Making elk sausage at home

Breaking news: Hubby harvested a gorgeous, huge, six by seven point, bull elk in the first hour of the first day of the 2012 archery season!

This victory comes after 10 years of going hunting every weekend of archery season and coming home empty handed. It also represents the first bull elk the Hubby has ever taken. No small feat on all counts, but the most exciting part by far is the staggering amount of meat this beast brought our family.

Steaks, roasts, burger, and sausage galore! The hubby does the butchering and I package everything in vacuum seal bags. The grinding and sausage making is a family affair, though. Over the years, I've come across some excellent sausage recipes and I share three of my favorites below, but first a few tips about sausage making.

TIP 1: Keep everything cold, if not frozen for best results. Put grinder implements in the freezer until just before grinding. Keep fat frozen until you grind it and meat so cold it's almost freezing. This keeps fat from emulsifying and smearing through your sausage and preserves perfect consistency.

TIP 2: When filling sausage casings, fill one whole casing at a time. Wait to twist individual links until after the whole casing is filled.

TIP 3: Dry links before cutting and vacuum sealing. I hang my connected links over the laundry rack for an hour or two before cutting the links apart and sealing them. (If you do use a laundry rack, just don't forget to leave the dog outside, as sausages hanging at canine eye level are tempting fare indeed)

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Recipes

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1. Bulk Breakfast Sausage:
This is a delicious sausage I package in bulk for biscuits and gravy or sausage patties with breakfast. It's also amazing in egg casserole recipes that call for sausage.

• 10 pounds game meat
• 5 pounds pork fat
• 2 1/2 Tbsp sea salt
• 2 1/2 Tbsp fresh ground coarse black pepper
• 1/2 tsp nutmeg
• 1/2 tsp clove
• 1 tsp allspice
• 1 1/2 tsp garlic powder
• 4 Tbsp rubbed sage
• 1 1/2 ground ginger

Coarsely grind game meat and fat back separately. Add spices and mix by hand, then run spiced mixture through coarse grinder again. Vacuum seal in 1 pound packages.

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2. Bobby Flay's Elk Sausage:
Last year was the first year I tried this one, and it was an absolute favorite. Brilliant on the grill or in recipes, I'm making this one in lieu of Italian sausage this year. I've given you my modified version, but you can find the original recipe here.

• 10 pounds elk meat (or other game meat)
• 5 pounds pork fat
• 2 Tbsp dry thyme
• 2 Tbsp dry oregano
• 2 Tbsp dry sage
• 1/4 cup salt
• 2 cups finely chopped onion
• 1 cup or more finely chopped garlic
• 1/2 cup crushed red chili pepper flakes
• 10 to 15 feet sausage casing

Coarsely grind meat and fat separately, add seasonings & run through grinder into sausage casings. Twist links and dry before packaging for storage.

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3. Bratwurst:
For more flavor, I used a dark beer for the brats. We all enjoy them throughout the year on a crusty bun with sauerkraut and spicy mustard.

• 10 pounds game meat
• 5 pounds pork fat
• 6 Tbsp salt
• 2 Tbsp sugar
• 3 tsp nutmeg
• 1 tsp coriander
• 3/4 tsp celery seed
• 4 tsp black pepper
• 1/2 tsp marjoram
• 3 tsp ground ginger
• 1 cup beer

Coarsely grind meat and fat separately, add seasonings & run through grinder into sausage casings. Twist links and dry before packaging for storage.

Turtle nuggets

Until recently, when someone told me we'd be eating turtle, I instantly imagined a lovely dessert with chocolate, caramel and pecans. Then the Hubby found a snapping turtle on the road and decided he wanted to eat it. "T.E.O.T.W.A.W.K.I. Turtle" is what he calls it. (For those of you not up on "prepper" jargon, that long acronym stands for The End Of The World As We Know It.) Ok, ok, redneck jokes aside, I rolled my eyes and tried to get in to the idea of consuming reptile.

My only reptilian culinary experience was with alligator fritters, which I found tender and delicious. They were lightly battered, had consistency like fish, but were decidedly more chicken-like in flavor. I was cautiously optimistic that snapping turtle might lend itself to the same mild flavor.

