Discerning My Call

I’ve set aside the trout fishing books for a bit to focus on turkey hunting. I had a work conference in Dallas, so prior to leaving I went back to Bass Pro for a turkey call.

The selection was tremendous. An employee was walking by, so I asked him for so advice. He knew his calls, knew the caller-makers who split off from one business to start another, what the calls do and how they are different. There were still a baffling number of choices, but I had one thing in mind: I wanted a CD. I had a two-hour drive to Kansas City International coming up, and I wanted to use that time to hone my skills. Sure enough, there were two different kits that had a few calls and a how to CD. I picked one and put it in the car.

People who passed me in the car may have wondered why I was sitting there saying “Puck, puck , puck, chalk, chalk,” over and over, but I did said those words, and a few other, for the entire two hour drive. I had to explain to the TSA agent at the airport what the turkey call in my pocket was. I considered practicing on the flight, but opted to spare my fellow passengers the experience of flying with a turkey.

I did resume calling practice with the CD on the drive home, and on the drive to the farm the following day. My confidence is higher than when I started, and I think I can call at least as well as I was calling with a box call, back when I was hunting more. This weekend I’m going to put it into practice, as I take Henry on his first youth turkey hunt.

What I found while morel hunting, a photographic journey

Another hunt for ellusive morel. What did I find this time? It's a photographic journey of what the woods are like right now in mid Missouri. Anything look familiar to you? Can you name anything in these photos?

Limited Edition

View from our fishing spot

Can you see all the bobbers caught in the tree limbs?

A sudden change in weekend plans left us with an opportunity to get back after the trout. We visited Ann’s parents on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning the six of us loaded up in their minivan for a pre-dawn excursion to Meramec Springs.

Ann’s parents are both experienced fisher-persons, and have fished for trout several times in clear mountain streams on camping trips to Colorado. But they had not tried trout-park fishing before, so we were excited about introducing them to it.

We got there in plenty of time to be ready to go when the opening whistle blew, signaling go for the first cast of the day. This time we let the boys in on the first cast, so all us had lines in the water, or at least were trying to, in the first few seconds of the season.

Ann’s mom gets the honors for catching a fish on her first cast. The boys had a little trouble casting, but did OK. Ann’s Dad quickly caught a fish, but as he scooped it up, his new cloth mesh net snared his treble hook, and getting it loose cost him several precious minutes.

And somewhere in the flurry of activity with Ann, the boys and I, she ended up with one trout and I had three. The boys didn’t get any, but neither did they get their lines caught in overhead limbs, so we were showing real progress.

I almost had four fish in that opening flurry, but as I was bringing in the fourth it slipped off the hook, just as Henry was getting ready to net it. He was very apologetic about not getting it netted for me, even though I don’t think I had it within four feet of the shore. He would have about had to swim for it to have netted it much sooner.

Holy Toledo! Oliver caught a trout!

Ann’s parents and the boys headed to park restaurant for breakfast, and Ann and I kept trying for a bit.  It was soon clear that the bite had slowed down, though, so we decided to get some breakfast as well. Following breakfast we headed out again, and Ann and I decided to take the boys and wander a little further downstream to find a new hole to try while Ann’s parents made some gear adjustments. When we found a likely spot Ann’s rod was ready to go, but I needed to get the other three set up again. I rigged the first one, cast it out and handed it off to Oliver, telling him where to cast. As I started rigging the second one, he promptly picked his own spot and set in casting and reeling. After a few casts, he said “I think I got one.” Everyone looked at him with skepticism, especially the guys wearing the waders and polarized glasses who had been fishing there a couple hours with one or none fish to show for it. This part of the river was full of sticks and logs, and it seemed more likely he was hung up. But Oliver knew what he had, and pretty soon he had landed his first trout, all on his own with no assistance from anyone. It was enough to inspire Henry to keep trying.

We didn’t have any more luck there, though. When it go close to lunch time, we decided to call it a day and go find Ann’s parents. They had gone back to our original spot. Right when we got there Ann’s Dad caught his second and third fish, so we decided to stay a little longer. Ann went to fishing, and I got my rod back out of the van. I cast most of the way across the river, and immediately got a strong strike. I brought him in, and had finally reached my limit of four. I was happy with one, happier with two, but once I had three I desperately wanted four. So getting this final one in the 11^th hour really gave me a mission accomplished feeling. Ann is hungry to get back at it and get her limit as well, even though we’re now pretty well stocked to take on several more Cooking Wild In Missouri recipes.

