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Bill Hilton's avatar

I discovered your Substack quite recently, Titus, and I've been enjoying it. But now I've discovered this magnificent paean to the Queen of Counties I'll read everything you post.

For me, a Boston boy, the One True Sausage will always be Mountains. However, Stevens in Frieston is indeed a fine establishment: I've only had the sausages once, but their pies are also things of beauty. Like you, I no longer live in the county, and there's a lot I could say about the state of Boston these days... suffice to say I prefer to remember how it was when I was a kid.

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Chris's avatar

My grandfather was a butcher in Bury St. Edmunds when I was a lad. He made his own sausages, took me to the Cattle market (and to the abattoir so I knew where meat came from). When my Scout troop went camping there was eager anticipation among my fellow Scouts of the sausages I would bring for the weekend. Sadly only a couple of independent butchers survive there, but their sausages are still a joy.

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