Country Crock
Sometimes I forget how backward my background can be to people who grew up with squirrels as their only backyard wildlife.
No, I'm not about to write about my butt.
Anyway, it kind of broke my heart when several of my friends turned their noses away in disgust after I had them all sniff my baked venison steaks out of a tupperware container in my fridge when we returned to my place for beers following a pretty radical monster truck rally.
April was the only one to say "mmm!" but I kind of think she was lying. Then again, this is the girl who could eat Spaghetti O's for breakfast.
So I eat deer meat. I have my whole life. Well, save the past five years where I was living out of a microfridge and learning how to shop on my own as an HT Trader.
But good ole Dad helped me out a bunch when he sent me back to Charlotte after Christmas with about 20 pounds of venison meat for my freezer!
And ever since, all those fond memories of blood in the kitchen, blood in the truck, blood pouring from a carcus hanging upside down from the oak tree next to my swing set have been flowing through my body. Deep down, I will always be a mountain girl. My daddy taught me so.
Although I've never killed an animal with anything but my left front tire, growing up with rabbit stew and the like has taught me to love nature more than any frozen soy product junkie. It taught me that we humans can provide for ourselves without having about 100 go-betweens and shortcuts. And, not to say that there aren't a ton of orange-hatted idiots out there, but my dad hunted with pride. He learned about the habitat and animals, he respected them. He didn't kill moms or Bambis and he never took more than what was regulated. Dad even took his bow and arrows out there naked once to see if he could learn something from Native Americans. "It worked," was his honest response.
And I also was conditioned to enjoy the finest of gamey meats.
Yes, with a good amount of venison, you can do just about anything. Burgers, spaghetti sauce, stroganof, fajitas, chili, you name it.
Yesterday, I threw two venison roasts into the crockpot with some carrots, potatoes, green beans and onions. You better bet that I'm going to be eating happy for the next two weeks.
So, friends, you can turn your noses up at me all you like. But just remember that I'll be there to make fun of you when you say you can't eat something because "it's cute." Don't eat something if you think it's inhumane, not because you think it's cute. But if you already are chowing down on Showmars pita burgers and Dixie chicken sandwiches, then allow me, I'll make you the cutest damn slab of venison you've ever seen. And you'll like how it tastes, too.
Hell, we can even eat it naked. Get down to our cavemen roots. I heard it works.
No, I'm not about to write about my butt.
Anyway, it kind of broke my heart when several of my friends turned their noses away in disgust after I had them all sniff my baked venison steaks out of a tupperware container in my fridge when we returned to my place for beers following a pretty radical monster truck rally.
April was the only one to say "mmm!" but I kind of think she was lying. Then again, this is the girl who could eat Spaghetti O's for breakfast.
So I eat deer meat. I have my whole life. Well, save the past five years where I was living out of a microfridge and learning how to shop on my own as an HT Trader.
But good ole Dad helped me out a bunch when he sent me back to Charlotte after Christmas with about 20 pounds of venison meat for my freezer!
And ever since, all those fond memories of blood in the kitchen, blood in the truck, blood pouring from a carcus hanging upside down from the oak tree next to my swing set have been flowing through my body. Deep down, I will always be a mountain girl. My daddy taught me so.
Although I've never killed an animal with anything but my left front tire, growing up with rabbit stew and the like has taught me to love nature more than any frozen soy product junkie. It taught me that we humans can provide for ourselves without having about 100 go-betweens and shortcuts. And, not to say that there aren't a ton of orange-hatted idiots out there, but my dad hunted with pride. He learned about the habitat and animals, he respected them. He didn't kill moms or Bambis and he never took more than what was regulated. Dad even took his bow and arrows out there naked once to see if he could learn something from Native Americans. "It worked," was his honest response.
And I also was conditioned to enjoy the finest of gamey meats.
Yes, with a good amount of venison, you can do just about anything. Burgers, spaghetti sauce, stroganof, fajitas, chili, you name it.
Yesterday, I threw two venison roasts into the crockpot with some carrots, potatoes, green beans and onions. You better bet that I'm going to be eating happy for the next two weeks.
So, friends, you can turn your noses up at me all you like. But just remember that I'll be there to make fun of you when you say you can't eat something because "it's cute." Don't eat something if you think it's inhumane, not because you think it's cute. But if you already are chowing down on Showmars pita burgers and Dixie chicken sandwiches, then allow me, I'll make you the cutest damn slab of venison you've ever seen. And you'll like how it tastes, too.
Hell, we can even eat it naked. Get down to our cavemen roots. I heard it works.