The Boar has a new pan…

January 2, 2015 by Convivial Boar 3 Comments

venison and pheasant breakfast taco discada

Take three deep breaths, Christmas is over —and all that remains now is for the shops to peddle the unwanted trinkets of the season (before assaulting us with them again in a few short months) and for us to take store of our Christmas loot! On that note, the Boar has a new pan!

You know what this means (and if you don’t click here, here, here, and here to see what happened when the Boar acquired a paella pan). The new pan is a Blue Moon Disk manufactured in Little Rock, Arkansas and gifted to the Boar by a rather convivial accountant —rare sighting, I know (perhaps we can get some license plates like the ones for the ivory-billed woodpecker).

Turns out this gift was not just a pan but an education, as well. The pan is made from a reclaimed (anesthetic word for “used”) plow disk —that’s right an implement of husbandry (weird word for “farming”) pulling double-duty, helping to grow and cook the food (from the garden to the frying pan). Now, that’s a pretty literal application of the farm-to-table trend. The conversion involves filling in and welding the hole (or holes) in the center of the pan and adding handles (as an added bonus Blue Moon’s version welds horseshoes on for handles).

disks on a plow

The resulting pan is similar to a wok, for it is conical shaped with a small circular flat area in the middle. But the sides are not as steep as a typical wok, and the metal is much thicker.

Cooking in this fashion is known as “discada” (a Spanish word meaning “to cook in an agricultural disk or disco” —boy they stuffed a lot into that word). The disks are popular in Mexico for preparing street fare (meaning “the good stuff absent any pretense –not to mention tables, chairs, silverware, plates…”).

The disk works perfectly on a propane gas cooker but can also be used on a grill or stove (but why take something like this indoors?). Typical preparations involve sautéing ingredients in the center of the pan and then moving them to the outer areas of the pan to stay warm. Popular ingredients include, shrimp, strips of meat, sausage, sliced onions, peppers, squash, zucchini, potatoes, corn and fruits.

Boar in action with new pan

The key is to have all of your ingredients prepped and ready to cook when you start cooking so that you can layer them onto the pan in your desired order —dazzling your feasters with the tantalizing sizzle and aromas (as soon as the first potato began sautéing on my pan, the feasters took notice and started asking “what are you cooking over there?”).

I tried out my new pan with these creations:

venison and pheasant fajitas

Venison and Pheasant Fajitas with Spicy Potatoes

Main Ingredients:

Venison tenderloin cut into strips

Pheasant breasts cut into strips (I cooked the leg quarters also and served as a bonus to the fajitas)

Yukon gold potatoes (cut into small wedges)

Onion (sliced thinly)

Bell pepper (sliced into strips)

Flour tortillas

I marinated the venison and pheasant in a dark beer for about two hours before cooking. About thirty minutes before cooking, I removed the meat from the marinade and seasoned it generously with kosher salt, black pepper, and ground chipotle pepper. I then seasoned the potato wedges the same as the meat.

I placed the disk on a propane burner (fish cooker) and adjusted the flame to medium. I added olive oil to the center of the pan allowing it to heat until shimmering. I sautéd the potatoes with fresh rosemary. Once the potatoes had a nice brown crust, I moved them up the sides of the pan away from the center to continue cooking.

Next, I added the pheasant legs and browned them in the center of the disk (with fresh thyme). Once they were brown, I moved them away from the center and added the pheasant strips and then the venison strips. As they browned, I moved them to the outer area of the pan and added the onions and peppers.

Lastly, I covered the pan with flour tortillas allowing them to warm from the steam of the meats and vegetables on the disk.

The fajitas can be served straight from the pan.

Breakfast Taco Discada

The next morning (really early afternoon, but who can keep such things straight this time of year), I created breakfast tacos on the disk.

Main Ingredients:

Potatoes (diced)

Diced meat (I made use of the leftover venison and pheasant, but sausage, bacon, ham, or steak will work fine)

Eggs

Flour Tortillas (my preference for this dish is corn tortillas, but my feasters lobbied for flour).

Again, I started the cooking by adding a small amount of olive oil in the center of the disk. Once the oil was heated, I sautéed the potatoes until brown and crispy and moved them to the outer edge of the pan. Next, I quickly sautéed the venison and pheasant (just to crisp it a bit and warm it up as it was already cooked) and moved it to the outer edge of the pan.

I mixed the eggs with milk, pepper, salt and a dash of cumin (basic scrambled egg preparation with a little added seasoning). I added about a tablespoon of butter to the center of the disk and allowed it to sizzle. Then I poured the egg mixture into the center of the pan. Once the egg mixture began to set, I stirred the eggs and allowed them to set again. Stirred again. Set again. Stirred again. Just as the eggs were ready, I added shredded cheddar cheese and stirred it into the eggs. Lastly, I placed the tortillas over the pan and allowed them steam until soft.

Overall, I found the disk to be efficient, festive, and fun. I’m proud to bestow upon it the much-coveted Convivial Boar stamp of approval. And to my friend, the convivial accountant, I say thank you for opening my eyes to discada and the Blue Moon Disk.

For more information about the Blue Moon Disk click here.

