Harry's fine sausages

Harry makes me think.

As a layperson, my job is not to think. My job is to experience, and my experience with Harry only begs a single question: why?

When I first met Harry, I smelled the meat not of man, not of stranger, but of familiarity. Harry spoke with a prose reserved only for sailors and kings, golden silk ran from His words like wine.

His approach to kitchenry is nothing short of rustic artistry. I once saw Him dip His hands into a bucket of clipped fingernails, scoop a handful into the sausage meat, and mix it in by hand. When (foolishly) I questioned this, He remarked only "seasoning".

Harry smells like death. Not decay, nor morbidity, but blissful death. Harry's scent captures the smell of a rusted guillotine as it severed your connection to this world. His natural perfume encapsulates the void, and in such foolish ideals as identity — as the observer, or the observed — you can only lose yourself in the pursuit.

Harry inspires me to be a worse person, to be a better person would attempt a false copy, an imitation of His image. Salvation lies only in authenticity, how can I — as a human — approximate perfection?

Harry...I gotta say. Wow!
It was worth the 13500km journey for these authentic sausages. I would 10/10 make this journey with the only intention being eating these sausages again. To anyone who has not tried one of Harry's sausages...you are missing out....your life will change from eating Harry's sausage.
Harry, you are a kind man...I wish you all the best with your fine establishment and I hope to see you again very soon!

Excellent meal, just like the meat makers of old country Russia. Harry good man.

أشفق عليكم

Harry is such a fun guy. However, his spicy sausages should come with a warning! Totally recommend that you visit this establishment.

Great food, good service thanks.