Braised rabbit with fire-roasted tomatoes on polenta, page 46

These dishes were made by my dear mother, Ruth Rebmann. She actually made them while Fred and I were at parent teacher conferences. I asked my mom to make dinner while we were gone. And I quote from my father about what my mother was thinking, or perhaps saying behind our backs, "Not only am I expected to catch up on their laundry . . ." So, as it turns out asking your mother to work on your hobbies is not oh-so-appreciated! Who knew?!

This dinner was more work than Mom usually puts into supper. And, that's saying something 'cause she's a really good cook. She was at the stove about 1 1/2 hours. And from the sound of her huffing when we came home, that was a bit too much. Another quote, this time from Mom, "Well, when you have to start off picking hair off a carcass . . . "! Yea, sorry again about that, Mom.

I was trying to get Mom to be a guest writer for this post, but that she drew the line at. Or as Dad put it "that is the final straw".

So, how about the dinner? It was quite good. We were all pleased with the taste of polenta, though apparently 45 minutes of stirring cornmeal porridge wasn't so great to do for my parents who were also watching my kids and keeping their new puppy from getting into trouble. I don't think I've ever made polenta before. Well, I guess I didn't make it this time, either, come to think of it. Hee Hee.

I would say of the two rabbit dishes in the book, perhaps the mustard dish is more distinctive-more unique - than this one. But, other than that I can offer no criticism of this dish. It was really tasty.

Persimmon frozen yogurt gelato, page 165 with lacy spice wafers, page 133

Persimmon ice cream in spicy lacy wafer bowl

I think my persimmon pulp is different from Bernadette's. In the book, her persimmon pulp looks glisteny and clear, like jelly. My persimmon pulb fancies apple butter, or peanut butter, instead.

And, I think that made a difference in this recipe. I was hopeful about making persimmon gelato. I thought the the complexity and natural taste to persimmons would make for an interesting ice cream. I even remade the spicy lace wafers to go with them, as I thought they'd contrast nicely.

Close up of lacy wafer

And, it's not that the gelato turned out horribly, it just wasn't all that good. Not good enough that none of the six of us at dessert that evening finished it. Humph.

I remember speaking to someone about Cooking Wild in Missouri and she said this was one of her favority recipes. So, I think the flaw is in my persimmon pulp and not the recipe. This fall was a very bad year for persimmons--there were hardly any to be found. And, it seemed to me they ripened very early as well. Perhaps, the persimmons I harvested were too dry. And, if you recall from our harvesting them, some of the persimmons were not yet ripe so we put them all in the freezer to see if that would speed things along. Perhaps that hurt the quality of the pulp more than I knew. The one thing that makes this theory shaky is that the persimmon pulp my mom put up from the year before seemed to have the same consistancy as ours from this year. So, I'm not sure why the discrepancy exists between Bernadette's gorgeous sparkling persimmon pulp and our mudesque, ugly step child version. But, I think it's affecting the recipes.

I'd be interested in hearing others give this gelato a try and seeing what comes from it.

Cooking it Down

When I first opened the maple syrup buckets on my birthday, Ann's parents got really excited about them. They said cooking down the syrup was a big deal when they lived in Canada. It was often done outside, to avoid getting sticky steam all over the house. People would have sugaring  parties, where they had big kettles outside that they kept a fire under for two or three days, taking turns staying up all night, monitoring the syrup and tending the fire. They would even burn old tires to keep the fire going. Ann's Dad said the process was someting that you must endure at the time, and enjoy in retrospect.

We're told it takes about 40 gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup. The thought of a 40 gallon container of sap intimidated me. So we're working on a considerably smaller scale here. Who needs a whole gallon of syrup? So Ann's been collecting a couple of gallons of sap at a time and just putting it in 7-quart pots on our wood stove in the living room. Only two of our trees (a maple and a walnut) have been producing much sap, and we get  a useful amount in about two days. It cooks down in about a day, and there isn't any sticky steam on anything. We have about two cups of syrup now that we've cooked down. The cast-iron pot that's covered in enamel that I gave her for Valentine's Day (aren't I romantic?) works well for this. It gives a good, even heat, it holds its heat well, and the enamel makes for easy clean-up afterwards.

