Venison: America's Meat

A Brief History of Venison (And Why You Should Eat It)

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:44:32 -0500

Before there was an America, there was America’s meat. The first European explorers in the New World came face to muzzle with astonishing numbers of “stag” that met them just beyond the Atlantic dunes—and they greeted the game early on with blasts from their muskets. Plymouth pilgrims and Wampanoag natives ate venison at the first Thanksgiving, saying grace over the whitetails that staved off starvation. Pioneers, fur trappers, priests—the quest for New World freedoms, riches, and souls was fueled by the flesh of whitetail deer. And long before these settlers arrived, whitetails formed the very sinew and soul and sustenance of the first Americans—Ojibway and Shawnee, Seminole and Creek, Santee and Tuscarora.

I don’t want to overstate the case, but that would be difficult: From the beginning, venison made America. Back in the day, if you wanted to eat, you ate a highly processed form of acorns and persimmons and chestnuts and greenbrier. You ate the very fabric of the forest. You ate deer.

You no longer have to, of course. Your local grocer stocks the flesh and bones of cows, pigs, goats, sheep, chickens, ducks, geese—some of which, praise be, are raised free of chemicals and confinement and are nearly as free to romp and roam as, well, a whitetail deer. Yet despite all of this, some of us still choose to kill a deer, disassemble its limbs, fuss over freezing methods, and trade recipes with hunting buddies like ladies planning a church bazaar.

Why? Because venison is low in fat. Because it can be obtained relatively cheaply. Because it is free of the pharmacological stew of growth hormones, antibiotics, and antifungals fed or injected into commercial livestock. Because venison resonates with the current slow-food movement, and locavorism, the hip new mantra of community-based consumption that short-circuits the burning of fossil fuels. Eat a deer, save the planet.

But there’s more to venison than a mouthful of healthy protein. There are qualities to deer meat that can only resonate with the person who’s shopped for groceries with a finger on the trigger. Killing a deer is a kind of acceptance of the interconnectedness of life. Dragging a deer from the woods is sweaty work, but work salted with the knowledge that your family will say grace over your efforts for a year or better. And sitting down to a venison supper brings it all back—the shot and the sweat, sure. But also the wet smell of dawn in the woods, the crunch of frost underfoot, the bobcat dozing in the sunlight at the base of your tree. Good seasonings, those.

Some of the best chefs in America understand this innate connection between whitetail deer, the wild places where they live, and the plate. Even nonhunting chefs share the satisfaction gained from gathering one’s own food. And they certainly understand that, for all its positive attributes, venison’s taste just might trump them all. That’s why the five chefs we’ve featured here serve venison from their own kitchens. And that’s why they’ve agreed to share their best venison recipes with us.

So forget apple pie. There is no food more fundamental to this nation than a haunch of deer.

The Tribute: Behold, The Backstrap

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:39:31 -0500

Thoughts on eating venison from Editor-at-Large T. Edward Nickens.

Sure, the tenderloins are a more immediate delicacy, but they are a fleeting pleasure, really, small and flirtatious and destined to leave you wanting more. It is the longissimus dorsi muscle—the vaunted backstrap—that aids the deer in its soaring bounds, its nitrogen-powered, zero-to-see-ya-later speeds, and its incomparable edibility.

The backstraps lie just to the sides of the transverse processes of the vertebrae. They are easily freed of gristle and connective tissue and are perhaps the leanest meat on the carcass. They can be removed with a paring knife and cut with a fork. Like good rice or stone-ground grits, backstraps are both step-side pickup and Lamborghini Murciélago: They can stand alone on a plate, seasoned with little more than flame and pepper, or serve as a canvas for individual expression.

Every serious deer hunter has a secret preparation—a coveted recipe handed down by a grizzled uncle or stumbled upon thanks to just enough beer to make you forget the strictures of culinary decency. I’ve had backstrap slathered in mustard and Coca-Cola, split like a pig and stuffed with tomatoes, and stewed with onions by a Cajun spiritualist.

And each time, it was delicious. I’ve also had backstrap bad many times, but the sin was the same: overcooking. Do with the backstrap what you will, but serve it as rare as you can get away with. That way you may very well eat in one sitting as much backstrap as a single human being can stand. But never so much that you are not wanting more.

The Plea: Remember the Liver

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:37:55 -0500

Thoughts on eating venison from Editor Anthony Licata.

When my dad was teaching me to hunt deer, he’d run through a checklist before we left the house. License? Got it. Cartridges? Yep. Deer drag? Uh-huh. Empty plastic bread bag? Of course. How else was I to carry home that once-a-year treat: fresh venison liver?

I still pack a bag for liver, but I seem to be the exception judging from the strange looks I get from my hunting companions as I reach into the entrails of their field-dressed deer to pluck that glorious purple slab out of the pile.

