Redeeming features?

You can stop worrying about what’s in your sausages. Instead, think about what your sausages are in.

Counter, drawer, back of the cupboard?

Keep this in my house? Get stuffed. 2/5