Permimmon parfait, page 163

OK, this is a recipe that I was just sure that I wasn't going to like because, I am afraid to say, that straight up yogurt makes me gag. The recipe is quite simple: persimmon pulp, yogurt and nuts. So, here's what I did. After making the second to last persimmon dish with what I thought was the last permisson pulp (turns out I was wrong, there's one more zip lock in the freezer) I kept the empty persimmon zip lock out and thought I'd scrape the inside with a spoon to get enough pulp for one spoon full of the parfait. However, someone threw the zip lock away, so back out of the trash it wall pulled for the one spoon full, last of the persimmon recipes dessert.

In actuality if I wrote the recipe for this parfait it would have to go something like this:

1. Throw zip lock bag of once frozen persimmon pulp in trash.

2. Ressurect it from said receptacle.

3. Carefully scrape inside of bag with spoon to harvest any remaining smudges of pulp. Be sure to only scrape the inside of the bag since the outside will likely have coffee grounds and who knows what else on it from previous trash involvement.

3. Squirt come yogurt on half the spoon, top with a nut and call it good.

4. If you can not stand yogurt, hold your nose to eat. Option B: give the spoon to someone else and tell them you generously made a spoon-sized parfait just for them. You determine if honesty is the best policy when it comes to the trash history of the main ingredient.

There you have it. I went with option B on step 5 and the whole trash thing was already "out of the bag" so I had nothing to hide, or no way to hide it at least. And, even with all this drama, I think the taste tester, my daddy, was perfectly happy eating the parfait. It is simple, and healthy, and I think he enjoyed it. 

How many daughters make a spoon-sized parfait for their father anyway. You are welcome, Dad. You are welcome.

Drilled and Tapped

I’ve got to stray from Cooking Wild in Missouri just a little a bit to brag about a couple of the many things that Ann got me for my birthday. They both involve edibles that we gather from the outdoors, so I’m not getting too far off of our theme.

The first were mushroom spores – several hundred of them. Not only did she get me the spores, but she also had cut me a dozen small white oak logs that I could inoculate with the spores. The spores came in a big plastic sheet, and looked like thimbles with little white Styrofoam caps on top. We drilled the logs with a 7/16 bit, making wholes in a diamond pattern, and then poked in the spores in with their cone-shaped inert matter and Styrofoam hats. We’ll water the logs, maintaining at least a 30 percent moisture content, and then come fall we’ll harvest some shiitakes.
We didn’t have to wait as long to reap the fruits of another one of my gifts: spiles and buckets for maple syrup making. Again, we drilled with the 7/16 bit, only this time it was in standing trees in our yard. Then we pounded in the spiles, hung the buckets, installed the lids, and a couple days later Ann was cooking down the syrup.

We tapped one Sugar Maple in our yard, but the other one has already budded out, which makes it no good for tapping this spring. So we also tapped some of our walnut trees. Apparently their sugar content isn’t as high as the maples, but when you cook it down the syrup is just as good.

Both the maple and one of the four walnuts flowed very well, the other walnuts not so much. This should be a good time, as it is supposed to be below freezing at night and above during the day. But since one of our maples is budded out already, I guess we may be a bit late.

But Ann and I both sampled the walnut/maple syrup that she cooked down, and it tastes great. Pancakes here we come. Happy birthday to me.

Craig Cyr's Moroccan spice-rubbed quail with sweet-onion pistachio spoon pudding, pages 72-73

Those quail that Fred and his dad hunted a month or two ago, we finally got up the nerve to cook them. I've been looking forward to this set up recipes for some time now. Just as some recipes sound on the dark grey side of iffy, so to others sound like they are going to be right up my alley. This is a set of recipes, actually. The quail are coated with cilantro, olive oil and garlic, then rubbed in a mixture of Mococcan spices: cinnamon, cumin, coriander, clove, ginter, paprika, etc. They are butterflied out and grilled flat.

pistachio spoon pudding

As an accompaniment to the quail was another recipe: sweet-onion pistachio spoon pudding. This dish was totally unlike anything I've made before: toast and then grind pistachios, mix with sauted onion and carrots, mix with cream, eggs, cumin and golden raisins and bake. Hard to wrap your head around that one, eh?

We served these two dishes when my folks were up for a visit. Each person got one quail. These, remember, were pen raised quail and quite a bit meatier than the trully wild kind. So, one was enough (Well for everyone but Henry. That boy can put down the food.)

