Wild Chef reader Neil Selbicky decided to get another piece of the Food Fight action this week with a tremendous sounding steelhead sandwich. Selbicky was even nice enough to hook us up with the recipe, which I can’t wait to try. Unfortunately, there’s a bit of a steelhead shortage here in the Nebraska Panhandle so I’m going to use a bit of a ringer this week. My photo is a few years old, but I still remember the taste, mostly of the greasy smoked salmon vodka that accompanied my meal. But the sandwich was pretty good.
I once ate 48 oysters in a single day. Not in one sitting mind you—more like over the course of 12 hours. Still, you have to admit that’s a lot of oysters. Each time another dozen appeared, I heard line from Cool Hand Luke in my head: “My boy says he can eat 50 eggs, he can eat 50 eggs.” I didn't quite make it to 50. I may be a glutton, but not for punishment. I was smart enough to stop before I ended up feeling like ol’ Luke did after finishing his feat in the movie.**
After more than a year of anticipation, I finally got my hands on an advance copy of the new "Remington Camp Cooking" cookbook. Chef Charlie Palmer first clued me into the project when I sat next to him at dinner during the 2012 SHOT Show.
As I mentioned in that post, Palmer is one of us, a hunter and all-around regular guy, despite the fact that he’s responsible for more than a dozen restaurants around the country, as well as a handful of wine shops and boutique hotels. You wouldn’t know it by sitting next to him as he relates stories of hunting with his boys. True to that everyman style, the recipes in Remington Camp Cooking aren’t out of reach for most home cooks.
I am somewhat jinxed when it comes to hunting wild pigs. I don’t know how many times I’ve gone on quote-unquote “slam-dunk” hog hunts that turned into the standard “you should have been here yesterday” affairs with nary a swine in sight. Now I’ve broken the curse with a successful east Texas hog hunt at the Circle WC Ranch near Cuthand, Texas.
In my post last week about what to eat on an ice-fishing trip, I mentioned both moose steaks and fried fish. Well, here are the meals I was talking about—both cooked up by my friend Phil Francone, a native to the Nebraska Panhandle who’s been working out of Cabela’s Canada headquarters for the past couple years. While he’s not quite fully assimilated, he does have a firm handle on the hospitality Canadians are so well known for and opened his home to us for a few days of fun on the ice.
I’ve only had the opportunity to try carp on a few occasions, but each time it was in a different, nondescript dive bar perched just a few steps away from some sort of muddy river or creek. Though the provenance of the fried fillets filling the paper-lined basket was never stated, the implication was the fish hadn’t journeyed far from water to Fry-o-lator.
I don't know about your neck of the woods, but here in New York it hardly feels like spring yet. It's freezing today. It's supposed to be freezing all weekend. And Monday's forecast calls for snow. Nonetheless, I'm ready for spring—ready for the trout, the gobblers, and some fresh, seasonal flavors—and if that means I have to live in denial for another week or so, so be it.
As root vegetables and apples begin to give way to asparagus and strawberries in my kitchen, it's also time to refresh the cocktail menu with drinks that help me cool off rather than stay warm. Typically, gin is my go-to warm-weather spirit, but the good folks at George Dickel have shared a couple whiskey drinks that are perfect for spring.
A couple of longtime Wild Chef readers and frequent Food Fighters have stepped it up again this week in attempt to answer the question: Which meal is better—breakfast or supper?
I just got home from a 2,000-mile road trip from western Nebraska to Winnipeg, where some friends and I battled blizzard conditions in the hopes of icing a few perch, walleye, and whitefish. Unfortunately, the fish stayed pretty tight lipped, though we did manage to catch enough for a fish fry—including the largest, fattest perch I’ve ever pulled through the ice. And while underwater, mouths were closed, on top of the hard-water ours were routinely open as we tried to stay warm by ingesting as many calories as possible.
I confess: Until my girlfriend moved in last summer, I did not own a Crock-Pot. So ubiquitous is the electric slow cooker that for many home cooks, admitting you don’t use one is akin to saying you don’t own an oven. Oh, I had a Crock-Pot in a past life, but once left it at a game feed many years ago and never saw it again. Truth is, I don’t really miss it. You see, my slow cooker is my Dutch oven, which you see here simmering a batch of choucroute garnie.