Wednesday, March 18, 2009

SOLSC Day 18

Once I cooked squirrel. It happened like this: I was visiting the friend of a friend at her family's home in southwestern Virginia. The girl I was visiting was a recent graduate of UVa, but she was the first in her family to ever go to college. They lived in a house that was the daylight cellar of place that had never been finished. It was dug into a hill on their land and had a flat, leaky roof cobbled together on the floor joists of the non-existent main level. The bedrooms of the house were damp and cold like most basements, but the main room was a kitchen/living room combination with a wood stove that was still going in May, so it was toasty and dry.

It was beautiful there. Late spring blanketed the mountains with nature's first green-- bright and luminous. They had a pack of dogs that followed us everywhere we went, a couple dashing off in chase of this or that, but always coming home. One morning, we were out in the yard talking to her dad. A soft-spoken man with a thick country accent, he looked the part of a classic mountain man-- big beard, muddy boots, flannel shirt unbuttoned over his long johns, and suspenders holding up his dungarees. As we chatted, there was a whistle from the road, and he whistled back. Two boys with a .22 rifle trotted up the driveway swinging a couple of dead squirrels by their tails.

"Garsh," he greeted them, "those are some fine-sized critters y'all got." The boys were obviously pleased, and as they drew closer, I could see their BSA kerchiefs. It turned out that he was their scout master, and they were here to showoff their marksmanship. "What'll your mama say when you bring those home?" he wondered.

They exchanged a look that let us all know that their mother was never going to see the dead squirrels. "Shame to waste them," he said. "Why don't you leave 'em with us." The boys were only too happy to turn over their kill, and a little while later, they were on their way home. He chuckled as they left.

"What are you going to do with those?" I asked.

"Feed 'em to the dogs most likely," he answered. "Unless you want them?"

This was during my cooking days, and I recognized a challenge when I heard it. "Sure," I answered. "Why not?"

He pulled his pen knife from his pocket, and skinned, beheaded and gutted the tiny animals. The dogs snapped the pieces out of the air as he tossed them.

I browned the squirrel quarters in a cast iron skillet, added some onion, celery, and carrots and simmered it for the rest of the day. When it was time to eat, I made gravy from the pan juice, and we ate it with boiled potatoes and green beans. Can't say I've ever made that dish again, though.

3 comments:

  1. Love the way you told the story, but, "YUCK!"

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  2. I just finished reading a week's worth of posts from you--how have I missed them? I think my blogspot UpDater must be on the fritz--so sorry. I'm totally blown away by all these posts in aggregate--the squirrel story, the auntie post, the student-with-lead-poisoning story. I'll try to get around to them in the next couple of days to write some posts.

    I stand in awe, man. Great writing!
    Elizabeth
    http://peninkpaper.blogspot.com/
    e(dot)eastmond-at-gmail(dot)com

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  3. I'm pretty sure I know the friend of the friend. When she was a first-year at U.Va. she drew a whole series of squirrel recipe cartoons - squirrel stew, squirrel burgers, chicken fried squirrel, squirrel kabobs, squirrel under glass...

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