May this year be filled with many new pans, my friend.

the ham of Christmas past…

December 26, 2014 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

Black bean and ham soup garnished with avocado, parmesan, and truffle oil

Ahh, the days after Christmas, a time marked with the peace of a well-celebrated holiday, reflections of a year nearly spent, visions of a year about-to-be —and ham aplenty (if such is possible).

Here are a couple of ideas for enjoying the leftover holiday ham.

Back bean and ham soup

Don’t throw away that bone! Or if you did already, go steal your neighbor’s. No matter how meticulous you are, meat is left on the ham bone every Christmas. This soup makes use of the ham-bone and saves you from spending more time picking at the bone —or worse wasting good ham! –and don’t forget the sacrifice that a certain convivial creature made to provide that ham!

ham-bone in pot

Ingredients:
Left-over meaty ham-bone (mine this year was a peppered ham)
Black beans (I used a one pound package. The beans need to either soak overnight or follow instructions for fast-soaking)
Olive oil (enough to coat bottom of pot)
One onion (I used yellow, diced)
Garlic (I used about five cloves, diced)
One red bell pepper (diced)
Tomato paste (I used about three tablespoons)
One dark beer (I used a winter lager)
Bay leaves (I used two, and discarded before serving)
Dark chocolate (I used four 70% cocoa morsels)

Coat the bottom of a large, heavy-duty pot (I used the insert from my slow cooker) with olive oil and heat the pot on medium-high. Saute the onion, garlic and red bell pepper until soft (ten to fifteen minutes). Add the tomato paste and stir to incorporate with vegetables —allow the vegetables and tomato paste to brown for another five to ten minutes.

Deglaze the pot with the bottle of dark beer allowing it to come to a boil and cook off the alcohol. This takes five to ten minutes –and presents an excellent opportunity to season yourself with a nice winter lager).

Add the pre-soaked beans to the pot and enough water to cover. Add the bay leaves. Allow beans to come to a boil. Next add the ham-bone to the pot (you may have to trim for it to fit). If needed adjust water level.

Cover the pot and cook for at least four hours (I actually cooked mine for more than twenty hours on low in my slow cooker). When the beans are tender, remove the ham-bone.

Bring the beans back to a boil uncovered (note if using slow cooker, place insert on stove top for this step). Allow the liquid to reduce until it is thick and dark (I allowed mine to reduce for about 30 minutes). Add dark chocolate and allow to simmer a few minutes more to incorporate the chocolate.

diced ham ready for soup

Meanwhile pull all of the meat from the bone (most all of it falls off after that long cooking). Dice the meat into very small pieces.

Once the liquid is reduced to your liking, remove the bay leaves and add the diced ham back to the pot.

Allow to simmer on low for at least another 30 minutes (I let mine sit for a spell longer, presenting another self-seasoning opportunity).

Just before serving, I garnished the soup with grated parmesan cheese, avocado and black truffle oil.

ham, artichoke and cranberry salad on water crackers

Ham, artichoke and cranberry salad

Ingredients:

Ham (diced, I had about six cups)
Red onion (diced, I used one medium sized)
Red bell pepper (diced)
Celery (diced, two stalks)
Marinated artichoke hearts (diced, I used approximately fifteen hearts)
Dried cranberries (diced, I added about a cup)
Zest of an orange
Dijon mustard (about two tablespoons)
Juice from an orange
Honey
Oil (I used a french walnut oil but a good olive oil will also work)

To assemble the salad mix the ham and vegetables together. Whisk the Dijon mustard, orange zest, orange juice, honey and oil together –tasting until you like the flavor (my goal was for a light citrus note followed by the sweetness of the honey). Pour the dressing over the ham and vegetables. Mix everything together well, and then gently fold the dried cranberries into the salad (I’ve found that adding them earlier causes their color to run all over everything else).

Serve the ham salad as sandwiches, with crackers, or as part of a green salad.

Enjoy the peace (and the ham), my friend.

The lore of the Christmas goose…

December 22, 2014 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

Boar’s garnished Christmas Eve Goose with roasted vegetables

Sometimes lore alone can sustain a tradition. Such was the case for me and the Christmas goose. All of my life, I have associated goose with Christmas, yet my first taste of this salty-fleshed fowl was on the eve of Christmas —just four years ago (and every Christmas Eve since).

How is it that the lore made it to South Arkansas, but the goose did not? Hmmm, let’s explore that a bit.

To start, the Boar is a fan of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Like a well-brewed winter lager, Ebenezer Scrooge seasons the holidays with just the right amount of bitterness. But not everyone appreciates the need for bitter during the Christmas season —take the wife-of-the-Boar for example, she proclaims that she prefers her holiday sans bitter. And when I grumble about Christmas lights, shopping, and other non-feasting aspects of the holiday, she calls me “Ebbie” —of course, by inviting me along for these outings what she is really saying is that she would like her serving of bitter on the side. But I digress, back to Dickens and the Christmas goose…

No doubt, Dickens is responsible for much of the lore about the Christmas goose, for he writes of its succulence in describing the pitiable plight of the Cratchit family and remarks how rare even that most affordable of birds is at their table. Interestingly, at the time of Dickens, goose was a very economical food-source, and turkeys were thought as extravagant, that’s why when Scrooge embraces the spirit and seeks to make an amends with the Cratchit family he sends for the big turkey —not goose. I bet the miserly Scrooge would “hum-bug” a few times at the price of a goose today…and my, my, what would he think of our hormone induced, beach-ball sized turkeys?

