“Two,” I say. Roger begins to howl with pride. The remaining four hogs run off squealing. “Isn’t that a sweet little gun?” he asks.
“Beautiful,” I say, envisioning sausage. There is a silencer on the gun that makes me sound like a sniper. It adds an air of mystique.
The hogs all come back again. And again after that. And they eat around those that lie in their way.
“Three,” I say hitting a third hog. Roger smiles.
And then a fourth. Roger chuckles in surprise.
“Five.” Roger just shakes his head and grins. But the fifth one gets up after it falls and runs a few yards to the left, out of sight.
We wait. Roger peers through his binoculars. “I don’t think it went far, unless the coyotes got him,” Roger says.
The worst moment in hunting is an imperfect shot. It is hard to prepare for the moment you are responsible for suffering. Rather, it is hard to prepare for the moment you know you are responsible for suffering. It is all in the knowing.
Grabbing a couple of chicken breasts from the meat aisle of the grocery store so I could put together a quick stir-fry after twelve hours in a cubicle, I wasn’t forced to internalize the suffering the animal had gone through in a factory farm, which I was now endorsing with my wallet. There weren’t pictures of the bird whose breasts were bred to be so big that it couldn’t walk but only drag its chest, along with the thousands of others sitting in a dark, confined space.
Similarly, there were no images of a cow with bloodshot eyes on my Styrofoam-packaged filet mignon, to help with the knowing. There wasn’t the big, bold warning sign that they put on cigarette packages. Sure, I had options of all-natural, whatever that means, and organic, which means something more in theory. But it never meant the animals roamed freely through the wild, exercised their muscles as much as they pleased, ate whatever they pleased, and had the natural life that nature intended. I like to think that the animals I eat now never suffer, because I watch them die. It sounds callous but I have come to believe it is actually more humane this way. Except the rare moments like this: They’re hard when it isn’t an instant death. When my shot is imperfect. But even here, I am paying the full karmic price of the meal. I will know while I eat. I will know how it all went down. And I still think that is better. Because it makes me a more conscious chef, a more careful hunter, and a more awake human being.
We wait for a short while, but the sixth hog doesn’t return and I have to find the fifth one that I shot imperfectly. The air is rapidly becoming gray and murky as we climb down from the deer stand. I search the woods while Roger guts the rest one at a time like an expert surgeon, using their blood to clean the meat as he goes. He finishes all four in under fifteen minutes, then uses a pulley and a tree and a push of his golf cart’s gas pedal to string them up on the back of the cart while I continue to look for my last hog or a trail of blood. Then I hear the hysterics of a pack of coyotes, screaming like banshees only yards away. They have found my last hog first. As the cycle of life goes, they will kill one less animal tonight.
We leave the entrails of the hogs on the forest floor for the coyotes as well, and drive away into the muddy night, the four hogs hanging behind us on the golf cart. We speed along the dirt road of the preserve, and the cottonwood trees become a fine lace against the purple sky.
When we return to camp, Peter is skinning another hog and the Commish is smoking, and the electric hook goes up, creaking as it goes, a pig attached, and one by one we skin them all with knives, starting at the hooves and peeling down toward the head like removing a latex glove. We power wash the stomach cavities and the spray hose splatters and drips pink, and soon we roll the hogs into the cooler to lower the temperature of the meat before I begin to butcher them for sausage, and roasted whole hog, and braised belly. The largest hog is so big that her hind legs hang down and settle on the concrete floor. I cut out the thick slabs of belly, its thick layers of fat unusual for a wild hog, and massage it with pink salt and sugar and herbs. The massive hams I debone and place in the freezer so they will be easier to grind into sausage. The backstrap is so thick and long that we stop to admire it, pastel pink and thick enough for elegant round medallions.
In the evening, Roger and I talk about classic literature on the way to Walmart, the only place within 50 miles to get dinner ingredients. “Read The Brothers Karamazov, then read East of Eden,” Roger tells me. “See if you don’t see any similarities. Steinbeck was heavily influenced by Dostoyevsky.”
Inside Walmart, the woman cleaning the floors is giving a church sermon, while we select from a pile of Pink Lady apples for our whole roasted pig. “A’right, I wanna bare my soul to you for a second,” Roger continues, inspecting the apples. “Astronomy. The speed of light is one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second. A light year is how far you can go at that speed in a year. Now, how many seconds are there in a year, I don’t know, but you multiply that times one hundred and eighty-six thousand and that’s one light year. Okay. The edge of our galaxy is two point two million light years. So if you consider something that vast, isn’t it a bit silly to take things too seriously in life?”
I smile and nod, turning a Pink Lady in my hand and dropping it in the bag.
“I’m baring my soul to you now! That’s what I think about.”
We drive back to camp in the moonless night, where the fire is high, the hog is roasting, and venison is braising. At the dinner table again are the sound of lips smacking and the high flavor of roasting meats dripping their juice from a well-used cutting board. The cousin they call “the Dream” dines with us now, wearing an orange bobble hat knitted by their Aunt Evvy. He has been hunting for a week at Island 86, the hunting club started by his father, many years ago.
