Welcome to the Sausage District Part 4 of 4

At a certain moment, about halfway through our visit at the Azman’s Quality Meats shop on East 185th street, it dawned on me that not only was this visit (and, thus, this article) the last of our series on the Collinwood Sausage District, but that I was also a little bit bummed out about that fact.

Over the past several weeks, as Bridget and I have traveled to the cornerstone sausage purveyors in the community, we’ve both learned a lot about how sausage is made and, more importantly, come to know the folks in the neighborhood responsible for bringing us the Slovenian charcuterie that graces our tables during the holidays (and most days between). It has been a wonderful way to meet our neighbors that we don’t see at the gallery openings, movie nights, and rock shows we otherwise spend our time attending.

In particular, Bill Azman, Jr., has been a delight to spend time with. His enthusiasm for his craft and for life in general, is infectious, and we found ourselves leaving with unrestrained grins from each of our drop-ins. The second visit we paid to Azman’s, we found Bill Jr. preparing a customer’s specially ordered batch of istria, a semi-dry Slovenian sausage that he described as similar to a dried Italian sausage. He noted that istria did not used to be a commonly requested item, but it had recently caught on and now he found himself making a lot of the sausage, which he makes from a 200-year-old recipe.

Although istria was the sausage du jour when we walked in, Azman’s has long been renowned for its Slovenian smoked sausage. Admittedly, the other three shops we have written about in these pages could make the same claim and be completely accurate, it is only Azman’s that could claim a galactic reputation, having once had its sausage taken into outer space on a shuttle trip, giving rise to the words festooned on the wall behind the long display counter, “Home of the Slovenian Space Sausage.”

Whether a devotee of the istria or the out-of-this-world smokes (pun intended), everyone can agree that history is what makes Azman’s shop special. While Bill Jr. has “only” operated the venue at 654 East 185th Street for twenty years, the building has housed sausage shops for more than 60 years. The Azman experience in the industry goes back even further, with his grandfather getting into the business in 1917 and the family opening a long-time operation at East 65th and St. Clair two years later.

Bill Jr. himself practically has sausage in his blood. In a corner of the store, customers can find a collage of photos and other ephemera documenting the industrious efforts of his maternal and paternal grandparents. In fact, while his father was toiling at the aforementioned store on East 65th, his mother’s family operated a similar shop on the very street where Azman’s is located today.

Separated by 120 blocks, both grandfathers knew one another, and while their relationship was primarily business-oriented, Bill Jr.’s future paternal grandfather once loaned his car to Azman’s future maternal grandfather so he could take the little girl who would grow up to be Bill Jr.’s mother to her baptism. Years later, Bill Sr.’s best friend would tell his cousin about the blonde-haired, blue-eyed fella she just had to meet, despite the fact that he was balding and had hazel eyes. Some time later, the hazel-eyed, balding man and the cousin were wed and, eventually, became parents of Bill Jr.

Given all this rich history, one could be forgiven for forgetting the actual point of the shop: the sausage! Deep in the basement resides a 1956-vintage smoker stuffed with fragrant cherry wood Bill Jr. gets from his brother’s property – he notes, “you should smell my car when it comes out of the trunk” – and delicious smoked links. Bill shows us all the modifications he’s made for the machine over the years, noting he once dispatched replacement parts the factory sent into the lake due to their inferiority, preferring to make the changes himself, which include adapting the smoker to use fruitwood rather than the sawdust it originally relied upon.

Bill Jr. went into great detail about the technology the smoker once used, a tale that might have bordered on pedantic had it not been told by someone as charming and uplifting as Mr. Azman. Given his skill with storytelling, I’m eager to go back, get a batch of istria myself, and listen to Azman talk about whatever he wishes. And, I will risk the age-old danger of going out too far on a limb, when I say I’m pretty sure Bridget feels the same way.