A quality compass.“Shoot that deer!”
Why was my friend Tim shouting? “What deer?”
“THAT ONE! The one right over there!”
Tim was pointing wildly at a doe mule deer that had frozen at our approach. We were in a pickup, Tim driving, me in the passenger seat. We’d driven to an abandoned homestead in northeastern Montana in search of mule deer. We liked this spot because it had a feral apple orchard on it, and deer love to eat apples.
I grabbed my rifle from the backseat and slipped as smoothly and as quietly from the truck as I could. In one motion, I worked the bolt action on my gun to chamber a round and sank to the ground, cross-legged. I knew I could hold steady from this spot. The deer just stared at me. My heart was beating so hard the crosshairs were jumping between the deer’s back and belly. I took one deep breath, steadied the rifle, squeezed the trigger . . . and the world exploded.
The events of the next few seconds are a blur, but Tim later told me I took aim and shot in about 10 seconds. All I remember after that was hearing Tim, who’d leapt out of the truck as soon as I pulled the trigger, shouting at me to run around the other side of an old barn. The doe had been standing to one side of the barn, and it had bolted away when I’d shot.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” I thought, running around the barn. I tried to chamber another round on the run but dropped the cartridge. I fumbled for another, stuffed it into the rifle, looked up, and saw a deer standing 5 feet away. What?! Then three things happened, all at once. I realized it was not my deer—”my deer” . . . how can we come to possess another living thing in such a short time? It was not my deer because this one had tiny antlers on it. I also heard Tim screaming, “Don’t shoot the deer!” And the little buck bounced off. Where was my doe?
Then I realized Tim was 10 yards away from me, at the back of the barn. We’d both come around the barn at the same time and saw the young buck, who had apparently been traveling with the doe. What Tim saw that I did not was the doe at his feet. She had not gone more than a few feet, and lay there dying.
“You mind if I shoot her?” Tim asked. “I hate to see them suffer.” I said okay, and Tim shot the doe in the head, killing her instantly. In retrospect, we wouldn’t have needed that second shot, because mine had gone through both lungs. But to my mind, a quicker death is worth an extra bullet.
And there she lay. My first deer. She was not very big, maybe a hundred pounds or so. Her fur felt more like hair. It was coarse. There was dirt in her hooves. Tim stood back a few steps to give me room. Maybe he noticed my hands were trembling. We’d hunted for 3 days, and in an instant the hunt was over. We’d marched miles and miles through canyons and across hillsides, through farm fields and cattle ranches. And yet here we were, just a few feet from the truck.
Tim helped me with the skinning and gutting, which was strangely not as terrifying as I’d expected. I’d gutted rabbits and squirrels and very large fish before, and this was not so different. We broke down the deer in the little kitchen of the hotel where we were staying—the place looked like a scene from a mafia movie afterward. Blood is indeed thicker than water, I learned, and harder to clean up. But as we worked, the deer became venison. And I finally began to think of all the wonderful dishes I could make.
I’ve shot many deer since then. Some were easy, one was very hard. I remember them all, with every bit as much detail as that first doe in Montana. There is something special about big game hunting. It seems more primal than hunting small game. I know I am affected more by the death of a deer than the death of a rabbit. Maybe that’s not fair to the rabbit, but it’s how I feel nonetheless.
Somewhere in America, you can hunt deer from July to the end of January. In California, deer hunting begins in July, and many states close down their seasons on the final day of January. There are also game preserves that essentially ranch deer and exotic species such as African antelope, and these often have seasons that extend before and after the regular deer season. Some places offer challenging hunts, some are little more than shooting galleries. Do your research before you decide to hunt a high-fence ranch.
Most states separate deer seasons by weapon: Archery season is always first, followed by regular gun season. I say “gun season” because rifle hunting in many eastern states is illegal: You must hunt with a shotgun loaded with slugs or buckshot. A slug is a single lump of lead or copper, and buckshot is a collection of a few large balls encased in the shotgun shell. Buckshot, incidentally, is not legal in all states, as it is especially good at killing people. In the East, most deer hunting is in close quarters and in places where you’re likely to be within rifle range of another hunter. A rifle bullet can travel for a mile or more, while a shotgun slug will travel only a few hundred yards at best.