The pistachio spoon pudding was really interesting. It was wonderfully flavored with the cup of ground pistachios. Really I guess it was kind of like a savory custard with lots else in it. All I know is the platter was licked clean on that dish. No need to worry about left overs! The only thing I'd try differently the next time I made these recipes it to add the cilantro to the quail at the end of grilling. I used a whole bunch of cilantro on the quail, but to me it looses all its flavor if cilantro is cooked.

I was happy to offer my parents such a treat of a meal. After all, where else could they have gone for Moroccan spiced quail with pistachio-onion pudding? I don't think that's the #4 meal deal at McDs.

A funky fungi weekend

Oliver in his ranger hat at the mushroom program

The Missouri Mycological Society http://missourimycologicalsociety.org  is starting a group in Mid-Missouri which is great, because Fred and I know approximately squat when it comes to any wild mushrooms besides what a morel looks like. This Saturday morning the group offered a program here in Columbia on poisonous mushrooms in Missouri. It was taught by Maxine Stone who wrote Missouri's Wild Mushrooms. The boys and I got to attend the program and got quit a bit out of it.

Destroying Angels are very common, all white mushrooms with a ring around the stalk and cap at the base. They'll kill ya.

Jack-o-Lantern mushrooms glow in the dark when they are in the right stage. Make you terribly sick.

Alcholol inkies are perfectly edible. Only if you drink alchohol 1-3 days before of after ingesting them, major sick stuff happens.

We learned about 10 poisonous mushrooms in all, which I believe will help me have a bit more confidence at least as to the mushrooms to avoid when we start looking for mushrooms this spring.

Rabbit rolled in mustard sauce, page 48

Henry making faces at the camera!

With a new wild ingredient, rabbit, I am raring to go on trying more recipes. There are only two rabbit recipes in the book, each calling for two rabbits.

The first one we tried is rabbit rolled in mustard sauce. It's browned in a cast iron skillet and then baked in a sauce of onion, white wine, garlic, and chicken broth, basically, with dijon mustard and cornstarch added to the sauce at the end. Bernadette (I know I've repeated this 100 times, but just in case you're new to the blog, Bernadette Dryden is the author of the book we are working our way through, Cooking Wild in Missouri) suggested serving this dish with mashed potatoes and greens, so that we did.

Now this is a meal everybody went for. Oliver, our youngest and most . . . uh . . . selective eater, ate the rabbit right up, and Henry dug in to the meal full force. Fred and I both thought this was a dish that trully was not designed on the necessity of hiding the gamey taste of wild meat, but was just a darn fine dish that proudly showcases how tasty rabbit can be.

I would definitely make this dish again as a standard way to serve rabbit and am hoping rabbit becomes a bit more of a mainstay in our freezer.

Rabbit Hunting with the Preacher

I share this story in tribute to the last day of rabbit season. One of my first hunting experiences was with my preacher. Brother John Spurgeon would bring out a whole pack of beagles to my family’s farm, and we would hunt a brushy area where those beagles were sure to sniff out some rabbits and chase them around to us so we could take a shot at them.

I can’t say for sure if these pastoral visits were out of concern for my eternal soul, or if Brother John just found the rabbit hunting out on my family farm to be better than elsewhere, but these hunts with him became a regular occurrence in the winter.

In addition to the dogs, he also always brought me a gun. It was a double-barrel .410. I thought it was a work of art. And it really did the job on running rabbits at close range.
I don’t remember if Brother Spurgeon kept any rabbits for himself, but he always left some with us. My mother would flour and fry and younger, smaller ones, or boil the larger, older ones with canned biscuits for rabbit and dumplings.

Years later, after Brother John went on to his heavenly home, one of his family members contacted me, and said they had something from him that they wanted me to have. I went to his house to get it, and was presented with a pair of ceramic quail. I’d never quail hunted with Brother Spurgeon, his beagles would have scared any bird within miles away. But the details aren’t important, and it was nice to be remembered.

I hope somewhere out there some young boy is enjoying that .410 the way I did.

From the lady's perspective . . .

Rabbit is just a darn fine meat. It's sweet and rich all on its own, and I don't find it gamey like some other wild meats. It's been about 20 years since I ate wild rabbit, but the aromas in the skillet brought me back to the fried version I had as a child immediately.