But the intertwining of goose with Christmas began well before Dickens dipped his quill in ink. In 1588 Queen Elizabeth I ordered all of England to eat goose for Christmas dinner in celebration of England’s victory over the Armada because it was the first meal she enjoyed after the Navy defeated Spain’s ships. So, the people of England were force-fed goose for Christmas —a bit ironic given that we now force feed geese to produce foie gras.

In ancient Egypt, goose was the symbol of the creator-god named “Amen.” Some believed that the universe itself was hatched from a “cosmic egg” produced by this deity —perhaps the inspiration for the fabled Goose that Laid the Golden Egg. As you might guess, a feast of goose in this time was a feast of symbolic and religious importance.

So, from the pen of Dickens, by decree of Queen Elizabeth, and through deification of ancient Egyptians, the lore of the Christmas goose has been propelled through the ages and across the globe —even to my cozy hamlet in South Arkansas. Now, let’s put it in the oven…

unadorned roasted goose

Geese hatch in the spring and are right for eating at eight or nine months old—making them perfect for Christmas. Geese are smaller than turkeys and the meat is much darker and richer. Unlike a turkey, the fat content of a goose makes it very unlikely that the meat will dry out during roasting.

Before cooking the goose, as with all fowl, you need to wash it thoroughly. The skin needs to be pricked several times to allow the fat to cook out during roasting. (I use a wooden skewer for this purpose).

Note that if you want to prepare a stuffing to be cooked with the goose, you will need to coordinate those preparations with the roasting of the goose. Sometimes I stuff and sometimes, I do not. This post focuses only on the goose.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

I like to season the goose with kosher salt and fresh ground pepper including inside the cavity. Next I stuff the cavity with citrus (lemon, orange, or tangerine) and herbs (sage, rosemary, thyme).

Place the goose (breast side up) on the rack of a large roasting pan. Add enough water (or other liquid) to the bottom of the pan so that when the fat cooks out of the goose it will not burn.

Roast the goose with oven at 450 degrees for thirty minutes (this helps darken and crisp the skin). Carefully baste the goose with the fat and liquid from the pan. Reduce the temperature to 350 degrees and continue roasting for about twenty minutes per pound. I like to check on (and baste) the goose about every forty-five minutes. The goose is done when the juices run clear at the joints when punctured with a skewer.

Let the goose rest for at least fifteen minutes before carving.

Once the pan cools, be sure to retain the goose fat (liquid gold). The goose is good, but the fat is the prize. You can find many uses for the goose fat. My preference is to use it to roast potatoes and other vegetables for my Christmas Day Brunch. I also hear it is great for pancakes…

You can serve the goose dressed in elaborate garnishment, stuffed or unstuffed, or simply as unadorned lore of the season.

Devour the lore this Christmas, my friend.

Piglet’s loaf…

December 14, 2014 by Convivial Boar 1 Comment

Sirloin Meatloaf, Cheesy Mashed Potatoes, and Roasted Kale

Holiday feasts are all the rage this time of year. As you might imagine, the Convivial Boar partakes liberally… But in the midst of lavish holiday feasting fare, it’s good to take a break and feast on the more, shall we say, ordinary. And nobody prizes a feast-of-the-ordinary more than the Nearly-Convivial Piglet shown below.

Piglet displaying his feast

Meatloaf and mashed-taters are high among his favorites. So, not surprisingly, as he began his feast-making journey this is where he wanted to start.

Despite meatloaf’s popularity throughout history (the origins of meatloaf can be traced back to Ancient Rome), many feasters are less than enthusiastic about the dish. Often the mere utterance of the word “meatloaf” repulses feasters as they are confronted with visions of ketchup-laden images of their youth. And who can forget Arthur (played by Dudley Moore) slurring the blessing, “I’m thankful I got the smallest piece of meatloaf.”

Suffice it to say, meatloaf is not every feaster’s favorite. Indeed, many feasters seem to fear the loaf. But, why? Could it be how it is presented…does this description conjure any memories?

“The Chef is proud to offer his special meatloaf tonight. The ingredients of the loaf feature an array of secret, chef-choice items —only he knows what they are. The overall composition of the loaf is delightfully soggy while the meat retains a slight rubbery-chew texture. Scattered throughout the loaf are rough-chopped and undercooked vegetables providing a sporadic unidentified crunchiness. And the meatloaf will be presented this evening as a free-form blob glistening with a cold, masking, layer of ketchup.”

Sounds delicious, doesn’t it my friend? Stop trembling, here are some suggestions from a recent meatloaf prepared by the Nearly-Convivial Piglet—or, “Piglet” for short.

Part of the fun of meatloaf is that it can use as many or as few ingredients as you desire, but the feast-maker should be proud of what goes into the loaf and be ready to wax eloquently to feasters about the specially selected ingredients. The most fearful of feasters can be coaxed into relaxing a bit by an enthusiastic and knowledgeable feast-maker. Piglet practically assaulted his feasters with information about what went into his loaf —I will leave it to others to say whether he was eloquent or not.