Many states also have special muzzleloader rifle seasons. A muzzleloader is a single-shot rifle loaded from the muzzle, not breech of the rifle near your trigger. Some people hunt deer with replicas of traditional rifles, like the Kentucky long rifle used in the 18th century, and it’s a rare person who can shoot these guns accurately beyond 100 yards. That’s why many more hunters take advantage of the special muzzleloader season by using high-tech, modern guns that can accurately shoot 200 yards or more. It’s still a single shot, so you’d better be sure of your aim, but it ain’t Daniel Boone’s rifle, that’s for sure.
Venison is really a cooking term for the red meat of a wild critter with four cloven hooves and, if it came from a male, antlers or horns. The word venison covers the meat of all kinds of deer, elk, antelope, moose, and caribou.
The white-tailed deer is by far the most sought-after big game animal in North America. This is the deer that dominates the landscape everywhere east of the Great Plains. Whitetails are scarcer west of the Rockies, although there are a few isolated populations in eastern Washington. Many books have been written about whitetail deer habits and biology, but for our purposes it’s most important to know that this is the deer that lives near people. Whitetail bucks range from the skinny desert deer of Texas and Arizona to the monsters of the Canadian plains, which can approach 400 pounds. A big doe rarely tops 200 pounds, which is the size of a typical buck.
Whitetail hunting is excellent in farm country, especially where grain is grown extensively. They absolutely love abandoned orchards and, in natural forests, will gravitate in the fall to oak trees heavy with acorns. And yes, you can find them in your backyard eating your azaleas. Look for them in river bottoms, too.
Whitetails share habitat with the West’s primary species, the mule deer. Muleys don’t much like people, although if you live in a rural area you will have them in your yard. They tend to be bigger than whitetails, and big bucks over 300 pounds are not that unusual; reports of 500-pound muley bucks surface from time to time. I’ve shot a 200-pound doe, and it felt like dragging a horse back to the truck.
Mule deer have very different antlers from whitetails, and they have a white rump, a dustier-looking coat, and much bigger ears. The ears really make them stand out—they do have a mule’s ears. I once stalked a bedded muley doe that I could have sworn was a jackrabbit. All I could see was the ears. When she got up and bounced away, I almost had a heart attack. Once the deer runs, there is no mistaking which kind it is: Muleys do something called stotting, which is essentially bouncing on all four feet very fast. Boing! Boing! Boing! Whitetails never do this.
But blacktail deer do. This is the main deer of the Pacific Coast. And while it is thought to be a subspecies of the mule deer, it looks and acts more like a whitetail, although it has the same big ears as the muley. Blacktails tend to be small. A mature buck I shot in the Coastal Range of Monterey County only weighed about 140 pounds on the hoof. And their antlers are rarely as spectacular as those of trophy mule deer or whitetails. Most blacktail are creatures of the forest, and they hang around edges in close cover. Another set live in the arid coastal regions of California. These tend to be smaller and leaner. Blacktails and mule deer hybridize in the Sierra Nevada, so it’s tough to tell which species you’re hunting. They all taste good, though.
The West is also home to the pronghorn antelope, which is not, biologically speaking, an antelope. Pronghorns are the fastest land animals in North America and love nothing better than to run around in wide open plains grazing and generally having a good time. Antelope can be very hard to hunt. Their eyesight is incredible—the equivalent of you looking through powerful binoculars—and if they see you, they’ll run. Getting a clean shot can be tough. Unfortunately for the antelope, they also happen to be curious animals. I’ve seen people attract curious bucks by hiding behind a sagebrush and waving a big white handkerchief. I’ve also seen archery hunters walk up within range of antelope by hiding behind a cardboard cutout of a cow. Pronghorn are plentiful in Wyoming, Montana, Colorado, and New Mexico, and if you can cool their meat down rapidly (an antelope’s body temperature is so high it will spoil the meat if you don’t skin it quickly), pronghorn is one of the finest wild game meats on the continent.
Elk are making a massive comeback, too. A generation ago, elk were isolated in a few states, but now they can be hunted in every western state, and there are limited hunts in the Appalachian regions of Kentucky and Tennessee. Elk hunting has not been this good since before the Civil War, and considering that even a cow elk averages 500 pounds, one will feed a family for a year. Bull elk are one of the most impressive deer species in the world and can top 1,000 pounds. Be prepared to hike for an elk, however, as they spend a lot of time on mountainsides in open pine forest at high elevations. If you want to bag an elk, you need to be fit—especially for the trip home, where you’ll be packing out several hundred pounds of meat.