When I was young we lived for a few years in the county. Across the gravel road was an abandoned farm and we had permission to set box traps on the farm to catch rabbits. Box traps like the ones we used, or tried to use, this week are just boxes with a trigger in the back that causes a door to shut behind the animal. No harm done at all. In fact,  if you've never seen a box trap they are like the one the chihauhua uses to try to catch the lee-zard in the Taco Bell commercials. There's a reference for you!

Anyhow, I remember checking the traps with my dad and sister. I remember catching quail once. We had no idea why they would have entered the box, but there they were never the less. And, I remember catching an opossum once. The back of my dad's traps had wire mesh so you could see in them and the opossum clung to the wire with its opposable thumbs and wouldn't let go. Finally, we shook him out of the box and when he landed at our feet, he played dead. I remember thinking 1. so they really do play dead and 2. that is the silliest thing I've ever seen since we were just eyeball to eyeball with the opossum trying to get him out of the trap a mere moment before. After a few seconds, he must have realized his playing dead trick was too ridiculous, too, because he gave us a quick look, flipped over and scurried off.

That's one great thing about hunting. It helps you get a much better understanding of wildlife and their behaviors.

I also remember Dad pulling a rabbit out of the box trap once and watching him turn around to discretely bop it in the head. The down side of a box trap is that the animal has to meet its demise by your hand. I remember watching Dad and thinking that part of eating was a bit too realistic for me. It still would be very difficult for me to do, although I have been very quick to do the deed when animal is severely injured and in pain.

Hunting with Fred was so much fun this weekend. I realized, after I shot the rabbit, that it was the first time I've ever hunted with him. I've gone with him numerous times to keep him company and get out, but never to do the act of hunting, and I know I've never shot an animal with him. There was something so partner-like in Fred hopefully and excitingly saying, "Get him, Annie!" as the rabbit ran by me. And, both of us pointing our barrels at a rabbit, me with a shotgun in case it gets away from Fred's .22, is a crazy neat experience, too.

Rascally Rabbits

It was crunch time. One weekend left of rabbit season, and three rabbits needed for our Woods to Food project. We went to the family farm, even though my Dad said he hasn’t seen many rabbits. At least it is a large area that hasn’t been hunted out – by people anyway.

Ann and I set out just after lunch. The temperature was 25 degrees, and the wind was gusting at 26 mph. It was cold enough that we let Henry and Oliver sit this one out to stay inside and play with my Mom’s new house cat.

The first order of business was placing the traps. I wanted to keep them in use as many minutes as possible. I put the three around some thorn bushes near a pond, then we set out on foot. We walked to the creek, and then walked the creek to the county road.

At this point Dad met up with us. He had with him two dogs – his hound and Yippy, a stray dog that Dad took in which appears to be half border collie and half something much larger than a border collie. I had suggested using the hound – Dad wasn’t optimistic. Dad had attempted to coon hunt with him (it is a Walker) earlier in the year, but the dog showed no interest and went home. Dad said he doesn’t seem interested in much besides killing cats, and their once abundant barn cat population has gotten suspiciously sparse.

We walked on, and soon we (Dad and I, not the dogs) jumped up a rabbit. After we (again, Dad, Ann and I, not the dogs) chased it about from bush to bush, it finally stopped where I could see it. I was carrying a shotgun to increase my odds on a running rabbit, but I now regretted it, as I had what would be an easy shot with a .22. I aimed very high, hoping the bottom edge of my shotgun pattern would just catch the rabbit in the head and I wouldn’t waste any meat. I over did it, though, shot too high and missed entirely. But after another little chase I had a chance again. This time I aimed a little lower and got it. One down, two to go.

Apparently after the first shot, Yippy just went back to Dad’s Mule (Kawasaki utility vehicle) to wait, and the hound went all the way back home. We were on our own. Dad went home, too, but advised us that cover would be better on the other side of the creek. So we crossed a low-water bridge, and headed back in the direction that we came from. When we arrived back near where the truck was (and there is no bridge), there was too much water in the creek to cross on foot, so we kept hunting the creek bank all the way around the field to our friend’s house, Llans and Danica Taylor. Llans gave us a ride home, and mentioned that he often see’s rabbits in his driveway. He hasn’t had cattle in the area around his house in a year or so, and there’s quite a bit of cover there.