Express your creativity through the loaf —rigidity is one of the few unwelcome ingredients. While nearly every meatloaf involves ground meat, it does not have to be simply ground chuck —any ground meat (or combination of ground meats) can be used. Some of our favorites are venison, buffalo, and sirloin (note: we prefer to use lean meats because less fat cooks out helping reduce the sogginess of the loaf). For the loaf pictured above, Piglet opted for ground sirloin.

Fillers are needed to keep the loaf from becoming too dense. These can include cracker crumbs, breadcrumbs, Panko breadcrumbs, rice or even oatmeal. Piglet used gluten-free Panko breadcrumbs.

Vegetables add flavor and texture to the loaf. For his loaf, Piglet added onion, red bell pepper and celery. The key is to dice them very finely to ensure proper cooking (or if you want them bigger, sauté them before adding to the loaf). Piglet is a precision dicer.

Notice: No Piglet Fingers Were Harmed In The Making Of This Feast

Piglet also likes to add garlic and herbs (typically, rosemary and thyme), and for seasoning he keeps it simple with kosher salt, fresh ground black pepper and chili powder. He also added a few splashes of worcestershire sauce and eggs to bind it all together —one of Piglet’s favorite parts is jumping in with both hands and mixing it.

After all the ingredients are fully incorporated (including Piglet’s hands, sleeves, pants, and surprisingly, face), Piglet placed the mixture on a large foil-covered rimmed baking sheet. It is important to use a baking sheet larger than the loaf so the moisture and fat can cook out of the loaf —again, reducing the sogginess factor by some degree. Piglet formed his loaf by hand-patting the mixture down and then using his hands to square up the sides until it formed a flat-topped rectangular shape about two inches tall —note the loaf should be fairly uniform shape so that all parts will cook evenly.

Piglet cooked his loaf at 375 degrees for about 45 minutes. The cooking time will vary depending on the meat used and the thickness of the loaf. You want it cooked all the way through but not overcooked as that leads to the rubbery-chew texture —so don’t put it in the oven and forget it. We check ours for proper doneness by using either a meat-thermometer or just slicing the loaf in the middle and inspecting (that was Piglet’s approach).

Lastly, a loaf can be served naked or with a topping-sauce —Convivial Boar Rule #7: when in doubt, get saucy!

This is where Piglet and I part ways a bit. He prefers the ketchup topping, and I prefer to create a sauce du jour. One of my favorite toppings for meatloaf is a black pepper sauce: I sauté onions until nearly brown in olive oil, dust them with flour —then cook the flour a bit, deglaze the pan with dark beer, bourbon, or scotch, add beef broth and lots of fresh ground black pepper (maybe even add the juices from the meatloaf pan —who am I kidding, always add them).

But, alas, this was Piglet’s loaf so we employed the much-reviled technique of point the bottle and squeeze (I looked away during this part). I did talk him into putting the loaf back in the oven for about ten minutes to let the ketchup brown a bit —it needed to settle, and I needed, well you know what I needed…

Piglet’s meatloaf feast was spectacular, but the best part was seeing his smile and knowing that he felt pride in the creation of the feast!

Exalt the ordinary, my friend.

It’s Thanksgiving, bring your game!

November 25, 2014 by Convivial Boar 2 Comments

seared venison loin medallions and pan-fried apples

As we prepare for our Thanksgiving feast —one of the most celebrated feasts of all time—let’s ponder a bit about its origin…

In grade school we learned that the Pilgrims and Wampanoag Indians celebrated the first Thanksgiving feast in 1621 in Plymouth Colony —and we had the construction-paper hats to prove it. No doubt, we understood the star of the feast was a big, abnormally- fat, turkey, and having stuffed themselves, the Pilgrims and Indians stretched out on buffalo-skin couches and watched a primitive form of football (high definition, I’m sure).

Those were the simple times. Everything was certain –maybe not true, but certain.

Today, nothing appears simple or the least bit certain. For instance, the Boar recently learned (meaning I rooted around on Google for a spell) that a small community of Texans (near El Paso) claims to have celebrated a Thanksgiving feast in 1598 —twenty three years earlier than the Pilgrims and Indians. The feast celebrated the survival of an expedition party, saved by the bountiful Rio Grande River. And of course, those Texans, insist their feast was bigger —so that’s how the Cowboys manage to snag the prime television slot on Thanksgiving Day, even in years when, shall we say, they don’t bring their game.

But what about the feast? Surely, it involved turkey? Brace yourself, the first Thanksgiving most likely did not involve turkey —and that’s true whether you side with the Texans or not. Turkeys did not become the focus of the Thanksgiving feast until around the time President Lincoln declared Thanksgiving as a national holiday (if only modern presidents could focus on the important issues of the day —like declaring more feasting holidays!).

So what was served at these early feasts? The Pilgrim-Indian version appears to have been a pot-luck of sorts. The Wampanoag Indians brought a gift of five deer for the feast, and the English Pilgrims supplied wild fowl (most likely ducks and geese, and maybe, possibly a turkey or two —but word is all they could get were frozen and they didn’t have time to thaw). The Texans feasted on game and fish. So, whichever version is the true first Thanksgiving —game was the order of the day.