“I’m hunting ghosts now,” he says. “It’s just as fun to hunt them as it is to hunt the real thing.” And here, one hundred years later, Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset’s words seem never more fitting. This is where we fit into the universe, as a very small part of a vast 2.2 million light year galaxy: soaking up the juices of roasted meats, at a long table of friends, under the warm light of an antler chandelier, on a moonless December night, somewhere deep inside the Mississippi Delta. That part of being human will always be inside of us.
Braised Venison Shoulder
Serves 4
The venison shoulder also lends itself well to braising. It is high in muscle tissue and will benefit from slow cooking at a low temperature in a bit of liquid and aromatics. Over time, the cooking breaks down the muscle tissue further than if you were to simply age it; and as the collagen melts, it gives it a buttery texture. Before cooking any venison dish, however, it is best to age the meat, which will drastically improve the flavor and texture. See the aging chart on page 242.
Marinade: 4 tablespoons olive oil
1 carrot, peeled and chopped
1 onion, chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
1 (750 ml) bottle dry red wine
2/3 cup red wine vinegar
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 whole cloves
2 bay leaves
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 bunch fresh parsley sprigs
8 peppercorns
4 small or 2 large venison shoulders
Braise: 4 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup diced onions
1 cup diced carrots
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1/2 cup diced celery
2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
2 whole cloves
1 1/2 cups red wine
3 cups antlered game stock (page 213)
1 cup diced ripe tomatoes
Salt and pepper
For the Marinade: 1. Heat the oil in a heavy pan and sweat the vegetables over medium heat. Add the wine and vinegar and remaining aromatic ingredients and simmer slowly for 30 minutes.
2. Let cool thoroughly at room temperature and pour over the venison. Let it soak fo
r several hours.
For the Braise: 1. Remove the shoulders from the marinade and pat them dry.
2. Heat a roasting pan over medium heat and add the olive oil. Add the venison shoulders and sauté on all sides until nicely browned. Remove and set aside.
3. Add the onions, carrots, garlic, and celery to the pan and cook until well browned. Pour off any grease and add the thyme, bay leaf, and cloves.
4. Add the wine and deglaze the little caramelized brown bits at the bottom of the pan, scraping them with a wooden spoon. Add the stock and tomatoes and a little salt and pepper. Return the venison shoulders to the liquid.
5. Tightly cover the roasting pan with tinfoil and place in a 300°–325°F oven to braise for about 2 1/2 hours.
6. When the shoulders are tender, remove the roasting pan from the oven. Remove the foil and let the shoulders rest for 10 minutes.
7. Carefully degrease the cooking liquid by skimming the fat off the top with a ladle.
8. Remove the shoulders from the pot and set aside in a warm place, covered. Strain the braising liquid through a fine-mesh sieve. You can reduce some of this liquid in a separate saucepan until it is thick, and pour it over your venison to serve.
Also try: hog, bear, all antlered game
Liver Mousse
Makes 3 cups
Many people are reviled by liver, but I call it God’s pudding. It is slightly sweet and very rich and I could eat it endlessly. It serves as the basis for all kinds of internationally popular and unpopular foods—depending on whom you ask. Foie gras, for example, beloved in France, was for a time banned in Chicago. Then there’s liver and onions in Britain, Leberwurst in Germany, fish liver sashimi in Japan, and the Jewish dish turned idiom, chopped liver.
I like it not just because it tastes good, but also because it is a way to turn an often overlooked part of the animal into something delicious. Some people avoid liver because they think it stores toxins, but the liver doesn’t store toxins, it neutralizes them. It does store important vitamins, minerals, and other nutrients, though. I would also argue that the liver from a hunted animal has probably processed far fewer toxins than that of a domestic one, so it is better for you.
When harvesting a liver, take a good look at it first to make sure it looks healthy. It should be free of spots, and not enlarged or discolored. The underlying sweetness in liver lends itself well to other subtly sweet foods, such as shallots and onions, or red wine and port. And a dash of vinegar balances it to prevent it from becoming too cloying.
4 tablespoons grape seed oil, plus more as needed
1 deer liver, sliced into 1/8-inch pieces, or 1 1/2 to 2 cups other liver
Salt and pepper
2 cups thinly sliced shallots
4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1/2 cup red or white wine
1/4 cup port
1 tablespoon half-and-half or cream
4 tablespoons cold butter, cubed
Balsamic vinegar
Cider vinegar
1. Heat the oil in a wide, heavy-bottomed sauté pan over medium-high heat. Pat the liver dry and season it with salt and pepper on both sides. Sear the slices on both sides just until browned (about 1 minute per side), then transfer to a plate to rest.
2. Add the shallots and garlic to the pan and caramelize. Season with salt and pepper to help release the juices. Add more oil as necessary so they don’t dry out and burn.
3. Add the liver back to the pan, then add the wine and port. Cover partially with a lid and simmer until the liquid has reduced by two-thirds.
4. Let cool for a few minutes, but not completely, then puree in a blender with the half-and-half and butter. Season with salt and pepper and transfer to a bowl.