Hunting fer 'shrooms, Part Deux

"The bottomlands! All the morels are in the bottomlands right now." That's the word on the street in mushroom land. I would be skeptical that morels are up already, but someone was selling them at the Columbia Farmer's Market Saturday. I saw them with my own two covetous eyes. Zoinks.

So, where does a person get to these bottomlands? Most bottomland areas I think of are fields, not forested areas. And, the smaller patches of bottomland woods that do come to mind have silver maple, cottonwood and sycamore and not so much of the trees that are typical to find morels around: elms and ash.

But, with the spring so early, I'm determined not to get skunked on morels and to be out there early, too. So, Saturday eight of us went to a conservation area with some bottomland forest to look for mushrooms. We spent an afternoon doing the best we could at looking and came up empty-handed. What did we learn?

1. We don't have a knack for getting kids excited about finding a mushroom they've never seen before.
2. There's tons of poison ivy in bottomland areas. It would be better for your PI sensitive child to wear pants, not shorts, the next time he goes morel hunting. Duh.
3. Adjust your expectations to enjoying the process of mushroom hunting because actual finds can be few (if ever) and far between.
4. It's amazing how many skills need to be developed to hunt/fish and gather in Missouri. I really admire folks who are successful on a regular bases finding mushrooms, or for that matter land a fish or take a turkey. It's no coincidence. They know what they are doing.
5. Those mushrooms don't just jump into your basket or into your eyesight if you look for them for five minutes. You earn those puppies with lots of time looking.
6. It's a funny mental game to look hard for morels for a long time when you don't even know if there are any to be had or if you are close to the right place to find them.

Hmmm. I thought this, like many things, was going to be a bit easier. Someone remind me why I shouldn't just buy the morels at Farmer's Market, again? Oh, that's right. I'm enjoying the process of mushroom hunting. It's not about result but the process. Right.

I have to say that while I do enjoy mushroom hunting very much and am anxious to go again soon, it would so not hurt my feelings to find a mess of them just to know we have some idea about what we are doing!

Mushrooms? Where are you?

Hunting fer 'shrooms

Is it time, yet? Has anybody been finding morels yet? By the date it seems early. But, by the weather it seems high time. Yet, what do I know. I haven't found more than a dozen or two morels in my life.

I did go on a mushroom hunting expotition (to quote Pooh) this afternoon. It was lovely to get out. Although I didn't find morels, I did find a couple of what I think are Dryad's Saddle. In Missouri's mushroom book, it says Dryad's saddle smells like watermelon rinds, and so do mine. So, I'm relatively comfortable that I made the right id. After all how many kinds of mushrooms can you desribe as smelling like mushroom rinds? Personally, my list is pretty short.

The boys and I spent about six minutes yesterday looking for morels. The spot I picked was infested with honey suckle making it dern near impossible to see anything on the ground. And, six minutes in to that the boys found a poison ivy vine to grab. So home we went to get washed up.

Henry's last batch of poison ivy

Looted Logs

The scene of the crime.

Ann was going out to the chicken house this morning, and she happened to notice our seven mushroom logs. This is significant because we have 12 mushroom logs. Five are missing. It’s easy to be sure of the number, as we had to drill several hundred holes in these logs, and with the help of our kids, neighbor kid Scott, and Ann’s parents, inoculated those hundreds of holes with shitake mushroom spores.  How could the logs now be missing? Possible scenarios:

I’ve heard deer like mushrooms. Perhaps they stole the logs? Not possible. Lack of opposable thumbs would have prevented them from carrying them to their deer hideout.

Perhaps squirrels took them. They certainly have the dexterous little paws that allow them to carry things. And they might be looking to get back at me for preying on their kin. But these logs were about 4 feet long, and pretty heavy. Several squirrels would have to work in unison to move one. And based on the observation of squirrels in my yard, their society is a chaotic mess. They can’t agree on anything. No way they could have mustered the cooperation to pull this off. No, it wasn’t squirrels.