As it turns out, the Boar’s sons have a bit of Wampanoag (or at least spirit) in them, for they have gifted to the Boar six deer this season (wonder if the Wampanoags skinned and processed the deer before gifting? It’s tough on the Boar to watch Grandad skin that many deer).

venison suppliers hard at work

Seared Venison Medallions

Embracing the history of Thanksgiving and this bountiful season (not to mention easing the burdens of the freezer), let’s discuss one of the Boar’s favorite venison feasts: Seared Venison Loin Medallions and Pan-Fried Apples

Venison loin is very lean and needs to be served rare —medium rare at most. Take a whole loin and slice it into medallions (approximately a half inch thick). Marinate the medallions for at least four hours in red wine, sliced onions, garlic cloves, and herbs (I typically use rosemary and thyme).

Remove the medallions from the marinade and allow them to dry and reach room temperature. Meanwhile, heat an iron skillet with enough oil (olive, canola, or vegetable) to cover bottom of skillet until it is smoking hot—I typically use an outdoor camp stove or grill, otherwise, the house fills with smoke and the Boar’s wife gets smoking hot —another Champagne problem, my friend.

I like to generously (if you doubt this, just watch me sometime) season the medallions with kosher salt, black pepper, granulated garlic, and cayenne pepper. Then I sear the medallions about two minutes per side (rare to medium rare). Allow the medallions to rest for at least ten minutes before serving.

Fall Gala Apples

Pan-Fried Apples

Despite the fact that they have routinely been crammed into many of my brethren’s mouths, the Boar loves apples. I’ve been known to hike for miles in search of the perfect spot, with a view, to enhance my enjoyment of an apple. And rumor has it that one year when the Boar prepared a Thanksgiving feast at his brother’s apartment, leftover apples were found for months after. You get the picture.

To the point, apples pair nicely with venison and their seasons coincide. During the Fall, we have wonderful varieties of apples.

Recently, I was fortunate enough to enjoy some Fall Gala apples supplied by friends of the Boar’s parents. These particular apples were grown in the Maggie Valley, North Carolina area and purchased from a roadside produce stand named Ye Old Gray Mare —they sound delightful already!

Remember, the story is important. Which fried apples do you think feasters will find more appealing, “fresh Gala apples from Ye Old Gray Mare produce stand” or “the yellow ones on aisle three of the supermarket?”

To prepare the apples, I simply washed them and sliced them into thin wedges. Fresh lemon juice keeps them from turning brown (and the citrus summons the flavor).

In a separate iron skillet I melted a stick of butter. Once the butter began to sizzle and brown slightly, I added the apple wedges and sautéed them until they began to brown. To finish the apples, I added brown sugar and a dash or two of cinnamon (some of my feasters aren’t big fans).

You want to be careful not to overcook the apples. Cook them until they are just tender —not mushy.

Bring your game this Thanksgiving, my friend.

scouting for food…

November 19, 2014 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

enthusiastic hunter spies his prize

For those who know me, it will not be a surprise that some of my best hunting stories are about not hunting. And this is not a recent phenomenon…

Growing up, my family were members of a deer camp called “B Tree” —second to none, except maybe “A Tree.” Where do these names come from? At B Tree, hunting, feasts and stories abounded — not necessarily in that order.

During September, my father would begin the preparations for the season which generally opened the first weekend in November. Part of this preparation was figuring out where my brothers and I would hunt, which meant scouting, investigating, figuring and eventually setting up a stand. At first, all of our stands were located together along the same road or field —this was before the day where every hunter had his own personal vehicle.

Usually, the location was selected because my father saw a good buck in that area or found sign that a buck had been there. But one year, I broke away from the group and did my own scouting…

I discovered a small cut-over (meaning an area where the trees had been recently cut) just a short distance from the camp and told my father that I wanted to put a stand there. As he investigated my selection our dialog went something like this:

“Well, you can see pretty good here, but where is the sign?”

“Didn’t find any,” I report as though I had looked or would know what I was looking for if I had.

“Why put a stand here?” he asks seeming a bit puzzled.

“I’ve got a feeling about this spot,” I say parroting what I had heard older members of the camp say about their stands —usually after they paraded back to the camp with a big buck.

In hunting, as well as many other enterprises it now seems, a reference to “gut-feeling instinct” trumps logic.

He relented, “hmm, well it’s not close to the others but it is close to the camp. I can drop you off on our way out, but you will need to walk back when you’re done.”

“Perfect,” I say, but he did not know why at the time.

I had scouted –but not for deer. Instead, I focused on something more vital, something I truly understood: food.

Our camp had a cook —and boy did we! I scouted her. The season before, I discovered that she arrived pretty soon after the hunters departed and started working on lunch preparations. I knew that if I walked back to the camp, I could watch her prepare the feast. And I had a hunch there might be something else. I was right, the first morning I walked back she greeted me at the door, smiled and said, “how about some hot chocolate and a fried pie?” Success!

blackberry fried pies and hot chocolate

I hunted that stand for the next several years. When my father and brothers wondered aloud why I never killed any deer or even spoke of seeing any, I would simply reply, “just not lucky, I guess.”

