#butcher shops

[stone-cold-groove]

Beef cuts and how to cook them.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"COMPEL USE OF ABATTOIR," Ottawa Citizen. August 10, 1912. Page 13. --- New Health Act Places City in Position.

The one objection to the establishment of a civic abattoir in Ottawa has been removed by the new regulations of the provincial board of health, which have just been announced. It is now likely that definite steps will be quickly taken towards the establishment in the city of an abattoir with a view to ensuring a better supply of meat and regulating the price.

The matter has been before the city council on several occasions and the city has gone so far as to acquire land adjacent to the incinerator site, which would be an ideal location for an abattoir and cattle yard, lying as it does close to the railways and the Rideau river. Then the question was referred to Con. Parent and Dr. Shirreff, medical health officer. The latter, while he has strongly advocated a civic abattoir, said it would be useless to establish one unless the city had authority to compel people to slaughter their animals there. The city did not have that power and so nothing was done for the time being. The new regulations of the province provide that where a municipality has established a public slaughter house it may pass bylaws requiring that no carcass or meat shall be offered for sale in the municipality unless it bears the stamp of the local or Dominion or provincial inspector.

"This removes the one objection there was to the establishment of a civic abattoir," said Dr. Shirreff to The Citizen when shown the new regulations. He says he will again urge the city to establish one.

BUTCHERS WELCOME IT. With regard to the regulation as to the inspection and stamping of meat in cities where civic abattoirs exist. there is no doubt that Ottawa when it gets its abattoir will take advantage of the act and that the butchers of this city will welcome it.

Mr. B. Slattery said to The Citizen: "This is exactly what we want, and a civic abattoir without such a regulation would be worse than useless. The whole object of an abattoir would be that only inspected and approved meat could be sold in Ottawa."

Another authority on the question doubted whether there would be a single butcher in the city who would object to the regulation. "It is a pity," he told The Citizen, "that Ontario has not gone further and decreed. that every city of a certain size must necessarily have its abattoir. At any rate, if Ottawa gets an abattoir it must certainly have a regulation that all meat sold in the city be stamped by inspectors for the civic authorities."

[bugbozo]

This is a couple months old but i figured the tiny people that live in my phone might enjoy this so im posting it here :3

[joehills]

Giant sign at butcher’s shop: “WE NO LONGER SELL MEAT BY THE POUND, ONLY BY THE CUT.”

Me: huh?!

Butcher: what would you like today?

Me: well, I was going to ask for a pound of ground beef, but then I saw your sign. What is a “cut” of ground beef, do I order it by the strand?

Butcher, looking at me like an idiot: no, we sell ground beef by the pound.

Me: one pound of ground beef, please.

[bressynonym]

prime cuts 🥩🔪

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: A quiet butcher named Simon finds his routine shaken by a regular customer whose shy demeanor masks a darker secret. Drawn to their kindness, Simon discovers troubling truths about their life, including a dangerous and abusive partner.

As tension builds, Simon is thrust into a harrowing situation where his loyalty and courage are tested. Lines blur between protector and avenger, as a late-night call for help leads to a violent reckoning.

The story weaves themes of resilience, healing, and the lengths one will go to safeguard someone they care about, culminating in a final confrontation that promises justice—and a chance at a new beginning.

A/N: Welcome to my newest installment, a story that dives deep into resilience, love, and the fight for safety and freedom. This series is both an emotional journey and a thrilling ride, weaving moments of quiet vulnerability with intense, heart-pounding confrontations.

Part 2 Part 3

Part 1 - Butcher's Charm

The door swings open with a soft creak, the cheerful chime of the bell overhead ringing out like a friendly greeting. It’s the kind of sound that makes you feel seen, welcomed, part of a world warmer than your own. The butcher shop smells as it always does: a heady blend of freshly cut meats, earthy herbs, and the subtle, comforting tang of smoked sausages hanging in the display. It’s a place that feels alive—bustling yet intimate, orderly yet full of charm.

Your gaze sweeps over the familiar surroundings, the polished glass counters gleaming under the golden afternoon light streaming in through the wide storefront window. Behind the counter stands Simon, his figure both unassuming and magnetic. He’s wearing his usual dark apron, the fabric smeared with streaks of blood and marinade, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the edges of tattoos that peek out like secrets.

The sight of him brings a smile to your lips. It always does.

“Hey there! The usual?” Simon asks as you approach the counter. His voice is deep, smooth, and unhurried, carrying a warmth that seems to settle the frayed edges of your mind. His eyes catch yours, and the corners of his lips lift in a shy smile that hints at a deeper, quieter affection he seems almost afraid to show.

“Yeah, the usual,” you reply, trying to keep your voice casual. But the flutter in your stomach betrays you, as it does every time.

Simon moves with practiced ease, pulling the knife from his station and making clean, precise cuts into the slab of meat on the cutting board. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work. Each movement is a dance of skill and confidence, his hands steady and deliberate. Those hands—they tell a story. The scars scattered across his knuckles and fingers speak of mistakes learned from, the faded tattoos of a life lived in vibrant bursts, the slight tremor in his right wrist of long hours and hard-earned experience.

