The devil's kabana boy

I went to the deli and looked for something New and Interesting. They were having free tastings of all sorts of sausagey stuff, and there were slices of this thing all over the place.
Turns out it's a kabana. I have heard of kabana, but never tried it. Which is apparently weird because everyone else I've talked to about it reckons they practically grew up on kabana: had a big hunk of it in their gobs at birth: wrapped kabana slices around the straws on their juice poppers for that rich sausagey taste.
We never had much sausage in my house as a kid. It was a SIN, along with peanut butter, salt, watching TV on a weekday, not cleaning the bathroom on a Saturday morning and Tang, after Mum read some Parent's Weekly article about all the unholy chemicals within. Like all the unholy chemicals in processed meat.
Bottom line is, sausages were rare. This is why I hadn't ever tried kabana before.
Not bad though: quite tasty. Smooth, not too salty. I bought one.
Look at it poking out of its paper bag, there. Quite suggestive, really.
Lork Porkface was stoked when I brought it home. He feels gypped by my stir-fry-loving, soy and vegetable tendencies and wishes I were more of the breadcrumbed, deep-fried, stuffed, chicken kiev-type girl. I told him he can kiev his own chicken any time he likes, but until then, knock off the grumpy face when I make lentils or ratatouille or minestrone or anything with vegies in it. Heaven forbid he should make dinner for ME. Harrumph.
Anyway, he got his kabana. We sliced it up and made a platter with olives, crackers, cheddar slices and baby gherkins. Pretty yummy.