We checked the traps at about dark, and nothing was sprung, so we shifted them to a different location for the night.

The next morning I got out at daylight. It was only 10 degrees, but it was still, so it didn’t feel as cold as the day before. I walked out several fence rows, and the edge areas where fields meet woods, but I didn’t turn up anything.

I was about to call it day, but Ann encouraged me to give Llans and Danica’s place a try. We went over there together, and walked about forty yards before we got up our first rabbit. Again, it took a little chasing around, but after a bit Ann got it on the run with her Browning 20 gauge. This was only the second time Ann has ever shot something, and she was pretty excited about it. After a short walk further, we got up a second one. This time I had my .22, and I was able to get it.

Success! We met our quota of four rabbits. I think we could have gotten a few more at the Taylor’s, but we had a lot of other things to do that day, and needed to be on our way.

I can hardly wait to experience the end result of this hunt. Rabbit dinner, here I come.

Trapped by a Deadline

Ann’s parents were up to attend a school program and watch the kids on a day off school, and we happened to mention that the close of rabbit season was one week away, and we were three rabbits shy.

Right after I went to work, Ann’s Dad sprang into action, converting a few old scrap shelves that had been cluttering my garage for a year into rabbit traps, per instructions on the MDC website. I was giving word of this construction, which was to be my birthday gift, halfway through the day. My first question was, “When is trapping season?”

A quick consultation of the MDC website showed me that rabbit trapping season ended January 31, so no dice on the traps. But then I read on. Elsewhere it said that rabbits and squirrels could be trapped anytime during their hunting season, the traps were to be considered a hunting method.

So did I need to purchase a trapping permit? Apparently not, because I wasn’t trapping, I was just hunting with traps.

Armed with this knowledge, and some apples for bait, we immediately put the traps into action. Gerard had built them well, they seemed to trigger perfectly. I checked with the city of Columbia to see if I could place the traps in a city park (the one in my neighborhood), but they said no. So we went to the next closest public ground that does allow trapping and hunting, the conservation area around Ann’s office off of old 63.

Behind the buildings there is a field of tall grass, surrounded by briars and woods. It looked like a good place to find a rabbit. We placed the three traps and hoped for the best.

The next day we checked the traps, but they were unsprung and still baited. Henry and Oliver adjusted the placement a little, and we tried again. But again, the next day they were still unsprung and fully baited. So we gathered them up and prepared to head to my family’s farm, to make one last hunting/trapping stand against our first real Woods-To-Food deadline.

Persimmon-gingerbread trifle, pages 168-169



Here's another kind of recipe I've never made-trifle. Trifle looks pretty, and I like the name (though I sometimes get it and tripe confused). But, then there's the three layer thing. That pretty much seems like three different recipes to make for one dessert. Plus, most trifle recipes make a big batch with layers of dry on top of soggy that doesn't sound like it would age well for the inevitable leftovers.   And, suddenly trifle doesn't seem worth it.

My cousin asked us over for the superbowl last weekend. This would be a great excuse to bring the persimmon gingerbread trifle. There's a lot of people so soggy leftovers shouldn't be a problem, it's a pretty big dessert which is good for a party, and making a triple recipe dessert doesn't sound as bad for a group as it does for just Fred and I (I already knew this was not a dessert the boys would care for).

I went ahead and got in the ingredients for the recipe, borrowed a trifle dish from a neighbor, then Fred called Laurie to tell her we were bringing it but before he could she said I didn't need to bring dessert because she was making  . . . trifle! Man, what are the chances of two trifles at one superbowl party? Pretty slim, I'd say.

So, I nixed the trifle recipe for that night but needed to make it soon since I had all the dairy ingredients in for it. Later in the week when I found out a work meeting was going to be a take-a-dish, so I took that opportunity to finally make the trifle.

The bottom layer is home made gingerbread, the middle layer is a persimmon mouse with gelatin, spices, buttermilk and whipped cream,  and the top layer is chantilly cream.

Hello? I'm tapping on the glass of your computer screen right now. Hello? Can you hear me? Please take note of what I'm about to say . . .

THIS HERE RECIPE IS TOTALLY AWESOME.