As we got closer to the day when we would actually prepare the turtle, while the kids were huddled around the stock tank admiring it resting benignly beneath the water, I began to lose my nerve about dispatching the thing. It seemed harmless enough, after all. But then the Hubby enlightened me to the well publicized fact that snapping turtles are responsible for maiming cattle every year, as they bite off the teats of wading cows. Well, that did it. With new resolve, I gave the nod and the Hubby began his quest to find a decent way to prepare our new game meat.

Hubby scoured the internet for info on killing, cleaning, and cooking snapping turtle. Thankfully, the southern part of the U.S. is loaded with the things (imagine herds of udderless cows with hungry, frustrated calves) and there are no shortage of hillbillies with video cameras ready to impart their wisdom on YouTube.

First you need a good "whomping stick". You don't actually kill the turtle with the stick, you just "whomp" it in the nose like you're driving a golf ball down the fairway, and then run up to its head while the turtle is seeing stars and decapitate it before it wakes up and takes off your hand.

Once head and turtle are separated, you need a cutting board with a nail protruding from it, sharp side up. That's for sticking the turtle parts on so they don't crawl away while you're slicing the meat off of them. Oh, yeah. Reptile muscles require no connection with a nervous system to continue to operate. That's why snake heads can still bite you after they've been removed from the body. I didn't quite anticipate the impact this uniquely reptilian adaptation would have on me. I usually have a pretty strong stomach for butchering and processing game, but something about limbs recoiling as they're being severed turned even my stomach. I couldn't watch, so there are not many pictures of the processing part.

Big biting muscles mean there is lots of good meat on the head.

Once the meat was in the bowl, it could have been mistaken for pork, if it weren't for the fact that the pieces were still twitching. All the pieces went into a soup pot filled with water and were boiled for about 2 hours.

We drained the meat, and Hubby created a batter. As usual, he used every spice in the cabinet so I have no idea how to tell you to reproduce it. Sorry. I did observe him dipping the pieces in egg batter, then rolling them in his seasoned flour, breadcrumb mixture.

Then, we pan fried the nuggets.

Amazingly, the nuggets were delicious. They were decidedly more dense than alligator, with more of a pork-like consistency, and no fishiness. The kids loved it so much they wanted more turtle nuggets for dessert, begging in sing song "we want turtle, we want turtle". And to think we have friends whose kids will only eat peanut butter and jelly.

While I'm fairly certain a chain of Turtle-Fil-A restaurants will not spring up across the U.S., I can confidently state that snapping turtle is indelibly inked onto a growing list of T.E.O.T.W.A.W.K.I. menu items. Who knows, I may even eat it again in a non-starvation survival scenario.

Dove hunting and its delicious result

September first is a bona fide holiday in our family. For generations, my hubby's family members have taken the day off of work and freed their kids from school to celebrate the opening day of mourning dove season.

When I first met the hubby (then boyfriend) I began joining him on this sacred holiday, and I have since learned to love dove openers. Unlike the wintertime water foul seasons, it's typically warm enough on September 1st to wear shorts. You pack a lunch, some water, and many, many boxes of shotgun shells and, if you're lucky, you come home with fewer than a dozen doves. If you're me, you come home with one bird...ok, so shotgunning fast-moving airborne game birds is not my strong suit. But my lack of success dove hunting doesn't keep me from going.

This year, we packed both of the kids, who were eager to participate in this family tradition. Though Little Sister is still too young and excitable to handle even a toy gun, Boy has demonstrated extremely disciplined gun handling skills with his toy guns and, as a result, was given his first shotgun for his 5th birthday.

This isn't any shotgun either. This JC Higgins 410 single-shot was his daddy's first shotgun, and his granddaddy's first shotgun as well. While Boy is still a bit too small to handle it by himself, he did get a chance to fire a round in the direction of a dove...with no success, but at least he was in good company. It was a fun morning, and the kids both came home dirty and tired, and we had a collective count of about 10 birds to show for our efforts.

