10/23/01
This past weekend at the cottage was planned to enjoy the de-leafed forest and turn off the water for the winter season. Our activities included both of these and an added event that took Tom back 30 years in memories.
We arrived as usual mid-morning Sunday and set about making lunch after quickly unpacking - we were definitely hungry since breakfast had been at about 2am. The food preparation with all stove burners on, in addition to the electric room radiators, hastened the interior temperature to a bearable level. Enough fresh salmon fillet (purchased the previous afternoon at a fish store) was prepared with peppers, zucchini, onions, and garlic for a second meal on Tuesday (we typically cook 2 or more meals at once to save preparation time - see our diet regimen). After the 3 hour drive, which followed a couple of long replies on the LE Forums by Tom and packing by both of us - while noting the checklist in order to prevent forgotten items - we were ravenous. We easily polished off the fish with steamed vegetables accompanied by squash, asparagus, and cauliflower. Tom always seems to have room for bread pudding and applesauce (but a very small amount) with his post-lunch coffee, while I couldn't even manage a cup of tea till at least an hour later.
We enjoyed the peacefulness of the lake ringed by evergreen trees generously sprinkled with "well turned" deciduous trees - mostly birch. No activity could be seen on the lake - it seemed to be ours alone. A late afternoon walk extending into dusk along the main but unpaved road brought only 1 vehicle - a considerable decrease from the last visit.
It had been planned - something we do only lightly at the cottage - to go grouse hunting. (Actually I was just to go as "porter", with Tom as the hunter.) The rising hour on Monday by our 28 hour schedule was before sunrise, so that when light began to break, the sight of heavy fog was eery - the world ended approximately 30 feet from the cottage. The nearest branches of the giant pine at the lake edge beyond the deck could just barely be seen.
By late morning, after a good start at a Scrabble game, Tom decided it was time to head out - actually the fog lifted rapidly after 10am - but was frustrated when he realized that my footwear was less then best for a damp forest floor. Not wishing to have his outing pleasure diminished by frequent thought of my poorly shod feet, I quickly suggested that Tom make it a solo hunt. I would not feel at all deserted but would rather enjoy the opportunity to work on my "epic" needlepoint. Only a few reassurances were necessary, followed by humorous exchanges of the times by which I should get "concerned, worried, and then anxious" (if Tom was late in returning), and Tom was out the door.
Three hours later I'd made noticeable progress on my needlepoint and started preparations of fresh vegetables for pre-cooked chicken with squash. The hour of "concern" was just approaching when a car was heard in the driveway. A wide-smiling Tom appeared at the door which accurately announced - "successful hunt".
I was given the details of the event as he removed the plastic bagged bird from his hunting shoulder sack. I watched in semi-fascination as Tom inspected the beheaded fowl (done to insure quick death after the hit with shotgun pellets) on newspapers atop our dining room table. It had been 30 years since he'd last shot a grouse and the details of dressing the bird were a bit fuzzy in his mind. But within a few minutes he had the skin with feathers off the body and legs - scrawny things. Next was the removal of the cavity contents, which was done easily enough, taking a look at the gizzard contents for curiosity at what the bird had been eating - lots of seeds.
Tom couldn't recall how the grouse of yore were cooked, so we put him (?her) in a roasting dish with garlic, bit of water, covered with aluminum foil and popped him into a 350F oven. Piercing his (grouse's) lean body a half hour later elicited no bloody juices, so we declared him done and added him to our now ready dinner of chicken.
Even though one grouse actually contains sufficient breast meat for a meal, it looked very inadequate when compared to the store-bought plump chicken legs and thighs on Tom's plate. As successful hunter it was Tom's privilege, I declared, to parcel out the "kill". It was fortunate that we'd not depended on that grouse to fulfill our lunch protein needs. That bird had its "revenge" by being so tough that after a half dozen bites apiece, we each agreed that the effort was not worth it and gave the remainder to Moose who polished it off easily and quickly. (Had we been starving, Tom and I both would have relished the little sucker.)
Tom will not be forsaking grouse hunting and Moose will not be enjoying regular grouse dinners. We will try other cooking methods - possibly baking the breasts with legs smothered in bacon or breasts-only stewed with vegetables. We are determined that lack of fat in that forest floor feeding fowl will not render him inedible to us except under starvation conditions! ;) (Could this make CR people less desirable to cannibals?) Even without 30 year old memories for cooking the bird, we'll create or find our own. As I write this now at home, I remember that there is at least one "ancient" game cookbook back at the cottage; subject for research during the next vist. However, if anyone out there has a sure-fired way to enjoy the delectable delights of grouse, please pass it along.
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