Farther north lives North America’s largest cervid, the moose. A bull moose is even larger than an elk, and bulls weighing nearly a ton have been recorded. An average bull is more than 1,200 pounds, with cows averaging 700 pounds. Moose hunting is one of the more difficult pursuits on the continent. Moose are solitary and ornery, and they frequent swampy areas. I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve heard of hunters shooting moose and seeing them die in the middle of a shallow lake. They then had to drag the moose to shore before they could even begin to pack it out. If you want a moose, which will feed two families for a year, you need to be as fit as an elk hunter and not be afraid to get wet.
The best moose hunting is in Canada, although Maine, Idaho, Alaska, and parts of Montana, Wyoming, and Utah all have huntable populations. Minnesota offers a handful of moose hunts a year, open only to state residents.
I am a competent deer hunter and have shot at least one deer, antelope, or elk every year since I began hunting nearly a decade ago. But that doesn’t make me an expert, so I am happy to share with you some advice from my friend Phillip Loughlin, who is an expert. Loughlin runs the Hog Blog and is a part-time hunting guide; his tips are also in Chapter 17. What follows is a compilation of tips from both Phillip and me.
The prime directives in deer hunting are practice, patience, and perseverance. To become a good deer hunter, you need to hunt deer. A lot. This can be tough considering time constraints and the fact that in many cases you will only squeeze the trigger once each year. But you don’t have to go out with a gun to practice.
Before the season starts, get out to where you expect to hunt and walk around at dawn or dusk, when deer do most of their moving. Use your binoculars. Move slowly. Listen. I’ve heard deer long before I’ve been able to see them because I was tucked with my back to a tree, sitting motionless, breathing lightly. I melted into the countryside. And as an aside, I was wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt. No camo. Camouflage is not as important as knowing where the wind is coming from. Remember that deer don’t see color, but they can outsmell you big time. And try as you might, people stink. Scent-blocking clothing is not foolproof.
If you do your scouting, you will learn where the deer like to go. You will know where the water is, and everything needs water. You’ll see what they are eating, which is important because deer can eat all sorts of things and you want to know what strikes their fancy here and now. You also will be able to spot the deer trails and see where they go. Remember, move slowly, listen, and stop often to look around. I’ve done this a few times, looked up, and saw a doe staring right at me, just a few yards from my face. I waved and she bounced away.
If you are a stand hunter, meaning you plan to set up a tree stand, platform, or just sit on a stack of hay bales, the same applies. You’ll need to know which tree, where to erect the platform, or which hay bales to set up on.
Phillip points out that once you get closer to the season, about the last 2 or 3 weeks before Opening Day, lay off. Let the place rest. Even your quiet excursions are intrusions on the deer’s playground, and you want everything calm for the opener. You can’t control what other hunters do, but you can hope that your little spot will be ready when you do bring the gun or bow.
Another Phillip maxim is that once you are set up in your spot, stop wondering what’s over the next ridge. In the West, there is a lot of open land, and we’re all subject to the lure of the allegedly greener grass just over that hill. If you want to walk, then by all means walk. But you’ll be better served to do your preseason scouting, identify key areas, learn them, and then hunt those specific areas hard rather than trying to hunt new turf. Hunt where you know the deer are, not where you hope they might be.
Remember you can glass a lot more ground with binoculars than you can walk, and binoculars don’t spook game like big feet and human stink. In the West, it’s better to spend more time with the binoculars and less time wandering around.
Patience pays off. When you’re pretty sure you’ve done everything right, you probably have. Just calm down, enjoy the sunrise or sunset, and don’t second-guess yourself. Wild animals do not follow a script, but there are three things they consistently need: food, water, and shelter. If you’ve found one (or more) of these key areas, and the signs show that the animals are definitely here, then stick to it. Sit tight. They’ll come. And if they don’t show up today, come back tomorrow. That’s where perseverance comes in.
After dawn, most deer will find a spot to bed down for the day. This makes them harder to find, as a deer’s back blends well with the countryside. But deer seldom bed down in one place for an entire day. Find an observation point above a place you’ve seen bedded deer—usually you’ve bumped them by mistake—make yourself comfortable, and watch with your binoculars. You’ll see animals as they move in their beds, switch beds, or get up for that midmorning/midday/midafternoon water/snack/stretch. Incidentally, this applies to pig hunting, too.