Which makes the next most likely suspect humanoid. A crime of opportunity? I don’t think so. I live in a quiet neighborhood that doesn’t really have people wandering through. Even if someone walked by, the logs weren’t visible from the road. If someone wandered into my yard, which has never happened in the 12 years I’ve lived here, all he would have seen was some logs drilled and filled with Styrofoam plugs. Very few people would know what they are. Two months ago I wouldn’t have known what they were, and I’m a farmer/hunter, a proverbial man who’s one with nature. No, it’s unlikely they were stolen by a typical backyard thief.

Maybe someone took them for firewood? Not when it’s 80 degrees outside, my racks of woods on the front porch were untouched, and there’s ample wood to be had at the mulch site a few blocks away.

That leaves us with the most disturbing scenario of all: They were taken by a reader of this blog. For that to happen, it would have gone something like this:

“Hey Bugsy, the Koenigs have mushroom logs outside. They ain’t locked up or nothing. Why don’t we find out where they live, stake out their house for a few weeks until nobody's home, then sneak over to the log pile that’s right outside the neighbor’s window within full view of two other neighbors. Then we’ll make off with five of them logs, keep them watered throughout the year, maintaining a core moisture reading on the wood of no less than 35 percent at any time, and come next fall, we might just have ourselves enough ‘shrooms to garnish a couple of organic, locally grown salads.”

That doesn’t really sound all that likely either, but I’m having a hard time coming up with a more logical scenario of how these logs came to be somewhere other than where we put them in our yard. At least we still have seven logs.

What to do now? Call the ATF (bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Fungus) or FBI (Fungal Bureau of Inoculation)? Maybe I need to get a log chain. Our entire home security is called into question. I call on you, blog reader, for help. Next fall if someone tries to sell you some black-market Shiitakes, tip me off. Snitches and squealers will be rewarded.  

Trout in Saor, pages 110-111

O.K. It's kind of a mental game of mine to not add up the cost of the two trout I just cooked: 200 miles driving, new rod and reel, new line and bait, trout tags, park tags, trout at park tags, fishing tags, 48 hours of being tied up fishing, no no no, I'm not adding up those costs. Or, maybe at the end I should say . . . priceless, like the credit card ad. Whatever. Also, when you work so hard to get two fish, cooking them is awfully nerve wracking. It look some time flipping through the trout pages in the book to land on the first of, hopefully, several trout recipes to try. Trout Saor is Bernadett'e wild version of sarde in saor, which is apparently a sardine appetizer from Venice--never been there myself but love their blinds.

Anyway . . . another mental game is not thinking about how much time (and mind you a fairly good percent of this time was before 6:00 am) it took to catch two trout as you're trying a pretty risky recipe. 'Cause guess what? From the looks of it "saor" means something like pickled fish with cinnamon and onions, and let's not forget the raisins. Gulp.

And to top it off, the recipe calls for pine nuts which are so expensive they might as well be diamonds from Micheal Jackson's white glove.

In general, the fish is floured and fried, then marinaded in vinegar, sauted onion, sugar, cinnamon, golden raisins and nuts for 24 hours. And, to top it off the dish is served at room temperature. I'm telling you, it was H-A-R-D hard to make this recipe with our two fish. And, I've already said "to top it off" but to top it off again, I, of course, burned the pine nuts my first go-round with toasting them and had to buy another batch. I think my eye is twitching just thinking back on it.

Worst of all, I think, was that I was pretty sure the kids weren't going to like the dish. They adore trout and I was so afraid they would be disappointed in what I had done to these two perfectly lovely fish. I was almost depressed serving dinner that night, ready to feel like a total buffoon. And, this is why I love Fred. Guess what? He took four servings! Can you believe it (all you that know him can, I bet)? He really said he liked the dish a lot. And, Henry liked it, too. I bet he went back nearly four times himself, though for him it would be purely for the enjoyment of eating and not to prop up my cooking-ego. Oliver, I gave him a piece of trout without the onions and sauce and he ate it, though wasn't asking for more. It's not fluorescent orange mac and cheese after all. Me, I was so wrapped up in a ball of nervous twine by the time I served it, I can't say I really enjoyed the dinner. I'll give the bit of leftovers a try at lunch and see what I think, now that I've had a chance to step away.