The Hubby went out for the afternoon shoot, sans wife and kids, and came home with about 20 more. Out here, while there is a 15 bird limit on our native mourning dove, the larger, non-native Eurasian collared dove has begun to dominate the habitat and resources of the mourning dove, and is therefore considered a nuisance species. There is no limit on collared dove.

So what do you do with 30 or so dove?  I typically make a fun little appetizer called Dove Poppers which is a half dove breast marinated in Chipotle Tobasco sauce atop a cream cheese stuffed half jalapeno, wrapped with bacon and then baked, but this year, due to the volume of little dove breasts in the fridge, the Hubby suggested a dove jambalaya...ooooh, I love it when he talks food.

So we began looking into recipes and managed to adapt a few to meet our needs. I was extremely disappointed with the store-bought Cajun seasoning options, so the Hubby found a great recipe for it as well and I included it here too, but feel free to use a store-bought one you like if you'd rather. The jambalaya was a huge success, and we both agreed it was our new favorite recipe for dove! It made a huge pot, and was perfect for a group, and the dove meat was fork tender, moist and delicious. Even people who turn their noses up at game meat would be hard pressed to find flaw with this recipe, so without further ado, here it is.

Dove Jambalaya

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  6 slices thick cut bacon, cut into1-inch pieces
• 1 pound cooked ham, diced
• 2 pounds boneless dove breasts
• 1 package cooked andouille sausage
• 3 T butter
• 2 cups chopped celery
• 2 cups bell pepper, seeded and chopped
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 4 (14.5 ounce) cans diced tomatoes, with liquid
• 4 cups beef broth
• 4 cups chicken broth
• 6 T. Cajun seasoning (recipe below) divided
• 3 cups uncooked white rice

1. Sprinkle 3-4 T of Cajun seasoning over dove breasts and toss to coat.
2. In a large stockpot, cook bacon over medium heat until crisp. Remove bacon with a slotted spoon and set aside.
3. Add dove breasts to pot and brown in batches in bacon grease. Return browned meat and bacon to pan and add diced ham and sliced sausage. Set aside.
4. In a separate pan, heat butter over medium heat. Add celery, pepper, onion and garlic and saute until soft.
5. Add veggies to meat in stock pot, along with tomatoes, broth and 2 T. Cajun seasoning. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer approximately 2 hours.
6. Stir in rice and cover, setting timer for 20 minutes. Stir occasionally to keep rice from sticking to bottom of pot.
7. Remove pot from heat and let set 10 minutes before serving.

Cajun Seasoning

• 5 T. paprika
• 2 T. fresh ground black pepper
• 1 T. onion powder
• 1 T. garlic powder
• 1 T. dried oregano
• 1 T. dried basil
• 1 T dried thyme
• 1 T. salt
• 1 tsp. white pepper
• 1 tsp. cayenne pepper (or to taste)
• 1 tsp. ground coriander

'Horse crazy' is an incurable disease

A dear friend of mine sent me this video after I was lamenting the transition of my beautiful horse property to a frumpy old livestock farm.

It occurred to me after watching the video that the love of horses, or what I call being Horse Crazy is a lifelong affliction. Some people who claim to "like horses" may not suffer from the disease, but for those of us who would trade anything--dignity, money, friends, normalcy--for the chance to be near one of those creatures, it's a life sentence. It can be expensive, painful, frustrating, infuriating, rewarding, blissful. But the addiction doesn't ever go away. You may be able to hide it for a while, but eventually, it will rear it's forelocked head.

My beloved horse Blacky turned 23 this year. I've had him for 10 of those years. I make time to get on him periodically to lope his arthritic joints around the pasture, but since kids, the old guy and I just haven't been able to do the trail riding we used to live for.

Blacky, taken 10/2010

Did I ever tell you about the time Blacky saved my life? No? Well, it goes something like this...

We were up at elk camp in the Colorado mountains. The horses (Blacky and hubby's mule Red) and I had dropped him off at the top of the mountain to archery hunt on foot. On the way home we spied a lovely little trail and decided to take a stroll, me atop Blacky, Red being ponied behind. Baxter the dog (my first child) trotted along beside us sniffing the trail and marking it as we went.