Get as close as you can. Then try to get closer. There’s no such thing as too close for a good, clean shot. Well, maybe 10 feet might be a little close, but you catch my drift. The idea of hunting is not to see how challenging you can make the shot, but to make it as simple as possible. This is a living thing you’re trying to kill here. It feels pain and suffers. You want to take every opportunity to minimize that pain. I’ve shot an elk at 375 yards, and I am proud of that. But I would much rather have shot it at 75 yards.
Here’s one from Phillip I never would have thought of. If you’re looking for fresh deer signs that indicate an active area, look for the things that last the shortest time: hair and moisture. Hair can be found on fence crossings, on tree trunks, and where they bed down. It disappears fast, even on a fairly calm day. If you find hair, the animals are probably close by. Likewise, moisture tends to dissipate almost as soon as it appears. Look for water droplets on grass or leaves, wet tracks exiting water crossings, or moisture in the bottom of a track in marshy ground. Scat can be dependable for a few hours, after which it’s really tough to determine how old it is with any certainty (depending on weather). Wet, mushy shit means a deer was here recently. Dry tracks, however, can last for weeks, and again, depending on the weather, they really lose their value within hours.
Does usually mean bucks. If you’ve found an area where you’re consistently seeing does and youngsters, and if you’ve got the time, then stay in that general area. The bucks will eventually show up, although it may be later in the season as the rut gets closer. Unless there are lots of other hunters in your area—like in certain public hunting areas—the bucks will generally be relatively close to the does. If pressure is high, though, the bucks will spend the early season in higher, less accessible ground. An old buck did not get that way by being stupid.
Unless you spook deer off a feeding spot or water source, they’ll come back to it within a day or so, and sometimes even later the same day.
In the West, blacktails and mule deer have a fatal flaw. When spooked, they will almost invariably run off a short distance (20 to 50 yards) and then stop to look back. If you get busted, don’t panic and don’t take a bad shot. Wait for the deer to do his trick, and then be ready to shoot. You’ll only get about a second, so be ready. White-tailed deer might do this, or they might run like rabbits clean out of sight. But like rabbits, whitetails will often run in something of a circle.
Another Phillip nugget: If you are tracking a deer, avoid following directly in his trail. Deer will often stop or backtrack to see if someone is following them. Instead, move uphill and somewhat parallel to the tracks, and keep an eye out on the trail ahead. If the tracks start to meander, slow way down and start watching carefully. The animal is either feeding or looking for a place to bed down.
When it comes to actually shooting a deer, aim for the “boiler room,” which is a spot the size of a dinner plate right behind the animal’s front leg. This is the conjunction of the heart and lungs, and is the easiest place to kill the deer quickly. Put a shot in the boiler room and the deer dies. Period. You might need to track it, but it should drop within 200 yards and probably a lot less.
Finally, I advise you to start your deer hunting with does, if that is legal in your state; it’s not easy to score a doe tag in California. Does tend to taste better than bucks (testosterone and all that) and you will not contract “buck fever.” I never thought buck fever would happen to me until I hunted antelope and saw a striking buck with horns that were spaced unusually far apart. I couldn’t get a shot off the first time I saw that buck because I was mesmerized by its horns. Only when I got a second chance at him was I able to will myself to ignore the head of the animal and focus on that boiler room. If you find yourself looking at a truly great buck through your scope or peep sight, you will know what I mean. I think it is genetic in all humans, and yes, even women get the fever. Just remember: Focus on the boiler room.
Deer hunting can be as complex or as simple as you want it to be. At a minimum, you will need a weapon—rifle, shotgun, or bow—good walking boots, a sharp knife, and, if you are in the West, binoculars. That said, there is a whole industry geared toward selling you products intended to help you hunt deer, mostly whitetails. Most people hunt deer close to home, in woodlots, the edges of farm fields, from tree stands on your property, hidden among hay bales, etc. If this is the case, you can probably drive a truck or an ATV to where you are hunting and pick up the deer you shot.
In these cases, the equipment I recommend above is necessary, as is something that is blaze orange. Most states require that hunters wear blaze orange when deer hunting. Deer can’t see color, but fellow hunters can, and that’s the point.
But, if you are going to be walking any distance while hunting, which is what I do when I hunt in Montana and Wyoming, buy a comfortable backpack and make sure it has the following:
A quality compass.
Several lengths of stout rope for hauling a deer or pulling it up over a tree limb to skin, hang, or gut.
A little knife sharpener.
Some way to purify water. If you are lost and find a stream, you will want to ensure that the water you drink is safe. Use iodine or buy a camper’s water purification kit.