Trying for Trout

After a weekend of trout fishing, we determined two things:

1.    We are capable of catching trout.

2.       Catching trout is not easy, even when you have someone releasing them for you the night before.

I started the weekend with a lunch-hour trip to Bass Pro, partially because it is conveniently located near my office, but mostly because there is no store in Columbia called Trout Pro. There I consulted with the person who is paid according to how much I buy, and I dove in hook (size 16), line  (4 pound-test) and sinker (70 per bag). I even bought a new rod and reel. Ann and I are in possession of about four rods and reels, and I couldn’t tell you exactly how any of them came into our life. I’m pretty sure I bought the one Zebco 33 when I was about 12 years old. I would guess that the rest were giving to us by Ann’s Dad at some point. So when I dropped $34 on a Shakespeare rod and reel combo at Bass Pro, I was feeling pretty extravagant.

I didn’t have any idea what weight line was on any of the reels on our old rods , but it looked heavier than the four pound I just bought, and some of it looked a lot heavier. But it was Friday afternoon, and all I really  had time to do was to take each rod out to the yard and make sure they would still cast. They did. We went to the farm Friday night to be closer to Maramec Springs, and that night at 9:30 p.m. I was rolling line onto my new reel.

One thing I’ve learned about Maramec Springs: Maramec is spelled differently every time you see it. The e’s and a’s seem to be completely interchangeable. You may even see it spelled a couple of different ways in this blog.

The next morning we were up at 4:30 a.m. and on the road by 5 a.m., which put us at Maramec Springs right after it opened at 5:30. We got our tags, and then picked a spot, somewhat near but not close to where other people were fishing. But more people kept coming, so by the time the whistle went off, we were all pretty close.

Even before the whistle went off, I was thinking we had arrived too early. Approximately three months too early. I was considering how trout season is open all summer long, and we were out there when the cold was really biting. It seemed like it would be more fun in June.

After much anticipation, that 6:30 a.m. whistle blew, signaling that everyone could start fishing. I got a strike immediately on my first cast using a worm on a regular hook, and pulled in a decent trout. I loved that new rod. We quickly strung it, and then I cast again. I caught another trout on my second cast. I worked him in, but a few feet from the bank he slipped off the hook.

After that – nada. We kept trying, but it appeared the really hot bite lasted for about 10 minutes. Several people around us did keep catching fish, but the only other thing I got was a laughably small blue gill.

Ann had a frustrating time with her rod, and didn’t get any bites, so we asked for some tips from fellow fishermen, and vowed to do better next time. We were advised that line weight is critical, so we opted to scrap the old line on our rods, and load up with some light-weight. We spent most of the rest of that next day putting new lines on the reels getting them rigged up.

The next day we were back at it, this time joined by Henry and Oliver. Ann had the new rod in hand, and she also had a fish soon after the buzzer. I wasn’t so lucky this time. Oliver caught a little blue gill after a few minutes, but looking around us it appeared the opening whistle rush was slower than the previous day.

We took a break for breakfast at the camp store, and then hit it again. By this time we saw very few fish being caught. There was still one or two here and there, but a lot of people were starting to look bored or frustrated. We had cut back to two rods, and kept them going, with the boys occasionally subbing in. Finally I hooked one good. I was working him in, and my drag was set too heavy, so I was using my button to play him. I gave the net to Ann, and she kneeled down and got ready. He was close, and I gave the reel a few more cranks to get him in arms-reach. Twang! The line broke, and he swam away to freedom. Unlike the one that got off the day before, this was a heartbreaking loss. We had fished hard to get a second fish, and we were ready to head for home before I caught him. When he snapped that line, I knew I had just blown my last chance of the day.

Ann and I concluded the weekend all fired up about trout fishing. We both can’t wait to go back, either to Maramec Springs, or to try one of Missouri’s other trout parks.

Kevin Lohraff's quail stretching pasta, page 73

This is the second of two quail recipes in the book and the last for us to try. Fred wanted to keep back some of the quail that he and his dad hunted so we could make his parents dinner. He's nice like that.

We visited his folks on the farm this weekend, so I lugged all the ingredients for this recipe down there and made dinner Saturday night.

