Sausage Day by Anne Frank — Read

Mr van Daan had a large amount of meat. Today he wanted to make bratwurst and sausages, and tomorrow mettwurst. It's fun watching him put the meat through the mincer: once, twice, three times. Then he adds all kinds of ingredients to the meat and uses a long pipe, which he attaches to the mincer, to force it into the casings. We ate the bratwurst with sauerkraut (served with onions and potatoes) for lunch, but the sausages were hung to dry over a pole suspended from the ceiling. Everyone who came into the room burst into laughter when they saw those dangling sausages. It was such a comical sight.

The place was a shambles. Mr van Daan, clad in his wife's apron and looking fatter than ever, was concentrating his hefty form on the meat. What with his bloody hands, red face and apron, he really looked like a butcher. Mrs van D. was trying to do everything at once: learn Dutch, cook, watch, sigh, moan - she claims to have broken a rib. That's what happens when you do such stupid physical exercises. Dussel had an eye infection and was sitting next to the stove dabbing his eye with camomile tea. Pim, seated in the sunshine, kept having to move his chair this way and that to stay out of the way. His back must have been bothering him, because he was sitting slightly hunched over with an agonized expression on his face. He reminded me of those aged invalids you see in the poorhouse. Peter was romping around the room with the cat, holding out a piece of meat and then running off with the meat still in his hands. Mother, Margot and I were peeling potatoes. When you get right down to it, none of us was doing our work properly, because we were all so busy watching Mr van Daan.