All-weather matches.
Latex or rubber gloves for gutting, if you so desire. I don’t always use them, but it is a good precaution in case you see anything odd-looking in the viscera. Deer are not normally parasitized, but it can happen. Parasites rarely affect meat, but you would not want to eat a liver that looked speckled, misshapen, or flecked with white spots or lines.
A game bag, which is a large cheesecloth bag you can get a whole deer into. Good for hauling to keep flies off the meat.
Binoculars, the absolute best you can afford. This is recommended in the East, mandatory in the West.
A rain slicker that doesn’t make noise. Many hunting gear companies sell these. In the arid West, skip this unless you are very high in the mountains.
A rag for your hands.
Two water bottles. You need more water than you think out there.
Many energy bars, like Clif Bars, granola, PowerBars, etc. Fig Newtons are good, too. You need concentrated energy. I dry figs and carry them.
A camper’s first aid kit that includes a snake bite kit. This is especially true for the West.
A spare knife.
Extra ammunition.
A flashlight with a few extra batteries.
A thin warming blanket made from Tyvek or some other microfiber.
A cell phone, fully charged. It might not work where you are, but it’s good to have in case you can get to a spot with cell service.
As you can see from this list, when you hike in search of deer, elk, moose, and the like, there is a very real chance you might get lost and have the sun go down on you. If that happens, just sit down and stop moving. Collect yourself and try to remember where you came from, and if you are not sure, you might have to spend a night in the field. The things in this pack will make your life easier until the sun rises again. Obviously a cell phone is your first line to the outside world in an emergency, but they don’t always work in remote places. Best to be prepared.
Close-to-home hunters might want to buy these things, too. Doing so allows you to range farther while you are hunting in, say, the Adirondacks of New York or the Smokies of Tennessee.
A final piece of equipment that is useful out West is a set of shooting sticks or a bipod on your rifle. It is not uncommon to take a shot longer than 200 yards. You won’t always have something nearby to steady your rifle or be able to shoot lying down, which is the most stable position to shoot from. Shooting sticks help a lot.
You have a deer on the ground. Now what? Whole books have been written on how to field dress and butcher a deer, and a truly detailed tutorial is beyond the scope of this book. But the following should get you started.
Take your sharp knife and cut around the deer’s anus, as if you were cutting it a new, larger one. I know, I know. Ew. Do it. You need to because you don’t want deer shit on your meat. Once you cut around, pull on the cut part to pull the intestine out a bit. Tie the intestines off with string or a twist tie.
Now get the deer on its back. It’s helpful to have a partner hold the deer up and secure while you cut. Run your hand down the centerline of the deer’s belly and feel for the end of the rib cage, where your solar plexus would be. When you get there, pinch up a little skin and slice perpendicular to the length of the deer until you get through the hide.
Run your knife—blade pointed up away from the guts—from this first incision all the way back to the anus. You’ll have to cut off a buck’s ’nads en route; slice around them and discard. It helps to insert two fingers under the belly skin, one on either side of the blade, as a guide while you are making this cut. Hold the knife with your good hand, and use the fingers of the other as the guide. Do your best to not pierce the stomach. This should not be a problem if your blade is facing up and you are cutting with just the tip. You should begin to see the innards as you cut.
Once you have that cut made, roll the deer on its side and the offal will come part of the way out. This is why it is called offal, by the way: It is what “falls off” the animal once you gut it. But the innards will not come completely free. Now you get messy. Reach in and forward toward the ribs and find the gullet, which is the pipe from the front of the deer to its stomach. Cut this and you can pull the whole shebang free, but do it carefully. You may need to use the knife in a few places to free the intestines from the body cavity.
Now in this wobbly mess are the liver and probably the kidneys. You want these. The liver is a big burgundy blob. Cut it free from its attachments. The kidneys on a deer look like human kidneys. You can’t miss ’em. They might be covered in fat and could still be attached to the rib cage. Leave them if that’s the case; you can cut them free later.
You will notice that the rear end of the innards is still attached. Go back to the anus, and cut out everything still attaching that tied-off bung to the pelvis of the deer. You’ll mostly be cutting glands and things, so it might get a little whiffy. But try to not cut the intestine itself. Once this is free, pull all the guts away from the deer.