I really enjoy cooking with my mother-in-law. She and I have different cooking styles. And, she is so interested in watching me cook when I'm there. It's one thing to try someone else's food, but really, if you cook, is so very informative to watch them. And, Dorothy (my mother-in-law) is fantastic about helping, too. She really wants to help when I cook, which is great, so she carefully chops, washes, stirs, and generally helps make a mountain of  recipe into a much more enjoyable project for me.

I have to say, this is not a recipe I'd usually make with quail. Quail are like gold. There are small and rare to catch, making the meat invaluable. So, since this recipe starts off with cutting the meat off the bone into bite sized pieces, it was going against my instincts from the get-go. It's one thing to boil and debone a bird. Then, all the meat falls off. But, deboning a raw bird means leaving a fairly big percent of meat sticking to the bones. And, qauil don't have a percent of meat to spare! Also, using chunks of quail meat in a heavy, alfredo-type sauce was the # 2 reason I would not normally make this recipe. Let's throw in some chicken, but quail? Again, my instinct is that the meat is too precious to loose in a rich sauce.

My mother-in-law, Dorothy Koenig, deboning quail

Painting of my father-in-law (Chris Koenig) quail
 hunting made by my father, Gerard Rebmann

Which leads me to another reason I liked cooking with my mother-in-law. For one thing, she sensed the waste in deboning a quail just like I did. She's a frugal quail woman as well and hates to waste the rare meat her husband so proudly hunted. And, two, she deboned the quail for me anyway, a task I was subconsciously dreading, because I wanted her to. That's it. "Ann needs this job done, and I can do it. Seems ridiculous to me, but I'll do it." Thank you, Dot, for allowing my hands and conscience to be unsoiled with quail wasting and for helping me with the chopping, dicing, stirring, draining, etc. for the meal.

I used several veggies in the pasta, which Dot enjoyed, and freshly grated parmesan, which she really enjoyed, and it turned out just fine. Really, it was a very nice meal. I just won't be able to repeat it, at least not unless Dot has some more quail to she wants to debone. Quail deboning is not for me. And, if it's not for me, I know it's not for Dot, either.

Gone shopping

I was leaving the grocery store the other day and took a photo of what my cart looked like. I swear, I don't go anywhere without my copy of Cooking Wild in Missouri these days.

Speaking of shopping, in skimming the book for any recipes I might have missed that I can make with the ingredients I have, I was looking at a gumbo recipe. It calls for tasso and andouille sausage as well as wild meats, so I thought I'd call my mom and ask her to pick me up some good sausage while she was in St. Louis at Global Market. Then, I read the second page of the recipe and it says, "If you live in Boone County, then you might take advantage of the opportunity to purchase locally made tasso and andouille. Students in the Culinary Arts porgram at Columbia Area Career Center cure meats and offer them for sale several times a year. The meats are produced under the guidance of instructor Brook Harlan, whose culinary career includes impressive experience with Cajun cured meats."

It's like I was being spoken to right off the pages of the book. Zoinks.

The Columbia Area Career Center is part of the high school. It's for real world classes like the horticulture program, nursing, etc. So, I drove down to the high school today, walked in a side door, and bought locally made, Cajun sausage  from a locally raised pig. How cool is that! When I was leaving a boy held the door open for me, saying "Have a nice day." Wow. I will.

The kitchen for the culinary arts program smelled wonderful, like a small Italian grocery store. The tasso and andouille look great. I don't know of any other place to go for good Cajun sausage in Columbia, so I'm hopeful about this sausage. Bernadette has guided me to yet another culinary discovery right here in town.

Cracking the Books

We have challenges before us. We’ve nearly exhausted all the ingredients for our Cooking Wild in Missouri recipes, but with spring comes opportunity. There are four ingredients that will be fair game in the month of March, each presents its own challenges.

1.       Walleye: I don’t think I’ve ever seen one. When I ask fishermen about walleye, they usually reply. “Sure. I love walleye. They’re the best. I’ve caught lots of them. In Canada.” Not helpful.  According to the MDC website, they are stocked in our big Missouri lakes, and the best time to catch them is when they are spawning. This happens when the water temperature hits 45 degrees. I’m guessing that’s sometime around now.

2.       Spoonbill: I’ve only seen in captivity. Ann might have a connection with a coworker who will take us snagging. The season is March 15 – April 30. It’s high time to get this on the calendar.