As we came to the treeline, the trail started getting muddier and muddier. A ways into the trees, a huge pine lay across the trail, but upon closer inspection, I noticed animal tracks heading off the trail to the left on what appeared to be the path around the obstacle. Baxter also investigated the path and, though it was muddy, he successfully navigated around the log.

Following Baxter's lead, I turned Blacky off the trail, dragging Red behind me. A few steps off the main trail, I felt Blacky's front end drop out from beneath me. Believing that he stumbled, I kicked him on, and felt the back half of him drop down too. The rope connecting the horn of my saddle to Red was taught across my leg as the old mule saw what had happened to his buddy and refused to follow. 

Red the mule at elk camp

As I looked around to evaluate my predicament, I observed that I was hip deep in mud, atop my 15.3 hand horse who was struggling to keep his nostrils from filling up with swamp water. The same mud that was thick enough to support my 40 pound dog was only the shell on a bog-like sink hole that Blacky and I were now in.

Blacky never struggled, flailed or panicked. I untied the mule's rope from my saddle horn to free him (and me). I swung my leg over the mud topping my horse's rump. I slithered down, clinging to the saddle while I searched for a foothold in the mud. I found a submerged log to stand on that Blacky was apparently straddling.

I began to pray...it wasn't fancy, but went something like, "OK. What do I do now, God?" Thoughts of leaving to get the truck to drag the horse out, and firing off 3 shots as the universal signal to send help went through my head, but I needed to try to get Blacky out first.

Still grasping Blacky's rein, I spotted some trees growing out of the mud a few yards away. I estimated that the trees must be rooted to something, so there should be solid ground beneath them. Half laying on top of the thickest surface mud, while simultaneously kicking my feet in the soup beneath me, I made my way to the bank. Once there, I began pulling on Blacky's rein to drag him toward me, literally on top of me, as it was the only exit I knew of.

Still, he never panicked, and never fought. He made a first huge lunge toward me and landed to rest. I urged him on again. He gathered his might and leaped toward me again. This time I felt his front legs slip past mine as he searched for firm ground. He found it. Slowly, carefully he picked his way up the embankment until he was standing on dry land, coated to the ears with mud and algae.

As I looked down, I realized that my appearance matched my horse's as my jeans, now heavy with mud were situated somewhere below my rear end.

We were quite a group, walking back to camp. Red mule led the parade, his lead rope dangling. He checked back periodically to ensure we were following him, but there was no way in his little mule mind that he would trust me to lead him after I nearly drowned his best friend. I was next in line, pants sagging, mud-caked pistol protruding from the pocket, and blaze orange hunting vest coated with black & green from the mud and algae. Last came Blacky, soaked with mud, head dragging from exhaustion. We all made it back to camp that morning by the grace of God and I spent the next 6 hours before the Hubby got home attempting to clean human, horses and tack using a dish sponge from the camp's kitchen dipped in the creek running by camp. 

Some non-horsey people will read this story and wonder how I could see it as horse saving human, when I was the one who dragged the old guy out of the swamp. But anyone who really KNOWS horses understands that a horse who, when tested with a fight for survival, puts his rider first is worth his weight in gold. I've ridden horses that tried to kill me for taking off my helmet at the end of a ride. I've rehabbed thoroughbreds that have been airborne more than they were in contact with the arena floor because they were so hopped up on rocket fuel that 2 weeks of stall rest turned them into ticking time-bombs. So, to now own a fellow like Blacky, I feel truly blessed, even in his retirement. He's not perfect and he still crow hops and bucks on virtually every outing, and he'll never be a beginners horse or a lesson nag, but he's still my horse & I love him. 

The point of this story is this: if, like the girl in the video, you're willing to train a flippin' cow to jump because you long for a horse so badly, you've got the same disease I've got..."Horse Crazy". There's no cure, and even the most trainable cow won't stave off the symptoms forever. Only a horse will do, and the good ones will keep you coming back for a lifetime.