Next you’ll need to deal with the heart and lungs. Be prepared for blood, because if you did your job and shot the deer in the boiler room, the animal will have bled out in this area. There are several ways to take care of this. You can use a stout knife or bone saw and saw apart the centerline of the breastbone, then spread the ribs, grab the heart and lungs, and pull them away. You will need to sever the windpipe before it’ll come free, however. This method works with does, small bucks, and antelope, but not on larger critters like moose or elk. For them, you’ll need to climb on in and pull things out as best you can. If it is not freezing out, take your long sleeves off. Save the heart in a plastic bag, as it is delicious, but lose the lungs unless you plan on making haggis in the near future. Leave the remaining guts in the grass for the other animals. Coyotes and buzzards love them.
Roll the deer over to let any remaining blood drain. If there are two of you, each person grabs two legs and lifts the deer up to let everything drain. Paper towels are good for this, too, if you’ve packed them.
Now you’re ready to drag the deer to the truck. Do this with the deer on its back, so you don’t get dirt in the body cavity. Grab the antlers if it’s a buck or the forelegs if it’s a doe. Before you start, find some sticks and use them to prop open the chest cavity. This helps the meat cool faster.
Don’t skin the deer until you are back at the truck, unless you are quartering it out. Most people skin elk and moose in the field and cut off large pieces—often whole legs—and carry them in backpacks back to the camp or truck. A 1,000-pound elk is too large to drag, so you’ll need to do this if you shoot one.
To start skinning, take your knife and cut around the legs right above the hooves. Slip the point of your knife under the skin on the inside of the hind leg and, with the blade facing outward from the leg, slice upward. If the deer is still warm, this should be easy. Go all the way up to the belly and toward that first belly cut you made. Now pull and slice the skin off. You can pull a lot of the skin off when the deer is warm, using the knife only to free the skin in the places where there are strong attachments.
Work methodically, and try your best to not get hair on the meat. It sticks and can possibly contaminate it, but it isn’t the end of the world if you get a little hair on the carcass. Just do your best. You can also have your friend start at the foreleg and work up toward the neck while you are working on the rear of the animal.
When you are quartering out a large animal, skin one side first, then cut off the legs, tenderloins, and backstraps from one side. Only then do you turn over the animal to skin the other side. You don’t want to get your meat dirty.
Again, whole books have been written on this topic. I’d suggest either buying one—my favorite is the classic Basic Butchering of Livestock & Game, by John Mettler Jr.—or taking your deer to a local butcher. If you don’t plan on breaking down the deer by yourself, call around to butchers ahead of time to see if they will do it for you. Many will, especially in rural areas and even in suburbia. If you are traveling to hunt, many butchers will, for a fee, break down your deer and ship your meat to your house. It’s expensive, but until you learn to butcher, it’s a solid option.
This is a recipe adapted from my grandmother, who was a Massachusetts Swede. They call these meatballs Svenska Kottbullar, and they are traditionally served with a lingonberry sauce. In Scandinavia, the meatballs are sometimes made with reindeer, so it’s not a stretch to switch to moose. You could use any red meat.
In keeping with the Northwoods theme, I switch out lingonberries with highbush cranberries. Moose and highbush cranberries share the same habitat, and there is a golden rule in cooking: What goes together in life can go together on the plate. You can by all means use lingonberries, but you can buy highbush cranberry jelly online or make it yourself.
Serve these little meatballs in the sauce over mashed potatoes. A salad or sauteed greens would round things out. This is a large recipe, so you can either halve it or freeze extra meatballs after you brown them.
2–3 pounds meat (moose, beef, venison, lamb, elk, etc.)
1 pound pork or beef fat (preferably pork)
2/3 cup milk
4 slices stale bread, crusts removed
1 yellow onion, grated
2 teaspoons kosher salt
2 teaspoons ground allspice
1 teaspoon caraway seeds
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 eggs
1 cup flour
Butter or oil
1 quart beef or wild game stock
½ cup highbush cranberry or lingonberry jelly
½ cup sour cream
Put the moose and pork fat in the freezer for an hour, until they are partially frozen. Cut both the meat and fat into ½-inch chunks. Grind through your fine die in a meat grinder. If you do not have a meat grinder, use a food processor. Don’t crowd the processor. Chop in pulses until you get something that looks like ground meat—it will not be as good as with a grinder, but it is easier than hand-mincing everything. Place the mixture in a large bowl and put it in the fridge.
Pour the milk into a medium pot and set it on low heat. Break the bread into pieces and add to the milk. The bread will begin to absorb the milk. When it does, turn off the heat and mash everything into a paste. Let this cool to room temperature.