Liver, once an American staple, now has an image problem. Maybe it’s because a generation only knows the dish from Mom’s frying a nasty old cow’s liver until it had the texture of a hunting boot. Which is too bad, since venison liver, served slightly pink inside, is packed with flavor and a traditional way to celebrate a successful hunt. I’ve eaten it as a family meal at home, as a snack at camp, and grilled over a fire on a mountainside as the buck it belonged to lay next to me, cooling in the snow.

Our increasingly timid tastes have hurt liver’s popularity. Hunters should be more adventurous. If you’re the type who loves grilled chicken breast, there’s not much I can tell you other than, if you’re not going to take the liver, do you mind if I do?

The Manifesto: Eat What You Kill

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:36:36 -0500

Thoughts on eating venison from F&S contributor Steven Rinella.

Why should you eat the deer that you kill? For a moment, let’s dismiss the obvious reasons. Forget the nutritional value of venison, which has higher protein levels and less fat than domesticated, grain-fattened beef and pork. Set aside the flavor, which is more substantial and interesting than anything you’ll find at the grocery. Never mind the economic benefits of a pursuit that can reward a day’s work with enough meat to feed you for a year. And toss aside how properly stored venison allows you to relive the memories from a great season around your family’s dinner table.

What’s left? Probably the biggest reason of them all: because we love our rights as hunters. Every year, American outdoorsmen lose critical wildlife habitat, hunting privileges, and access to land due to the actions of a public that all too often views hunting as a cruel and frivolous sport. Responsible hunters battle these losses with their votes, wallets, and pens—all very important tools—but we shouldn’t forget to use our forks as well.

Through the examples of our eating habits and our thorough care for and preparation of game, hunters can demonstrate to others that we count on wild places and wild animals for an important and irreplaceable part of our physical sustenance. Now is the time to make this connection, because current national discussions about food rely on catchphrases that will look familiar to hunters: locally harvested, free-range, organic, humanely slaughtered. Some nonhunters will never understand the passion that pulls us into the woods, but many of them will sympathize with our passion for what we bring home. In my mind, this puts hunters into a pretty good position. In the battle to protect hunting, the most effective tool might just be the most delicious.

The Ritual: After Death, Before Venison

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:34:03 -0500

Thoughts on eating venison from author and F&S contributor Rick Bass.

It’s not my place at all to suggest a right way or a wrong way. My own view is that if a post-kill ritual comes naturally, fine. But if it doesn’t, it’s as disrespectful to fake as it is to not even consider one in the first place. I don’t much like hearing other hunters whoop and shout and high-five following the occasions when they are fortunate enough to find an animal—I don’t care for that at all. But I usually hunt far enough into the backcountry that that curious aversion of mine generally takes care of itself—self-selected against such intrusion by distance and terrain.

I should hasten to say that post-kill rituals can take quite a long time to develop—years, or decades—and it’s possible also that as we age and become more attuned to our own mortality, we gain a greater interest in such matters: an increased empathy, curiosity, awareness. The ritual is partly for the animal but also partly for ourselves.

The first part of my ritual is easy; it’s what our parents told us a long time ago, the please and thank you rule. I say thank you—very quietly, under my breath really—to the mountain I’m on and to the animal. Then I set about cleaning the animal. It’s often too far from a road or trail to drag, so I quarter it for packing out. I like to leave the meat on the bone for aging—hams and shoulders—but I make sure the carcass that remains—head, vertebrae, ribs—is positioned on its side, with each part as it was, back in the brief assembly of life. I place each foreleg and shin in its appropriate pairing, so that the animal is positioned as if in midflight, reminding me of the great Edward Hoagland line about a leopard poised to jump as if in “an extra-emphatic leap into the hereafter.”

Lastly, I place my brass bullet casing against the trunk of the tree where I was sitting and position a rock over it. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever be back to that tree—there’s too much new country to hunt and too few years. But I like to think that someday, maybe a century or more from now, a hunter might be sitting against that same tree in the fall and, should he or she dislodge that oddly tilted stone—which would be lichen-covered by then and gripped with a webbing of kinnikinnick—might notice the brass and understand that once upon a time there was another hunter like him or her.

Will hunters still be pursuing deer with .270-calibers, or will that traditional rifle seem by that point as quaint as stone arrowheads? I have no idea. But I like to imagine that such a hunter will stop to wonder and realize and remember that each of us is part of an ancient equation and relationship, one worthy of respect for our quarry, the landscape we hunt, and for ourselves—the manner in which we pursue our desire and our meals. Life is a privilege; the moments are almost always washing past.

The Obligation: Feed Deer to Your Kids

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:29:43 -0500

Thoughts on eating venison from Editor-at-Large T. Edward Nickens.

For a long time—almost too long—I made the mistake of treating venison as something special. Backstraps were saved for company. Roasts were relegated to holidays. All that changed when the kids came along.