Truth was we were all lucky. We had a real feast-maker in our midst. The feast that I most remember her making was smothered fried deer steak, mashed potatoes, baked beans, cole slaw, corn bread—and for dessert, we had fried pies (absent the ones I ate in the morning).

The food was great but what I marveled about at the time was the scale. She would cook for thirty ravenous hunters and there was always plenty. She handled big pots and pans with ease. Indeed, the only grumbling I ever heard was from the hunters teasing each other about how heavy the serving dishes were as they passed them around the table —note, if your problem is too much food in the dish, you have no problem, my friend.

It wasn’t until years later, after she had stopped cooking for the camp, that I realized the true impact of her feasts. She gave the camp life. Without her, the camp door opened to a cold, dark cinder block building, which I had never seen before. With her, the door opened to the warmth of the ovens, the sizzle of meat frying, the aromas of soulful cooking, and the invite of her pleasant smile.

a new table of young hunter-feasters

At the table, her feasts coaxed the rugged hunters first to relax, then to near playfulness and at last, leisure. The hunters would linger around long after the feast, telling stories, picking at each other, and praising the food —and the feast-maker, who had given their camp life.

May your camp have life, my friend.

Tales of folly and jerky…

November 11, 2014 by Convivial Boar 1 Comment

duck breast jerky with sweet and sour sauce

Hunting season is a special time in South Arkansas —especially, for the convivial sort, fond of feasting on the delights of the field and chewing through well-embellished tales of conquests and mishaps. Indeed, hunting camps may be the last true bastion of story telling —where else are entire evenings devoted to the enterprise of recreational embellishment?

The stories begin well before a hunter takes his first prey and continue long after his days afield. Through story the young hunter seems big —and bigger still. The aged hunter keeps his stories young by updating the embellishment with each telling. Hunters struggle each season with uncertainty and debacles in pursuit of game, but the stories anchor the camp and flavor all else.

The skills and strategy of hunting garner much attention, but what is sometimes lost is the art. Hunting mixes a traditional undertaking of ritualistic discipline in pursuit of a basic animalistic need with the boundless whimsy of human frolic. An artful hunter can sit in serious, stoic, stillness ready to pounce —only to find himself falling flat on his back in an explosive fit of belly laughter provoked by the slightest of amusement. The beauty of hunting lies in this spectrum of behavior, which is best captured in story and feast.

Recently, as I prepared venison and duck jerky, a particular hunter’s story of folly came to mind…

The hunter, of an experienced age, scouted and planned for months leading up to the opening of season. He discovered a location where a buck had been scraping and rubbing. He sighted and re-sighted his rifle. Cultivated a garden for the buck to nibble. Positioned and camouflaged a stand nearby. And on opening morning of season, he arrived at the stand well before daylight and quietly waited.

His meticulous planning and diligent work paid off when a wall-hanger (for the non-hunting feast-makers this refers to a male deer with a big rack of horns) stepped out into the clearing near his stand. All he could see was horns. His mind danced as he envisioned the triumph of taking the buck and then parading it through the camp. He was a portrait of success. Others would marvel at his skillful stalking and planning. He was poised for the biggest kill of the season! Ahh, the glory!

Only, he became so excited that he could not be steady. His hands and arms began to shake, mildly at first, then increasingly as he tried to take aim. The shaking became so violent that the scope on his rifle slipped its mounts (which unbeknownst to him had loosened during all of the sighting and re-sighting of his rifle) and flopped off the gun landing with a loud “thud!”

Startled, the buck dashed away.

Dejected, the hunter gathered his belongings and slowly climbed down from the stand. And as his feet hit the ground, he dashed away (nearly as fast as the buck) to tell the story!

marinated strips of venison loin before dehydration

Jerky is a food-of-folly. A feast-maker meticulously slices meat, marinates the slices for hours in bold flavorful liquids, and then spends just as many (if not more) hours drying the slices out —leaving only a hint of flavor on the tough, meaty essence. In all, the preparation time rivals that of a seven course feast, but the end result is but a snack —a delightful dried bit of folly.

The options for making jerky are endless, but here is a guide to get you started:

Let’s start with the meat. Jerky can be made from nearly any meat (for my recent jerky I used deer loin and duck breast —because that’s what I had left in the freezer). You will need to slice the meat very thinly (the thicker the slices the longer it takes to dry it out). For the feast-maker fortunate enough to have a meat grinder, a slicer can be attached which makes short work of the slicing, which is a big time saver.

Next, for best flavor the sliced meat will need to be marinated. You have lots of options, and here are some of my favorites:

*Beer, wine, or whiskey
*Worcestershire sauce
*Dijon mustard
*Apple juice
*Apple cider vinegar
*Teriyaki sauce
*Sriracha sauce (Chinese hot sauce)

I also like adding onion slices, garlic cloves and citrus fruit to the marinade. And I always include the following:

*Kosher salt
*Black pepper
*Curing salt (important because of the slow cooking at very low temperatures)

The next step is to allow the strips to marinate in the refrigerator for several hours (overnight works great) in a sealed container. Remove the meat from the marinade and dry the excess liquid before moving to the next step (spreading strips on paper towels works well). Next, I like to add some seasoning, such as:

*Granulated garlic
*Onion powder
*Cayenne pepper
*Cumin

Jerky can be made in a smoker, oven or with a dehydrator. I typically use a dehydrator. Depending on the thickness of the slices and your preference on texture, plan for six to twelve hours for the dehydrating process (I like mine to still have a bit of chewiness so after about six hours I taste check it every hour or so).