Take the meat bowl out of the fridge and add the onion, salt, allspice, caraway, and pepper. Crack the eggs into the bowl, then pour the bread-milk mixture in. With clean hands, gently mix everything together. Do not knead it like bread, and do not squeeze things together. Just gently work the mixture. Think cake, not bread.
When it is mostly combined—you need not get everything perfect—grab a tablespoon and scoop up some of the mixture. Roll it into a little ball with your palms, not your fingers. Pour the flour into a medium bowl and gently roll the meatballs in the flour. You may need to reshape the meatballs before putting them on a baking sheet lined with wax paper or parchment.
When the meatballs are all made, get a large pan ready. I use a big, old cast-iron skillet. Fill it with a little less than ¼-inch of oil. I use canola oil with a little butter tossed in for flavor. Bring it up to temperature over medium-high heat. When a bit of flour splashed in the oil immediately sizzles away, lower the heat to medium and add the meatballs. Do not crowd them.
You want the oil to come up halfway on the meatballs. Add a little oil if need be. Fry on medium heat for 3 to 5 minutes. You are looking for golden brown. Turn only once. The other side will need 2 to 4 minutes.
Set the cooked meatballs on a paper towel or wire rack to drain. They can be used right away or cooled and then refrigerated for a week, or frozen for several months.
Once the meatballs are cooked, drain all but about 3 to 4 tablespoons of the butter/oil from the pan. Over medium heat, add an equal amount of the flour left over from dusting the meatballs. Stir to make a roux and cook slowly until it turns a nice golden brown. Think coffee with cream.
Add the stock gradually and turn the heat up to medium-high. Stir well to combine and add more stock or some water if need be. You want this thicker than water, thinner than Thanksgiving gravy. Taste for salt and add if needed.
Put the meatballs in the pan, cover, and cook for 10 minutes over medium-low heat. Add the jelly to the pan. Let it melt and then mix it in gently. Coat all the meatballs with the sauce. Cover and cook another 10 minutes over very low heat. Add the sour cream and just warm through for maybe 3 to 4 minutes.
Serve over mashed potatoes or spaetzle, or with German egg noodles.
Morel mushrooms paired with venison, antelope, bison, or even the common steak is a marriage far more successful than most pairings between mushrooms and meat—which often compete with one another. This dish is simple, deep, and delicious.
But don’t skimp on the morels or the quality of any ingredient: You and your guests will notice. Can’t find them in your grocery store? You can buy morels online, or you can substitute shiitakes from the supermarket.
Serves 4
A handful of dried morels, about ¼ cup, soaked in water for several hours, or about 20 fresh morels, chopped
1 cup venison or beef stock
4 venison medallions, cut 3/4–1-inch thick, or the tenderloins from a large deer
Salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons grapeseed oil, or another oil with a high smoke point
1 tablespoon flour
½ cup port wine (something you would drink)
Freshly ground black pepper
If you are using dried morels, remove the morels from the soaking water once they’ve rehydrated and pour the liquid into a small saucepan. Reduce the soaking water over high heat until you are left with about ¼ cup of liquid. Turn off the heat, pour into a small bowl, and set aside.
Pour the stock into the same saucepan and reduce it to ½ cup over high heat. If you are using dried morels, add this reduced stock to the mushroom liquid. If you are using fresh morels, pour the stock in a bowl and set aside.
Take the venison out of the fridge and salt it liberally. Let it rest at room temperature for 20 to 30 minutes.
If you are using fresh morels, heat a skillet over high heat for 2 minutes. Turn the heat down to medium-high and place the morels in the pan to heat. They will release their water quickly. Let this boil until the water is almost all gone, then add 3 tablespoons of the butter and the shallot. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes, stirring often. Remove and set aside. If you are using dried morels, you do not need to dry-cook them first. Cook them with the shallot in the butter.
Heat a clean pan over high heat for a minute or two and add the grapeseed oil. Heat this for 1 minute. Pat the venison dry with a paper towel and place it in the pan. Sear it for 3 to 4 minutes on one side, then flip. Let it cook through to your taste on the other side without flipping again, another 1 to 3 minutes. Remove from the pan and set aside under foil to rest.
Add the remaining 1 tablespoon butter to the pan and let it melt over medium heat. Add the flour and stir to combine to make a roux. Cook, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes. Add the wine and stir to combine. It will thicken immediately, and if it turns to a paste, add the reserved stock. If it does not turn to a paste, let the port boil a minute, then add the stock. Add the morels.