My family of four will eat three whitetails a year, and I’ve learned to treat venison as no big deal. Today, it’s the meat in the soup and in the stew. It’s the meat on the shish kebabs and in the pasta salad. When my kids’ friends are over for dinner, we don’t have “wild-game nights.” We have supper. You want meat? Then it’s a wild-game night. What’s the big deal? (The big deal is that most of their friends rave over “Bambi Spaghetti” and don’t even know it’s venison until later. Which my kids think is hilarious.)

I’m not saying I don’t make a big deal out of a few special meals from each special animal. But by and large, deer meat has become an ordinary part of my kids’ lives, a routine expression of our family’s reliance on the harvest of the woods. I’d argue that that’s a pretty big deal in its own way.

A Quick Guide to Refrigerating and Freezing Fresh Venison

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:17:47 -0500

A venison preparation tip from Hank Shaw, author of the award-winning food blog Hunter Angler Gardener Cook

Your trophy is now heaped on the countertop in small mountains of meat. Here is how to keep the meat fresh-as-the-day-it-was-butchered if you plan to eat it in…

One Week: There’s no need to freeze it for such a short time period. Keep the meat well wrapped, and in the coldest part of the refrigerator, far away from the door.

One Month: Center the meat in laminated freezer paper. Fold the short ends over the meat and turn the package over on a countertop, keeping it in contact with the counter to push out air. Once it’s flipped, use your fingers to press the air out of the sides as if you were sealing an envelope. Repeat twice more and tape the flap.

One Year: There are two methods to keep meat edible for the long stretch. A vacuum sealer sucks all the air out of packages, staving off freezer burn and saving freezer space. If you don’t have a vacuum-sealer, freeze each cut in water. Place the meat in a zip-seal freezer bag, and fill the bag with ice water. Press down on the bag as you seal it so that water spills out of the top, driving air out of the bag. Also, I like to mark each package with the date, the cut, and a detail about the deer, such as “7-pointer by the swamp gate.” That way I can relive the memory with each morsel.

A Better Burger: Five Tips for Making Ground Venison Patties

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 16:39:43 -0500

A venison preparation tip from Hank Shaw, author of the award-winning food blog Hunter Angler Gardener Cook

1. Remember those Brontosaurus burgers your mom made when you were a kid? Charred on the outside, raw inside? Don’t let your venison burgers get thicker than an inch, or you’ll suffer that same fate.

2. Grind your own meat. You’ll get a fresher taste and be able to eat the burger more rare if you’ve ground it just before cooking, as there is less chance for bacterial contamination.

3. Always include at least 20 percent fat with your venison. Any less and it will be dry and crumbly. I go 25 percent.

4. Check the fat on the deer before tossing it. Many whitetails in agricultural areas put on clean-tasting fat that is excellent eating and makes ideal burger fat.

5. If your butcher has removed all the deer’s fat already, use pork fat instead of beef tallow. It’s softer and more neutral tasting and has less saturated fat, meaning it’s better for you.

The Best Meat for Venison Jerky (and How to Slice It)

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 16:20:40 -0500

A venison preparation tip from Hank Shaw, author of the award-winning food blog Hunter Angler Gardener Cook

Nearly every part of the deer can be made into jerky, but the best cuts are the eye round and rump roast from the hind legs. Any large roast from the hind leg will do. Why? Big cuts mean larger pieces of jerky, and these roasts have most of their muscle fibers running in the same direction. This is important.

To our mind, the best jerky is pliable yet chewy—and doesn’t make you gnaw on dried muscle fibers longer than your hand. That means cutting against the grain of the meat, in 1/8-inch-thich slices. Don’t cut too thin or the venison will dry out like a shingle on your roof. The best way to get this cut every time is to partially freeze the meat: A large roast will need 90 minutes to 2 hours in the chiller before cutting.

The Perfect Way to Pan-Fry Venison Tenderloin Medallions

Online Editors — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 15:43:52 -0500

A venison preparation tip from Hank Shaw, author of the award-winning food blog Hunter Angler Gardener Cook

A venison medallion is a 1⁄2- to 3⁄4-inch slice of backstrap cut before or after cooking. Panfrying one perfectly every time takes practice. Here’s how to get that delicious crust and medium-rare center:

1. It’s hard to cook an ice-cold medallion properly. Salt your meat and let it come to room temperature for at least 15 minutes. Pat the meat dry before heating it—wet meat doesn’t sear.

2. Cook whole backstrap of smaller deer. This makes it easier to get it to medium-rare. Small ones pre-cut into medallions will overcook.

3. The thicker the medallion, the lower the heat. Never cook whole loin pieces on high heat for more than a few minutes. I cook pre-sliced medallions on medium heat to get the crust-and-medium-rare combination.

4. Don’t mess with it. Let the loin cook in one spot for a while before turning, and turn only once.

5. Let it rest inside a foil tent for 10 to 15 minutes. This helps the venison stay juicy.