Store the finished jerky in an airtight jar or plastic bag. If you will not be consuming it within a week, place in refrigerator or freezer for longer storage.

Chew on the follies of life, my friend.

Paella and Sangria — “the nectar”

November 3, 2014 by Convivial Boar 5 Comments

sangria and smiles

In our Paella and Sangria posts, we celebrated the moment of the feast, explored the origins of paella, and delved into the making of the paella. Now, let’s turn to the nectar!

Perhaps, there is no more festive beverage than sangria. And, like the Boar’s Head Feast, sangria has deep roots in history —after a couple glasses you may even philosophize about the origins of feasts and boars.

During the middle ages, many folks were afraid to drink water (concerned that it was poisonous) leading them to drink wine —now that’s a Champagne problem, my friend. To add variety (and perhaps a bit of festive flair) feast-makers of the middle ages added spices to the wine forming a type of punch –sounds like the start of something…

Spanish feasters are credited with adding fruit and brandy to red wine. The resulting drink was named, sangria, and became an important traditional drink of Spain (subtle connection to paella and not surprisingly the sweet fruity notes of sangria nicely balance the smoky, deep flavors of the paella). The popularity of sangria in the United States grew after it was introduced during the 1964 World’s Fair in New York.

Today, sangria is the name used to describe most any wine-based fruit punch. Some recipes use white wine instead of the traditional red. Sometimes the brandy is replaced with rum or another spirit. And of course, the type of fruit varies greatly.

For our sangria, I started with a modestly priced bottle of California Cabernet Sauvignon and added spiced rum (1 cup), simple syrup (1 cup) and ginger ale (about 12 ounces —and then a bit more because after tasting I wanted more bubbles). For the fruit, I added oranges, lemons, limes, strawberries and pineapple —the soaked fruit is the best part!

I prepared the sangria in the morning and let it chill until the evening feast (my preference is to allow as much time as possible for the flavors to mingle, sometimes overnight). The result: happy feasters!

sangria and fruit for younger feasters

And no reason to leave the young feasters out. Just mix a fruit punch (I used a strawberry and pineapple punch and added the same fruit as the adult version). Similarly, it benefits from a long chilling time.

Garnish the glasses with fruit and serve.

Try pouring sangria without a smile, my friend —just try.

Paella and Sangria Feast –“the pan meets fire”

October 27, 2014 by Convivial Boar 1 Comment

Browning Spanish Marinated Chicken

In two recent posts, we have discussed the moment of our feast on Lake Table Rock and explored the seductive nature of paella as a feasting food. Now, for the dance…

equipment…

Since the dish is named after the pan, let’s start there. Our pan is a twenty-eight inch diameter carbon steel paella pan. Because the pan is large, a long wood-handled spatula is helpful also —not essential, but the feasters notice, just saying…

Traditionally, paella is made over a wood fire with a tripod to hold the pan —(adds a smoky flavor, aroma and helps create a festive atmosphere). But there are gas and electric burners made for paella pans also. The key is that the burner must be as big —or nearly so—as the pan. Otherwise, the pan heats unevenly making it difficult to balance the cooking of everything in the pan. We opted for a wood fire, but instead of using a tripod, we borrowed my Dad’s cowboy grill —the grilling surface is just a bit larger than our pan. The cowboy grill has the added advantage of an adjustable rack to help control the heat.

featured ingredients…

Embracing the original spirit of paella (not to mention, family harmony) rather than the traditional ingredients (snail and rabbit), we selected fresh garden tomatoes (grown by my father-in-law); chicken (all pieces, even though I know the white meat isn’t really suited for paella); large prawns; chorizo sausage; and crawfish (a nod to the Louisiana heritage of a few feasters) for our paella.

We opted for the Valencia variety of rice, and for liquid we used a combination of saffron-infused chicken and seafood broths.

the dance…

Dancing with a paella is like a spirited tango —it begins deliberately, moves feverishly, and finishes beautifully. The Feast-Maker leads by preparation: every ingredient must be washed, chopped and prepared before the fire is lit.

An afternoon of deliberate, but not hurriedly, preparations:

onion and garlic diced;
fresh tomatoes grated;
lemons sliced;
chicken seasoned and marinated in Spanish olive oil and a smoked sweet paprika;
chorizo sliced thin;
prawns washed, peeled, deveined, seasoned (salt, pepper, garlic) and marinated in Spanish olive oil and lemon;
crawfish cooked in a seasoned broth with added prawn shells; and
chicken fat and boney pieces simmered into a broth.

We used lump charcoal to start the fire and then added water-soaked hickory chunks as the charcoal began to ash. As soon as the flames gave way to glowing embers, we placed the paella pan on the grill and pan-fried the marinated chicken –allowing it to reach a dark brown color and then removing the pieces to a foil pan until later.

browned chicken ready for paella

Next, we sautéed sliced chorizo in Spanish olive oil until it was brown and slightly crusty (starting with the marinated chicken and chorizo allowed the spices to cook out into the oil and flavor everything else). We removed the chorizo and set it aside.

