Deer Belongs on the Table not the Wall

 

On the table is where I like deer best. Really. In order for me to shoot one, or anything, it must be good to eat.

I am not a horn hunter. I am a meat hunter. I get all of the esoteric stuff out of a hunt that you do; all the sunrises, sunsets, beauty and grace of the animal, all of that. But the best of the hunt, any hunt, is on the table.

As I write, I smell a big pot of deer stew on Pam's stove in the kitchen. It's in there bubbling away as I do the same in here on the computer. It's cold outside; below freezing cold outside. When I get through here, I am going into the kitchen and dish myself up a big bowl of "wild what am" and think all those esoteric thoughts I mentioned a moment ago. But not until I get the first bite in my mouth.

What's in it? What a wonderful question. Answering it makes my mouth water, which means I'm already eating the strew, right? Watch out, computer keyboard.

Stews, like gumbos, are as individualistic as the people that make them. Dealers choice.

I will say this: To be such a small girl, Pam is not afraid of anything. Except hot sauce. That I have to provide myself, on the side, and in my bowl only. Not a problem. The Tabasco is right over there, untouched, always, because nobody likes it but me.

She dredges the meat in salt, pepper and flour; sears the meat until lightly brown; seasons it in the pot with salt, pepper, oregano, a little minced garlic, and as big a yellow chopped onion as she can find; fills the pot with about two quarts of water, and finishes it off with chopped potatoes, a can of green beans, chopped celery, and a can of tomatoes about a half-hour before it is served.

In recent years, she has also taken to adding, at my behest, a little barley right before serving. I like barley. What we have learned about it in stews is that you don't want a lot in the pot as it expands, with cooking, and thickens the stew almost into a gruel-like consistency. A little barley, and right at the end so as not to "gum" up the works. Perfect.

John Glass' wife, Euretta, made a wonderful deer swiss steak back in the day when we brought deer home from the top of Demon Mountain down in old, wild Hughes County. The thought that you could smother a deer round steak in tomatoes and onions and cook it all in a cast iron skillet had never occurred to me. It occurs to me all the time, now. John and Euretta have been gone awhile.

My wife is such a good cook, but she asks for a little prompting now and then. She takes requests. Really, brave heart that she is. I have never been short of imagination. We were at that place a few years ago. Questions were in the air all about our heads.

"Well," I said, "remember that time Mom made venison manicotti? Nobody didn't like that."

This made Pam pause for several moments. She loves pasta. She was clearly considering the possibility.

"Well, no," she finally said, "I liked that, but I don't think I'm up to all that spinach chopping and noodle stuffing today. Think of something else."

"Alright. We're going to have deer stroganoff."

"What? I've never made that. I don't have the stuff."

"Yes you do, and yes you have made it. You just didn't call it by that name. Just use one of those beef stroganoff packages in the pantry, I'll buy some sour cream, and a small can of mushrooms. You decide whether you want to serve it over rice or noodles."

"I don't have any noodles."

"Then rice it is," I said, and rice it has been many times since. Well, and noodles, too, when we have them.

Deer stroganoff may be one of the simplest venison meals made because of the dry, ready-to-mix stroganoff packages you can buy at any grocery. Follow the directions. Cube the meat. With the added sour cream? Oh, my goodness.

But, today, it's deer stew. Right now. The best of the hunt is on the table.

If you're waiting on me, you're falling behind.

© 2014 Conrad M. Vollertsen