He glances up at you as he wraps your order, his expression soft and attentive. "Anything else today?" he asks, the question lingering like an invitation.

You shake your head, trying not to linger too long on the way he looks at you, as if you’re the only person in the world. “No, this is great. Thanks, Simon.”

He hands you the package, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment—a fleeting touch that leaves your pulse racing. You catch the way his gaze lingers, like he’s searching for something, but before either of you can speak again, the bell rings, and another customer walks in.

As you turn to leave, you glance over your shoulder. He’s still watching you, his shy smile now tinged with a quiet longing that makes your chest tighten.

Simon’s days are long, filled with the constant rhythm of knives slicing through flesh and bone, the hum of the cooler, the occasional clatter of metal trays. He loves his work, but it’s repetitive, a steady drumbeat in a life that once felt more unpredictable.

And then you walked in.

He remembers the first time he saw you, how your laughter bubbled over as you joked with him about the weather. You were bright, a spark in the monotony, and though he’d stumbled over his words that day, he’s gotten better at hiding how flustered you make him feel. Each time you visit, he finds himself lingering over your conversations, replaying the way you say his name or how your eyes light up when he teases you with a dry joke.

But Simon’s never been one to take risks when it comes to his heart. He’s spent years guarding it, locking away his past—the late nights in dive bars, the fights that left his hands bloodied and his spirit bruised. He’s a man remade, quieter now, content to find peace in his craft and the simple pleasures of routine.

And yet, here you are, stirring something in him that feels like both a risk and a refuge.

You leave the shop with your neatly wrapped package in hand, but your thoughts are still with Simon. There’s something about him—the way he’s steady but not stagnant, reserved but not cold—that pulls you back, week after week.

Over the months, you’ve pieced together fragments of his story. The tattoos on his forearms, faded and slightly smudged, hint at a wilder youth. The small scar on his cheek, which he once told you was from an accident in his first week as a butcher. The way he talks about his grandmother’s recipes, his voice softening with nostalgia, makes you wonder what kind of family shaped him into the man he is now.

And then there’s the way he looks at you. It’s a look that makes you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying, as though he’s peeling back the layers of who you are and seeing the raw, vulnerable core.

You wish you had the courage to let him in. But courage is hard to muster when your life is split between the warmth of moments like these and the icy grip of what waits for you at home.

As you climb into your car and start the engine, you glance back toward the shop. Through the window, you see Simon helping another customer, his hands moving with the same practiced precision. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like to linger in that warmth a little longer, to let him know the parts of you that you’ve kept hidden.

But for now, the thought is enough.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[thunderstruck9]

Camille Bombois (French, 1883-1970), L'Escalier et la boucherie [The Staircase and the Butcher's Shop], c.1928. Oil on canvas, 66 x 54 cm.

[longreads]

Fresh Meat

"The resistance to women in butchery goes further: we associate butchery with blood and gore, and dealing with blood and gore is not a place for a woman.”

Regular #longreads food writer Olivia Potts is back! Explore how women are breaking into the male-dominated world of butchery in our new feature.

Blood, craft, and sexism. Read it here. 

[tojigasm]

Round 2

[stone-cold-groove]

Lamb cuts and how to cook them.

[bluebugjay]

accidentally starting to believe the Charles fell first, Edwin fell harder agenda...

like we've all joked about how at face value Charles is the one who acts more like he's crushing than Edwin, the things he says, how clingy he is, the way he looks at him even from episode 1. Even, I'd argue, the way he looks at Edwin when they first meet, and him smoothly bringing up kissing and then more obviously trusting and enjoying Edwin's company enough after those few hours to stay with him rather than passing on to his afterlife. I don't think he clocked it as romantic when they met or even in the 30 years between then and the show but I think that what they have kind of transcends labels anyway. As if he's been falling ever since they first met and just hasn't really realised what that means yet, so he hasn't hit the ground yet. Charles loves Edwin and he has such a open heart and fondness for Edwin, it's hard to believe he wouldn't have fallen first.

With Edwin we actually get to see the whole journey he goes on that helps him realise his feelings and it hits him like a tonne of bricks, after 30 odd years of being best mates suddenly Edwin's forced to come face to face with the fact he's in love with Charles, not that he's falling or starting to fall but that he's right there, in love already. Fell harder.

[mayhaps-a-blog]

Love Jenny and that her solution to everything is a meat cleaver

Witch? Cleaver

Demon boyfriend? Cleaver

Someone skulking around upstairs? Cleaver

Need a mirror? Jenny's got your back! With a cleaver :)

[darunyama]

Homelander in his yandere era

[edmcmayonnaise]

Port Townsend Offices (Tongue and Tail Apartments) layout.

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

i just noticed this sign on Jenny's shop...

... yeah, Monty!! you had better be sorry for going inside!!

just give poor Jenny another reason to lose her mind, why don't you...

[thunderstruck9]

Georges Arditi (French, 1914-2012), La boucherie [The Butcher's Shop], 1950. Oil on canvas, 130.5 x 163 cm.