We added onion, garlic, and grated tomatoes to our pan to make the sofrito. As the onion softened and tomatoes thickened, we added fresh thyme and cilantro —my youngest child, Charlie, was my designated sous feast-maker and he manned the long-handled wooden spatula during many of these steps.

sofrito (grated tomatoes, garlic, onion and herbs)

Meanwhile, I stirred several threads of saffron into the chicken and seafood broth warming on the side of the grill allowing them to dissolve into the broths.

With the sofrito gently sautéed until it was a bit pasty, we added about five cups of Valencia rice —spreading it gently with the spatula so that it covered the pan. Then, we returned the chorizo and chicken back to the pan. We added about fifteen cups of saffron infused broth and stirred the pan gently to mix the rice with the broth.

Important: after this initial stirring of the rice —no more! The initial stirring ensures incorporation of the ingredients but then the rice needs calm to absorb.

We allowed it to simmer (undisturbed) for just over an hour —until the liquid was fully absorbed. Surprisingly, many find leaving it alone during this time to be the most difficult step, but not the Boar see the post titled “let it sit a spell…”

While the rice was sizzling and caramelizing to form the socarrat, we placed the raw prawns around the pan to cook (just needs a few minutes to turn pink). Then we arranged the cooked crawfish. Next, we scattered Edamame beans (typically, green peas are used but not a big seller with my kids). We placed sliced red peppers (we used a jar of Piquillo Spanish peppers but you could use fresh red bell peppers too) around the pan and garnished the edge of the pan with lemon wedges.

garnishing with lemon wedges

Once I judged the socarrat was achieved (as entertainment for the onlooking feasters, I mimicked the great Western-movie trackers listening to the rails for a coming train by dramatically putting my ear near the pan to listen for the sizzle of the caramelizing rice), I removed the pan to a rack above the grill and covered it with a damp towel. As the paella rested (around fifteen minutes) the feasters readied for the feast —mostly, by pouring more sangria, a topic for an upcoming post.

The dance ended with a flourish, as I brandished the towel (much like a matador displays his muleta in the final stage of a bullfight –at least, that was the vision in my head), unveiling the completed paella and tempting the feasters to charge.

The feast was on, my friend.

Remember the ribs, forget the game…

October 23, 2014 by Convivial Boar 1 Comment

a mound of ribs awaiting blackberry finishing sauce

a mound of freshly smoked baby back ribs await blackberry finishing sauce

We briefly interrupt our Paella and Sangria posts for an update on Saucy Snout tailgating.

Swept away by the rising enthusiasm, certain that our team was poised to reclaim its rightful spot among the elite (and actually win a conference game), we decided to throw a fitting feast –so secure were we in our emotions that we even invited a Bulldog fan, boy did she make some noise during the second quarter! But instead of a victory, we received yet another lesson in perspective. Our rash of recent nail-bitingly close near-wins caused us to forget, for a brief moment, the desperate feeling of never having a chance. Lesson learned –go back to nearly winning, please.

But before the game became forgettable, the feast raged… Featured below is the invite for the tailgate, (including our feast plan) with added photos from the event.

Dear Fellow Snouts,

Well, well, well… I’m either writing to you as a fan of a floundering institution that hasn’t won a conference game in fifteen attempts, or as an ambassador of a team that nearly beat two top-ten powerhouses —quite a lesson in perspective. Either way, it occurs to me that a proper tribute to our team would be to plan and prepare the best tailgate fare we’ve ever had, and then turn our backs as someone else gobbles it down. Of course, to make it right we all have to be lulled into believing that we will actually enjoy the feast…so, here’s the plan for the tailgate that we will likely (maybe) enjoy…

This week’s tailgate will be hosted in the backyard of fellow Snout, Shawn, near the stadium. We will begin in the morning say ten-ish (think Bloody Mary), and continue until near game-time.

And to whet your appetite, here are the courses…

duck breast jerky and sweet and sour dipping sauce

duck breast jerky with sweet and sour dipping sauce

Duck Breast Jerky Dipped in Sweet & Sour Sauce

As improved as our team is this year, the last two weeks have been tough —and just a bit sour. This course seeks to capture that feeling.

Wild Boar Harvest Sausage Bathed in Guinness

Next, I suggest its time to wash away the grime from the last fifteen SEC games with a bath —whether we need it or not. For this course we will braise freshly made wild boar sausage incorporating apples, and parmesan cheese in a bath of Guinness beer.

Smoked Baby Back Ribs finished in Blackberry Sauce served with Citrus Cole Slaw

Then it’s time to create something new —as in from a rib he created… may our creation be tantalizingly beautiful.

Two younger snouts helping create the mudslide for our skewered apples and marshmallows

Skewered Apples and Marshmallows on Mudslide

Finally, we need to have some fun. The Convivial Boar will need some help from the younger-snouts to construct a mudslide of chocolate and caramel sauces in which to plunge our skewered treats.

Here’s to being in the game, my friend.