Hog Wild

       

       David Campbell called me the other day to let me know that he'd placed a hog trap of some sort on his deer lease with the expectations of catching a porker (he had seen plenty of signs lately while searching for morels) and did I have any ideas on how to butcher and prepare same for a meal. Well, yes I did.

       Back in the 80's and 90's I spent nearly every weekend in season guiding goose and crane hunters on a giant cattle ranch in West Texas. It was a six hour drive from my home here on the Branch for which I began counting the hours for my Friday getaway about every Wednesday. In a place where the buffalo once thronged, I now guided city boys for morning waterfowl hunts so that I could have the afternoons to myself. It was like handing a box of Blue Diamond Strike-Anywhere-Matches to a pyromaniac.

       I hunted everything except deer, the rancher's favorite, and soon found the wild hogs overrunning the place to be my favorite as they were in all respects "big game". They were big, up to three or four hundred pounds, could run in two different directions when challenged, and were absolutely great eating, as fine a grade of pork as I had ever eaten, and why not, they ate up all the rancher's cattle feed practically before it hit the ground.

       Corn fed? Oh, my goodness, and peanut hay bales to boot. Fat, fat, fat.

       Truthfully, the three and four hundred pounders were out there, but relatively rare, and if you shot one you learned why they had been allowed to get so big. The big boars were uncastrated (would you like the job?), and as a consequence the concentration of male hormones in the beasts made their meat both tough and rank. While we're talking about it, The famed "Hogzilla" not excepted (Google it), there are very few wild hogs over an honest 375 pounds because of the exercise they get. They are "wild" hogs, right?

       Most of the biggest ones you will find running around in the woods will be closer to three hundred pounds, or even 275. Exceptions? Of course. You won't want to eat one. Any hundred pounder, or two, will make for a fine meal. Here in Oklahoma they are eating the same thing the ranchers are putting on the ground out in Texas: Corn, corn, corn. There's a reason prime rib costs so much, and "eats" so well.

       It's not necessary to gut a wild hog and I told David that. If the beast is the least bit rank (and they all smell to a degree, but "rank" makes you turn your head), roll the pig over onto its belly with its legs spread out to hold the carcass in place and with the point of your knife make a long, deep cut down alongside of the spine beginning just behind its shoulders all the way to the end of the spine where it ends at the rump. Go back up to the shoulders of the hog and make the same cut down the opposite side of the spine.

       Then make a perpendicular cut at both ends of the spine across both of your first cuts. This will give you a flap of skin you can grab with one hand while you slice the skin away from the backstrap lying underneath the hide. 

       There it is. Done right, you should be looking right down on some of the best wild game meat in the world. Use your knife to cut and pull the 'straps out and place both in gallon size zip-locs you carried along for that purpose. If the meat is not rank, you can cut out the hams and shoulders (butts) in much the same manner without ever getting into the guts. Go slow, if you do.

       Whatever you leave behind will disappear within three to four days. 'Coons, 'possums, and coyotes have families to feed, too.

       David called back last night. He trapped the hog. He was worried. The pig apparently had cysts all over its skin. Was it edible?

       "I cut the backstraps out like you said, but I don't know."

       "David, brine those 'straps in a five gallon bucket, 'bout  two cups of salt, overnight. Rinse them clean tomorrow. I'll eat 'em if you don't want them."

       "How do I cook them?"

       "Cut 'em into one-inch steaks; pound them tender with a meat hammer or a two-by-four; dredge 'em exactly like a chicken-fried steak, and fry 'em done. Gravy, mashed potatoes, maybe a pan of hot biscuits, and something green. Oh, my goodness. I'll be right over."

       No, I won't. We're quarantined, like you, out here on the Branch. Wait. Wait. I'm going to go look in the freezer.

© 2020 Conrad M. Vollertsen