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Monthly Archives: November 2013

Rabbit Braised in White Wine and Sage

vail, rabbit, venison and barley soup, 9-13-13 034For the first time ever, I cooked (and ate) rabbit.  I was very excited about it.  Even though it was farm-raised and not wild rabbit it gave me a starting point.  I’ve cooked venison, wild pork, elk, salmon, halibut, pheasant, white-wing dove, and rock dove. It was time to add rabbit to my repertoire.  I’m looking forward to experimenting with recipes that incorporate the subtle flavor.

While, at this point, I still haven’t used wild rabbit, I’ll keep everyone updated once I have.  I’d love to get my readers’ input and experience with rabbit, wild and farm-raised.

Rabbit Braised in White Wine with Sage

1 3-lb. rabbit, cut up

Kosher salt and fresh ground pepper

Flour to dredge

2 tbsp. butter

1 red onion, chopped (It adds color to an otherwise monochrome dish)

Several leaves of fresh sage, some chopped and some left intact for

Enough cognac to de-glaze pan

1 cup dry white wine

Enough chicken stock to cover rabbit

2 tbsp. flour

1/2 cup Kalamata olives, pitted

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This was two farmed-raised rabbits. They fed 6-8 people. For some, rabbit just isn’t their “thang”.

Cut rabbit into about 4 or 5 pieces, two legs, two fore quarters, and ribs, depending on the size.  Season liberally with kosher salt and fresh ground pepper.  Dredge in flour.

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Wine glass and flamboyant apron are NOT optional! It’s all part of the total package!

In a cast iron roasting pan, melt  about 2 tbsp. of butter.  Brown rabbit on all sides.  Place on a separate plate.

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Add onion to pan and sauté until translucent, scraping up yummy browned bits.  Deglaze with a splash of cognac, continuing to scrape up bits.

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Add wine and chopped sage.  Return rabbit to the pan.  Add enough stock to cover.  Bring to a boil. Add olives.  Reduce heat, cover.  Simmer for 2 to 3 hours until meat is tender and sauce is thickened and reduced.  Add sage leaves after plating.  Serves 2-3.

 
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Posted by on November 23, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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A Great Read in the Hunting Blind

Now, I love being the wife of a deerslayer.  I love bragging about the accomplishments of the Deerslayer clan (my immediate members, in particular).  So when I tell you that one of the deerslayer offspring is coming into her own as a fiction writer, take it to heart.  No bias here!  She’s really, really good.

Her genre is urban fantasy.  If you dig vampires (with no sparkling or romance), the undead, and riveting mystery, check her out at: quiestinliteris.com or booksoflostknowledge.com  Outstanding stuff, really!

 
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Posted by on November 19, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

What Doesn’t Kill Us Makes Us Stronger (or Surviving Bees)

What started out as an eagerly anticipated road trip to our hunting camp ended up as something that would’ve made even Alfred Hitchcock shudder.  That’s the way things often roll for the Deerslayer clan. “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” “God never gives us more than we can handle”.  Well, we must be pretty damned strong by this point ‘cuz we’re not dead yet.  It’s the reason that Deerslayer always brings every tool he owns on any road trip, and several changes of clothes and a roll of toilet paper…. because you “just never know when you might need these things”.  I no longer question his logic because God has determined that we can handle quite a bit.

I used to scoff.  I would complain that we really needed to pack lighter for an overnight trip.  Over the years, however, after several blowouts on the camper on a single trip, unfortunate spills, dangerous burritos, rolling a pick-up truck on black ice, and rattlesnakes, I learned to trust my Deerslayer’s  judgement in the matter of packing for trips.

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The full extent of the bee situation wasn’t captured at the time. Abject fear prevented me from grabbing the camera at that moment! This is just a small remnant of what we encountered.

Even our “worst case scenario” packing strategy didn’t prepare us for what we encountered upon arrival to our hunting camp, after an eight-hour drive.  We got to the camp about 10:00 at night.  We opened the door of our camper, ready to make the bed and fall into it.  The floor was covered with something, though, something that crunched when we stepped on it.  Remember the part in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom” where there was a sickening crunching sound as Indy and Short Round cautiously walked through the cave?  It was like that…. Except it was BEES!  About an inch deep and smelled like dead bees!  I have to admit that, prior to this encounter, I’m pretty sure that I would not be able to tell you what dead bees smelled like. Sadly, I’ll never forget!   I’m not sure what made me wade in with a broom into a situation that, at this point, hadn’t been assessed to any degree, and start sweeping frantically. It’s what I do.  It’s not like I was able to put any kind of dent in the layer of death and stink.  We were too tired to think about anything except sleep at that point but we DID realize that stepping on dead bees or live ones bare-footed would result in a sting.  What we didn’t realize was that, as we waded through the dead bees, we were stirring up the thousands of live ones that were inside the wall of the bathroom.  There was a buzzing that was faint at first, then grew increasingly louder   By the time we had a firm grasp of the situation (that there were LIVE bees, and that it was a possibility that they could be Africanized) we were scrambling to get out.  Our only saving grace, at this point, was that it was dark out and the temperature was lower than 40 degrees which slowed the bees down considerably.

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This is our romantic nest the next morning. We slept under a moon and stars that were so bright we almost couldn’t sleep and listened to coyotes and wild pigs at the pond.

A decision was made at this point to grab everything we had already brought in and hightail it out muy pronto.  Deerslayer decided to grab our memory foam mattress which had stiffened with the cold and refused to budge.  Once again, I questioned the logic.  While I’m known for being laid back, cool under pressure, and flexible in all circumstances (NOT), Deerslayer was not able to detect that I was beginning to freak out about the bees, dead and alive, with my Epi-pen at the ready.  After much work we got the mattress out without any swarming and threw it into the back of pickup.  We drove about 100 yards away from the bee sanctuary, covered the mattress with sleeping bags,  and attempted to sleep out-of-doors, in nature, as it were.

Now, I may be the wife of a deerslayer, one who cooks wild game with gusto, camps in a camper, and sips wine at the campfire.  But this outing was the first of its kind for me.  If I hadn’t been covered in bee residue (and afraid) it would’ve been very romantic.  I have to admit that I passed up an opportunity. God never gives us more than we can handle!

As of this moment, we have not resolved the bee issue.  I’ll keep you posted.

 
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Posted by on November 10, 2013 in camping, Hunting, Uncategorized

 

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