Did you get the message? I hope so. This is no soggy, mild puddle of a trifle. This is moist full flavored gingerbread with a sweet, aromatic persimmon mouse under billows of chantilly cream. I am fully ready to make this recipe next fall and the falls to come when persimmons are ripe and enjoy the bounty our Missouri woods have to offer. Yum, yum, yum.

Thank you, Bernadette (author of Cooking Wild in Missouri) for introducing this trifle into our lives.

Author Writes Book on Cooking Wild in Missouri | KOMU.com | Columbia, MO |

Author Writes Book on Cooking Wild in Missouri KOMU.com Columbia, MO

Be very, very, quiet... we're hunting rabbits

When we first started this Woods To Food project, I thought that getting many of various ingredients would be challenging, but at least squirrels and rabbits would be easy. The close of rabbit season is now about a week away, and I’m three rabbits shy.

The first rabbit wasn’t taken by me, but I think it still counts. My Dad took it away from a Red Tailed Hawk. Now lest he gets issued a citation for practicing falconry without a permit, I should explain. Dad was harvesting milo last November (in rabbit season, I might add), and a hawk that you could call either enterprising or lazy was watching him do it. When the giant John Deere combine harvester jumped up the little bunny and sent it running down the field, the hawk swooped down and nailed him. Dad stopped the combine and shooed the hawk away, and collected the rabbit. So don’t feel bad about my Dad stealing the hawk's dinner. By stopping the combine he actually saved the hawk’s life and kept the grain hopper free of messy feathers.

I was at the grain truck on the other end of the field, and Dad gave me the rabbit when he stopped to unload. I cleaned it, and we have it ready to go. We won’t have to worry about biting into any lead shot in this one.

But each of the two recipes in Cooking Wild in Missouri call for two rabbits, and we only have this one. The boys and I took a little walk out at Three Creeks Conservation Area looking for rabbits when the TV crew was with us, but it was cold that day, and we had a lot going on, so we didn’t give it a fair shot.

Our other attempt was last Saturday. My cousin who has a farm north of town (and a great blog www.waitingforthoreau.com) agreed to let us give her place a try, but added that neither her or her husband had seen any rabbits this year. They had a lot two years ago, but none now. They attributed this to a dense population of coyotes they hear calling nearby nightly.

But we didn’t have many other options, so despite the negative outlook on our prospects we gave it a try. I soon noted that my hunting party was infected with a pervasive lack of resolve. They were all with me, but Oliver said he didn’t feel good, so Ann went back to the truck with him not long after we started. Henry soldiered on with me, but I could tell that he wasn’t into it, because he wasn’t able to keep up. He had been at a friend’s birthday party the night before, and stayed up about four hours past his regular bedtime. With fatigue causing him to drag his feet, I soon threw in the towel as well and we headed back.

We returned to the truck to find Oliver and Ann out cold in the back, napping in the sun. My total hunt time was less than 45 minutes, so I’m not sure I can even count that as trying. On the way back to town I decided to take Oliver’s complaints about not feeling good seriously and took him to see a doctor. By the time we got checked in his temperature was 102.5, and he tested positive for strep throat, so I’ll give him a pass for early exit from this hunt.

It was a beautiful morning, but it retrospect I probably should have taken a blanket back to Cosmo Lake and let everyone nap in the sun while I gave trout fishing another go. But now I just need to decide how to play our last weekend of rabbit season coming up this weekend.

Woods to Food to KOMU

Well, remember how we mentioned that a film crew came to interview us on our Woods to Food project? It's going to air on Monday, tomorrow, at 11 am and at 10 pm on KOMU channel 8 news. The segment is called Sarah's Stories.

COMO Trout, Take 2

The problem with fishing in a popular spot is that it strips you of your excuses. When you’re flanked by dozens of anglers to your left and right, there is likely to be some good fishermen among them. Those outliers prove to the rest of us that the fish can be caught.

Had I been fishing alone on Wednesday or Thursday, I could have explained why I didn’t take home trout. The water temperature wasn’t quite right, so the trout weren’t feeding. The wind was wrong, and by the time we got there after school it was the wrong time of day.