3.       Trout- Season opened March 1. Missouri has five trout parks, and we're looking forward to visiting one or two of them. The first challenge will be working the trip into our busy schedule. The second challenge will be coaxing a trout onto a hook. I’ve been trout fishing one time, with my now former brother-in-law. He told me exactly what to do, and I caught two trout. That was 23 years ago, and I don’t remember a thing.

4.       Turkey: I’ve killed turkeys before, but I can’t necessarily kill one on demand. As I look at my schedule for the month of April, my opportunity for turkey hunting can be measured in hours rather than days. It’s probably been 20 years since I’ve even attempted to call in a turkey.

For the Walleye and the Spoonbill I’m desperately going to need a mentor, no question about it. For the trout and turkey, I may be on my own. But as long as I have my library card, I’m never really alone.

In rural Missouri Columbia has a reputation for being of town of hippies, beatniks and academics, but the public library doesn’t buy into this stereotype. They have more books on turkey hunting than one man can carry. And they have more books on trout fishing than they do on turkey hunting. I grabbed a small selection of both. Once I’ve absorbed the knowledge in these outdoorsmen’s opuses, I should be qualified for a few hours of graduate credit in fisheries and wildlife, and the know-how it takes to bring home supper. The poor trout and turkeys barely stand a chance.

Coconut sticky rice with mango, page 38

My two kiddos have an aversion to all things pudding. Chocolate pudding, custard, jello, bread pudding-they all initiate the gag reflex in them.  So, mistake number one with me serving coconut sticky rice was calling it rice pudding. Woops. Luckily, my English cousin-in-law had just been telling the boys the week before that all English desserts are referred to as pudding. Apparently to offer dessert in England, a person gently asks, “Would you like pudding?” –which is how my son Henry got by with officially asking his cousins and brother if they would like dessert without having to share. He politely asked the kids if they would like “pudding”. They, of course, thought he was speaking in a literal American sense and whole heartily refused. And, Henry was free to lunge at the brownies all by himself. Way to use another culture’s norms to your advantage, Henry, you sneak!

So, in mirroring sneaky fashion, I backtracked on calling the coconut sticky rice rice pudding by saying I meant pudding in the English dessert way, not the American wet, sweet blob way.

It helped that the kids love mangos and hadn’t had them for some months. So, a little wet rice under a cup of mango was easy to tolerate.

I thought the coconut milk, brown sugar, short grain rice dish quite tasty and happily/surprisingly so did the kids. I think we all had seconds.

What is the wild ingredient, you ask? This recipe in the book has NO wild ingredients. There are a few such recipes in the book, ones that Bernadette thinks would be a good compliment to other wild recipes, or perhaps just such good recipes that she wanted let people know about them while she had the chance.

I’m glad she did.

Smoked duck salad, pages 58-59

When we smoked the duck Fred shot, I was taken aback at how dark the meat was. It's liver dark. I guess I'm an urban girl when it comes to my duck consumption, because I was more familiar with the white meat roasted domestic duck hanging at Chinese restuarants than the dark meat wild duck flying over head.

And, when I looked at the picture of the smoked duck salad glittering at me all colorful and shiny in the recipe book, I thought, "Now wait a second. The glistening pink meat in this here picture doth not resemble my smoked duck."

In the side comments in the book about this recipe, Bernadette mentioned smoked turkey can be used as well. I'm pretty sure we're looking at smoked turkey in the photo and not duck. So, I went down that slippery slope one step farther since I'm running out of wild ingredients at the end of winter and just used some left over baked chicken. Next step down the slippery slope, I guess, would be slapping a can of spam on the salad--doesn't sound bad, actually. And, my frazzling thread of an excuse for still keeping my chin up about making this dish using wild ingredients is that it also contains pecans, and those are from Missouri, right here in Columbia. So, technically speaking we're still good to go.

The salad was so fresh, and clean, and colorful. It has apples, tangerines, oranges, pomegranate, toasted pecans, and lettuces of course. And the dressing is made with lemon, pomegranate juice, orange juice, olive oil, etc. Fred really liked the dressing because he has a fairly strong dislike for heavy, creamy dressings and this one was light and zesty.

This is the sort of dinner you walk away from feeling clean and happy with what you are feeding your body, full of vitamins, and light in your step. And, all the while it's a colorful, tasty dinner.