Perhaps this association adds to the guilt inherent in consuming Oh Boy! Oberto Cocktail Pep, the pepperoni stick with which one may tuck away 12 grams of fat (one gram per inch) in under five minutes. There is a connection between the addictive spices flavoring the Cocktail Pep and the desire to inhale gas--although you first recoil from the raunchy flavor, you find yourself down to the last three inches, casting about for another Cocktail Pep--anything with that painfully addictive flavor. I was able to revisit these dark delights once again on a recent visit to the Oh Boy! Oberto Factory Outlet on Rainier.
The Oberto family has blessed Seattle with their fine sausages and cured meat products since 1918, when, at age 16, Art "Oh Boy!" Oberto set up shop on Beacon Hill with his parents, recent immigrants from Italy. Originally, their wine salami made them famous. Art's "have fun" motto established the Oberto name in Seattle lore through promotional stunts like the green, red, and white Jerky Mobile delivery truck and the "pepperoni-powered" hydroplane, a tactic referred to lovingly as "Oberto-izing." Incredibly, Oberto is still a family-owned business (with Art himself the chairman). The company employs 500 workers in Seattle, nearly 1,000 in greater King County. I mention all these fun facts because I had not realized that my childhood experience with the meat in the omnipresent green, red, and white packages was a regional one.
After a few deep pulls off the exhaust spewing forth from Rainier, I ducked into the tiny retail outlet store attached to the Oberto sausage plant. The plant's floor plan resembles a wild boar escaping through the brush; overstuffed shelves run from floor to ceiling. All manner of smoked meat product is available at incredible discounts--it is up to the consumer to decide what she will sacrifice in order to save money on her savory snacks. I, being rather health-conscious and having read The Jungle, opted for the Natural Style Peppered Turkey Jerky ($2.50 for a four-ounce bag), discounted because the packages contained factory bits and pieces, a little too ugly for the grocery-store consumer. Even greater discounts are offered on packages with expired pull dates, or packages of such enormous volume that even I felt a bit frightened of the sheer quantity of cow flesh involved in the transaction.
I went seeking the pure joy of pepperoni, and I was not disappointed. Oh Boy! Oberto Cocktail Pep is available in many forms: the foot-long I associate with gas stations, the slightly shorter and more slender Long Shot, and its bitty brother, the Short Stop. For a mere $20, you can possess 12 pounds of bite-size Cocktail Peps, but the Cocktail Pep that knocked the carbon-monoxided air from my lungs was the understated Cocktail Pep Rope ($3.49). SIX FEET of CONTINUOUS Cocktail Pep constitutes the Rope. That was over one week ago, and I am still chewing on my Rope. In fact, I am licking it right now.
Atkins' dieters have taken to jerky, compelling Oberto to market a new, acceptably low-fat meaty product, Lowry's Bacon Curls. Upon further investigation, "curls" is a euphemism for microwavable pork rinds. Oberto markets its products to different consumers according to appearance. Proportioned, sliced, and shaped meat snacks appeal to children and certain women, for "lunches, after school, watching TV... this is fun food for serious snackin'," while the thick-cut, ragged, tough, and real meaty-looking "big bags bustin' full of jerky" and sausage sticks with names like Long Rider declare themselves to be a "favorite with the guys, perfect... for those hunting and camping trips."
Although I repeatedly and politely inquired, harassed, and otherwise sought entry to the Oberto sausage plant, I was denied access and recipes. After countless phone calls, I found myself wistfully hanging around the factory outlet, watching the door to the factory, dreaming of the accidental tour I would receive if only I waited long enough. I brought my one-year-old, feeling that this extraordinary educational opportunity might be pivotal for her, even at this tender age. She screamed at the balloons battered in the jet stream of traffic, and no one left or entered the factory for a very long time, during which time the incredible scent of hot sausages became unbearable, and we were compelled to duck inside the outlet store for a bratwurst and a hot link ($1.49 each). Inside, I asked about the sausage factory and found out that it was temporarily closed. According to the P.R. representative I talked to on the phone, Oberto is expanding as they launch nationwide distribution of their low-fat, high-protein "Natural Style" turkey and beef jerky, hoping to become the "first national jerky company."
I waited for my wiener, contemplating kids in Florida nibbling on Teriyaki Beef Jerky. The lunch special ($2.49) includes hot sausage in a bun (bratwurst, Polish, hot link) plus Tim's Cascade Chips and a soda. Plain ol' hot dogs (99¢) in buns are featured in the hot lunch section as well. Next to the hot sausages is a deli case, packed so full the piles of cold luncheon meat and sausage links nearly dim the light. I studied the bargains as I gnawed on my bratwurst (the casing was a bit tough, making me work for those juicy bites of sausage), a fine piece of sausage for the price. The two ladies running the place kept bringing us free samples, and crowned Ruby with a special Oh Boy! Oberto paper hat, the boat-shaped kind that men wear in the meat business. One lady employee placed a small, plastic-wrapped pepperoni stick (the Short Stop) in Ruby's chubby fist, which Ruby immediately saluted her with, looking very noble beneath her hat that exclaimed, "Beef Jerky!" directly above her eyebrows. When we left the Seattle institution that day, we had not toured the factory, but we did understand what went into that sausage.
Oh Boy! Oberto Factory Outlet
1715 Rainier Ave S, 322-7524. Mon-Sat
9 am-6 pm, Sun 10 am-5 pm. $.
Price Scale (per entrée)
$ = $10 and under; $$ = $10-$20;
$$$ = $20 and up.