After getting skunked on day one, I was more confident going into day two. I could really picture the boys and I catching fish. We’d caught plenty of fish before - this was nothing new for us. The first day was just practice really. Now we were ready. The weather was once again unbelievably good for February. Ann had been away at a Conference this week, and she was going to come home Friday to a fridge full of fish.

It didn’t take long after arriving at a lake on Thursday for my confidence to begin to wane. It started to go in the process of rigging the lines, baiting the hooks and making the first casts. A while later, after I had to cut Henry’s line from the tree that is on the bank behind him, and I had to retrieve Oliver’s rod and reel from the lake, where he’d thrown it during a cast attempt, I exchanged the last remnants of my confidence for dogged determination. It was fortunate that we only had a couple hours of sunlight and I wasn’t prepared to fish in dark, or we might still be out there.

The lake was crowded on Thursday, but not as crowded on Wednesday. By my casual observation I would say fewer fish were being caught on Thursday, though I don’t know if this relates to the quality of the fishing conditions or the fishermen who were present. Someone right beside us caught two while we were there, and we saw at least two people catch their limit of four.

It was a pleasant afternoon. A real bright spot was I was joined by Robert, my brother-in-arms from the previous post about the handgun range, his two boys, who are a couple my boys’ best buddies, and his daughter, who is a relative newcomer to the fishing scene. Although our collective effort didn’t result in more fish, it was more fun for everybody.

I only hope that I’m teaching my boys to fish, rather than teaching them to hate fishing. Henry loves trout, so the first day he was driven and dedicated. Halfway into the second day he was bored, and had lost all hope, even with someone a few feet away catching fish. The nearby playground was calling to Henry and Oliver both, as I compelled them to continue to dutifully man their stations on the lake shore. We’re going to have to get some trout to the kitchen soon, or the boys are going to decide that it is best just to wait for the farmer’s market trout lady to come back in the spring.  

Venison sausage frittata, page 34

frittata is a sizzling as it cooks

Do you know, I’ve heard of frittatas for years but don’t think I’ve ever either eaten or made one. I was looking forward to making this deer sausage frittata for that reason. But, then again I’m not deer sausage’s biggest fan, and cooking with it seems slightly less appetizing than eating it cold ‘as God intended’ so the recipe was conflicting to me. Also, on the not-so-excited-about-making-the-recipe side was the fact that I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a favorite with the boys as they are a bit picky about the way they like their eggs. And, to top it off, we raise our own eggs and get not nearly as many in the winter as summer (we only have 3 chickens laying right now) so I’m a bit stingy when it comes to egg use this time of year. And, one more to-top-it-off point, we didn’t have any of our deer made into deer sausage so we were going to have to go a-beggin’ for some.

No wonder this is the last venison recipe in the book for us to try. Did you hear that? We just made the LAST VENISON RECIPE. That seems like some sort of milestone.

Finished product

Anyway, frittata, frittata, frittata. I like saying the name. The sausage we got from Fred’s coworker Christa who generously gave us a large piece to use (thanks Christa, if you are out there). This recipe has not only deer sausage, but quite a few greens (we used spinach), asparagus, onion, parmesan, and herbs, too, besides the obvious eggs. I’m supposing all frittatas are made with the same technique: you swish everything together, poor into a hot pan that is coated with butter, cook until the bottom and sides are done, then broil to finish off the top and make it look pretty.

The frittata turned out great! It slid right out of the pan like it was supposed to and was full flavored and pretty on the eyes as well. Fred and I loved it. The boys, as expected, were mild on it, but oh, well, that happens sometimes.

I thought afterward about what else would make a good frittata. Is there a standard ingredient list? Come to think of it, I really don’t know. The boys thought a blueberry frittata would be good: not so sure about that. It seems like seafood and mushroom would be nice, though. I’d like to try ingredients that pulled the frittata away from seeming like another version on an omelet, however such as ham and cheddar or sausage and green pepper. It seems like a frittata ought to have it’s own unique flavors.

You know what does work well in a frittata? Deer sausage! Who knew. The heating process dried the meat our a bit which made it more appetizing to me. I would like to make another frittata just like this one again, in fact.

Successful recipe. Yippee. So, we’re done with the venison section. What comes next?

Columbia Trout

Trout fishing may conjure images of a fly rods and picturesque spring-fed streams, but yesterday an opportunity opened up to go for trout just down the road from my house a couple of miles, using traditional pond fishing techniques.