Once the morels are heated through, lay down a pool of the sauce on 4 plates, then top with venison. Arrange the morels around the meat. Grind black pepper over all and serve at once.
This began as one of those “why not?” experiments that turned out far better than I had expected. So good that every deer hunter really ought to learn this technique. You will get far more enjoyment out of the leg roasts from your deer. I used prong-horn antelope in this recipe, but any red meat will work.
The technique is simple: Brine your meat, then simmer it into tenderness. It takes several days to brine, but it isn’t labor intensive at all. Once cooked, the meat will last a couple weeks in the fridge, if you can hold off eating it that long.
About those nitrites. I use them for color, for flavor, and for safety. Can you do this without pink salt? Yes, but your meat will be gray, you will lose some flavor, and there is an ever-so-slight chance you might pick up botulism—not a large chance, but as botulism is one of the most toxic substances known to man, I’d say use the nitrite. You can buy it online at Butcher and Packer and at good butcher shops.
Serves 8–12
½ gallon water
1 cup kosher salt
1/3 cup sugar
½ ounce Insta Cure No. 1 (sodium nitrite)
1 tablespoon cracked black pepper
1 tablespoon toasted coriander seeds
12 bay leaves, crushed
1 tablespoon red-pepper flakes
1 tablespoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon caraway seeds
1 cinnamon stick
6 cloves
5–6 cloves garlic, chopped
3–5 pounds venison roast
Add everything but the venison to a large pot and bring it to a boil. Turn off the heat, cover, and let it cool to room temperature. This will take a few hours.
Meanwhile, trim any silverskin you find off the roast. Leave the fat.
Once the brine is cool, find a container just large enough to hold the roast, place it inside, and cover with the brine. You might have extra, which you can discard.
Make sure the roast is completely submerged in the brine. I use a clean stone to weigh down the meat. Cover and put in the fridge for 5 to 7 days, depending on the roast’s size. A 2-pound roast might only need 3 days. The longer it soaks, the saltier it will get, but you want the salt and nitrite to work its way to the center of the roast, and that takes time. Err on the side of soaking it extra days, not fewer.
After the week has passed, you have corned venison. To cook and eat, rinse off the meat, then put the roast in a pot just large enough to hold it and cover with fresh water. You don’t want too large a pot or the freshwater will leach out too much flavor from the salty meat; it’s an osmosis thing. Cover and simmer—don’t boil—the meat for 3 to 5 hours.
Eat hot or cold. It is absolutely fantastic with good mustard and some sauerkraut on a sandwich, and it makes an immaculate hash.
This is a nice little salad that uses offal seamlessly. Unless told, your guests will probably not recognize it as tongue. The end result is a lot like carnitas, although the tongue should be sliced thin in sheets, not shredded.
Serves 4
2 quarts lamb, venison, or beef broth
4 bay leaves
2 sprigs fresh oregano
2 deer or lamb tongues (antelope or other smallish cervid will work, too)
2 large cloves garlic
Pinch of salt
2 teaspoons mustard (something nice like Dijon)
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
¼ cup olive oil (use the good stuff)
4 cups salad greens (use exciting greens like arugula, chicories, miner’s lettuce, fresh herbs, watercress, dandelion leaves, and the like)
Freshly ground black pepper
In a large pot over medium-high heat, bring the broth, bay leaves, and oregano to a boil. Lower the heat to medium-low, drop in the tongues, and simmer for at least 2 hours, possibly 3. The tongue should give willingly to the point of a sharp knife. If the tongue floats, flip it periodically. Remove from the heat.
While the tongues are still warm, transfer to a cutting surface and peel off the skin with a paring knife. The skin is really the only icky thing about tongue. Underneath, it is pure meat. Slice the peeled tongue quite thinly and return it to the broth to rest.
Place the garlic, salt, and mustard in a mortar and pound it into a paste. Add the vinegar and mix well. Add the oil in little batches, stirring and mixing all the while. Make sure each drip of oil is incorporated before you add more. Continue until it looks like dressing, not like a paste.
In a large bowl, mix the greens with three-quarters of the dressing. Divide the greens evenly on 4 plates.
Remove the tongue slices from the broth and toss with the remaining dressing. Arrange a few slices atop the greens on each plate, grind pepper over all, and serve.
