I almost could not believe it when my Mom said that I could mince the meat and make hamburger. I’d undoubtedly seen her do it untold times, though now I have no memory of it. But I do remember doing it for that first time. The mincer was firmly tightened onto the kitchen counter, the meat was on a plate near by and there was a bowl to catch the meat as it was minced. I had to stand on a stool to fed the meat into the top; with my left hand I gently pushed it into the shoot and the corkscrew pulled at it as I turned the handle. Like magic the in-piece hunk of meat was transformed into, well, mince. It was strangely satisfying.