Actually, the opportunity to catch these trout has been there all winter, but yesterday was the first day you could keep them. There are several trout recipes remaining in Cooking Wild in Missouri, so we had to give it a shot.

The lake at Cosmo Bethel is stocked with trout in the fall, and on February 1 you can start taking them home, limit four, if you can hook them. I took Henry and Oliver there right after school, and we were joined by about 60 other anglers. It was about 60 and sunny, so we didn’t expect anything different. Due to vegetation, you can only approach the water on about half of the lake, so it was pretty crowded in spots, but there was still room to get your line in the water.

We stayed until dark, and left empty handed. We had some light bites, but failed to hook anything. Henry was dedicated, with his motivation primarily driven not by glory, but by his taste for trout. Oliver was too tempted by the playground nearby.

I would say about 80 percent of the people out there didn’t catch anything, but on the other hand I saw four guys catch their limit in the two hours that I was there, so I know that it’s possible. We’re going to have to give it another go while this weather is holding out. This is the same lake that people were ice-fishing on at this time of year a couple of years ago.

The Ruger

Being the youngest of four siblings, by four years, gave me a distinct advantage in growing up in that my parents always treated me older than I was, and I tried not to screw up that illusion. This led to me getting my first handgun when I was about 14 years old.

Legally, I guess it was my mother’s handgun, since she had to register it in her name. But I certainly thought of it as mine. It was a .22 caliber stainless steel Ruger Single Six, with an extra cylinder that would convert it into a .22 magnum. 

Unlike most handguns, this one was hunting tool. I ran hundreds of rounds of cheap ammo through it to get my skills hunting-worthy. I never did become a crack-shot, but I hunted with it enough that I had some success.

The squirrels must have surely appreciated the Ruger. Many owe their lives to the fact that I was shooting at them with a handgun rather than a rifle or shotgun. But there were a lot of opportunities, and sometimes I hit my mark.

The .22 also was instantly my raccoon hunting gun. When I was climbing up and down creek banks, sometimes icy creek banks, in the middle of the night I appreciated having both hands free and my gun securely tucked away in its holster. And the raccoon was never farther away than the top of the tree. I could always make a good shot at that range, eventually.

I also took rabbits with it, and many frogs. I think within the first year or two of owning the Ruger,  I got every type of game you can hunt in Missouri with a .22, except for a coyote, and I’m not interested in trying to eat a coyote.

Back then I spent a lot of time on an ATV, which in those days had three wheels. Carrying the Ruger in a shoulder holster was much easier than putting a long gun in the ATV gun rack and watching the finish get rubbed off as it bounced around.

When it comes to safety, I don’t think a pistol should ever leave its case unless the shooter is wearing a holster. With a holster  on, the barrel is almost always pointing in a safe direction until the shooter draws to fire. In this respect it is safer than a long gun. But when someone takes a pistol to the backyard or the back 40 to do some target shooting and doesn’t bother to wear a holster, he ends up holding the pistol in his hand all the time, and pointing it all kinds of places he didn’t intend to. In this respect, the pistol is much more dangerous than a long gun; in-hand it is easy to unintentionally point it in an unsafe direction.

My father never had any use for pistols, but didn’t argue with me taking mine when we would raccoon hunt. One night the dogs treed in a cedar tree, and we couldn’t see up in it at all. Dad climbed the tree to the top, and saw the coon, and it was a big one. My friend Troy had climbed part way up, so I climbed up to meet Troy, passed him the Ruger, and he passed it to my Dad, who was taken aback at having to use a pistol. But he was in the top of the tree, what could he do? So he pointed and fired, knocking the raccoon out of the tree. Troy reported feeling it brush down his back on the way down.

When I got old enough to buy a handgun on my own I did; a Smith and Wesson 2206, stainless steel semi-automatic. And I gave it to my Dad. He doesn’t take it hunting, but has employed it several times in the chicken house to take out a nuisance predator.

Since I got warmed up with the .22 at the range last week, maybe I’ll put it to use soon for some small game hunting soon. And I learned yesterday that next year’s muzzle-loading deer season is being opened up to include other weapons, including handguns.  I couldn’t use the .22 for deer, of course, but I do have a .44 that is just waiting for such an opportunity.