5. Here you can pass the liver mixture through a fine-mesh strainer if you want it especially silky.
6. Season with balsamic vinegar and cider vinegar to taste.
7. Chill in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour before serving. Cover well with plastic wrap to prevent the surface from oxidizing.
Also try: duck, game birds, other antlered game (if the liver is large, cut on the bias into 1/2-inch slices before searing)
Pan-Seared Deer Liver
Serves 4 to 6
This is a second way to prepare liver, a bit more traditional, how your grandmother or the women of the pioneer era would have made it when food thrift was essential. It goes like this:
1 deer liver
Salt and pepper
4 tablespoons grape seed oil
1 white onion, sliced thinly
2 cups sliced button mushrooms (one standard package, whole; or you can really use any mushrooms, even the more exotic ones)
1/2 cup vermouth
1/2 cup whiskey
1/2 cup cream
1. Soak the liver in well-salted water for 30 to 60 minutes. Remove from the water, rinse under running water, and pat dry.
2. Cut the liver on the bias into slices. Lay them on a plate and season with salt and pepper.
3. Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a skillet over medium-high heat until you can see the heat coming off it. Sear the liver slices on both sides, about 1 minute per side. You want them medium rare; you are going to cook them again in a minute. If your pan is too small to fit all the liver in one batch, cook it in batches so you don’t crowd the pan. You want a good sear.
4. Transfer all the liver slices to a plate, add the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil to the skillet, and sauté the onions and mushrooms until they are soft. Season with salt and pepper as you go.
5. Return the liver slices to the pan, add the vermouth, and simmer for a few minutes. Then add the whiskey. Light it on fire (flambé) with a match and stand back. Once the alcohol has cooked off and the flames have subsided, add the cream. Cook for a few more minutes, taste, and adjust the seasoning. Serve immediately.
Also try: duck, game birds, other antlered game (if liver is large, cut on the bias into 1/2-inch slices before searing)
Balsamic Deer Heart
Serves 4 as an appetizer
Native Americans used to eat the warm heart of their prey to inherit the animal’s spirit. It was also a way to honor the animal and use every part of it. The texture of the heart is unique and unlike any other, chewy and dense like a muscle, but far more easy to masticate than any tough cut of meat. This recipe is the most delicious way to “go native” in your culinary pursuits, and is often something even the most seasoned hunters overlook.
1 deer heart
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup olive oil
2 sprigs rosemary
Salt and pepper
1 tablespoon grape seed oil
1. Clean the heart under cold running water until the water runs clear. Cut the heart in half lengthwise so that you have two squares. Trim off the outer white membrane.
2. Cut the squares into 1/2-inch strips and the strips into 1/2-inch squares.
3. Marinate the squares in the balsamic vinegar, oil, rosemary, and salt and pepper, covered with plastic wrap, for at least 1 hour in the fridge.
4. Heat the grape seed oil in a pan and quickly sear the heart squares, about 1 minute per side. You want them to be no more than medium rare. Serve immediately!
Also try: duck, game birds, other antlered game (smaller hearts can be simply cut in half and trimmed of excess membrane)
Fireplace Venison Tenderloin
Serves 4
The deer tenderloin is arguably the most sought-after cut of deer meat. It is akin to the filet mignon of a cow, but far more flavorful. It is also very lean, which means it must be eaten rare, or else it will turn gray and chewy. It is one of the few cuts of deer meat that doesn’t require significant aging before it can be consumed; in fact, you can enjoy it the day that you harvest it. There are several ways to cook it. My favorite is in a wire grill basket that you often see used for cooking whole fish or other delicate foods on the grill. You hold the basket by its handle over an open fire and let t
he tenderloins sear and absorb the wood smoke. If you don’t have a campfire, an indoor fireplace works well. And if you don’t have an indoor fireplace, cooking in a skillet works, too; you will just miss out on a bit of the ambient smoke flavor in the meat.
2 venison tenderloins, trimmed of excess tissue and silverskin
1 cup balsamic vinegar
1 cup olive oil
1/2 cup freshly squeezed orange juice
1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary
Salt and pepper
1. Rinse the tenderloins and pat them dry. Place them in a nonreactive bowl and cover with the rest of the other ingredients. Cover with plastic wrap, pressing the plastic against the meat to keep out the air. Place in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 hours.
2. Remove from the bowl, shake away the excess moisture, and place in a wire grill basket.
3. Hold the basket over the fire for about 4 minutes per side. Remove from the basket and let rest for a few minutes, then slice and serve immediately.
Also try: other antlered game (Keep in mind that the size of the animal will determine the size of the tenderloin, which means cooking times may vary. See the temperature guide on page 240.)
Fried Venison Backstrap
Serves 8
I also call this recipe Campfire Fried Deer. It is a simple fried cutlet that is crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, and can be prepared easily in the outdoors with simply a skillet and a few ingredients.
1 venison backstrap, cut on the bias into thin slices and pounded between two layers of plastic wrap
Salt and pepper
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup bread crumbs (panko or seasoned work well)
1 cup grape seed oil, plus more as needed
Cranberry Relish (page 228) or your favorite chutney, to serve
Girl Hunter Page 16