Good Read: Steven Rinella on hunting

I literally got chills reading this NY Times Op-Ed on hunting wild game. It explores the obvious yet completely ignored relationship between "eating local" and hunting.


A couple of choice quotes.

EVERY year, 15 million licensed hunters head into America’s forests and fields in search of wild game. In New York State alone, roughly half a million hunters harvest around 190,000 deer in the fall deer hunting season — that’s close to eight million pounds of venison. In the traditional vernacular, we’d call that “game meat.” But, in keeping with the times, it might be better to relabel it as free-range, grass-fed, organic, locally produced, locally harvested, sustainable, native, low-stress, low-impact, humanely slaughtered meat.

...the literature of localism neglects the management and harvest of wildlife. This is a shame, because hunters are the original locavores. When I was growing up in Michigan, my family ate three or four deer every year, along with rabbits, squirrel, ducks and grouse that were harvested mostly within eight miles of our house.

I wholeheartedly agree.

RELATED: Killing Chickens, or Where Food Comes From

King Corn debuts Friday at Grand Illusion

Just a quick note: King Corn (which we wrote about a month ago) makes its Seattle debut this Friday at the Grand Illusion.

And get this: director Aaron Woolf will be in town to do two Q&As, during both the Friday and Saturday 7pm showings.


RELATED: King Corn: Documentary on the corning of America



[where: 98105]

Good Read: Verlyn Klinkenborg on killing his pigs

Thanks to Grinder, I just read Verlyn Klinkenborg's succinct, thought-provoking and tender editorial on his journey from raising pigs to eating their meat.


It's four perfect paragraphs, so try to pencil in a reading.
Here's a taste:

Knowing that you’re doing something for the last time is a uniquely human fear. I thought that would be the hardest thing about having pigs. In fact, it’s not so hard, though it does remind me that humans have trouble thinking carefully about who knows what. One day soon I’ll step into the pen and give the pigs a thorough scratching, behind the ears, between the eyes, down the spine. Their tails will straighten with pleasure. It will be the last time. I will know it, and they simply won’t.

Good Read: The return of heritage turkey breeds

The Seattle Times's story on heritage turkeys renewed my excitement for Thanksgiving. Yep, this year we'll be tasting our very first heritage turkey. And you know what? I really cannot wait.

Usually the turkey is, well, you know it's pretty good. I like the dark meat. But those enormous white breasts so prized by Butterballers around the nation? You know, the ones that the turkeys are bred to have? They leave me luke-warm, or less.


Did you ever think that maybe there's a reason most of us eat turkey once a year? Sure, we'll have the occasional turkey burger, or we'll sub some turkey sausage in for pork. But I never roast a turkey like I'd roast a chicken. Maybe this is why:

Turkey used to have taste. But that was before turkeys were genetically honed to be not much more than a giant hunk of white meat on stubby legs. Today's conventionally-raised turkey is a freak of nature that, left on its own, would not live a year.

Most turkeys eaten by Americans today are a single variety: the Broad-breasted White. It's a bird bred to grow fast, with huge amounts of breast meat. It's so top heavy in the cleavage it can't walk right; the most it can manage is a waddle. It can't fly, jump or run. And it's so corpulent and misshapen the poor thing can't even copulate; Broad-breasted Whites have to be artificially inseminated.

Heritage turkeys, on the other hand, are bred for flavor. Oh, and they can reproduce without human help! Which is nice for them, I'm guessing.


Herbfarm chef Jerry Traunfeld says:

"It definitely has more flavor than the modern turkey, which has just been bred to be some kind of monster to grow really fast and have this huge amount of breast meat," Traunfeld said. "And they are beautiful when they are cooked, they are a nice, small size — and you get a lot of crispy skin."

Not everyone agrees, though. Sara Dickerman, Seattle Magazine's food editor, did a taste-test of turkeys and came up with a surprising favorite.

It might be a little too late to reserve a heritage turkey this year, but it's worth a call or two. Here's a good place to start.



[where: 98118]

King Corn: Documentary on the corning of America

"Everything on your plate is corn"
King Corn is being hailed as the Super Size Me of the farming industry: Two friends (Curt Ellis and Ian Cheney) from Boston move to Iowa to raise corn, and along the way they find out how the farming industry really works in America.


From the NY Times:

Mr. Ellis and Mr. Cheney moved to Iowa, in 2003, where they grew an acre of corn and followed it from the ground to the town’s overflowing grain elevators and beyond. Their journey took them to Colorado, where corn-fed cows stood shoulder to shoulder in their own excrement waiting to become cheap hamburgers, and it took them as well to Brooklyn to examine how high fructose corn syrup in sodas has contributed to the nation’s high obesity and diabetes rates.

We're not growing quality, we're growing crap.

From Salon:

Propped up by irrational subsidies and massive doses of fertilizer and herbicide, Midwestern corn production reaches new highs almost every year. Most of the golden grain is not going to wholesome summertime dinners but rather into the production of cattle feed and high-fructose corn syrup for soft drinks and other sweetened products. Corn is ubiquitous in the American diet even if you think you're not eating it, and the deranged overproduction of corn instituted in the Nixon era has directly contributed to epidemic levels of obesity and diabetes. Thankfully, this information arrives via a graceful and frequently humorous film that captures the idiosyncrasies of its characters and never hectors.

If you're at all interested in sustainable agriculture and/or nutrition, this movie looks like a good one.

UPDATE: Looks like the Grand Illusion will be showing the movie, though there aren't any dates listed yet. Road-trippers can see it in Portland at the Hollywood Theater beginning Nov. 9.

In the mean time, check out Curt Ellis's blog on Culinate.com.


*quotes above were taken from the trailor on www.kingcorn.net.
[where: 98101]

Killing Chickens: Where food comes from

My first editor, Steven, once told me he'd killed a chicken. He said he'd done some soul searching and had decided that if he was going to eat chicken flesh, he should have the huevos to actually kill one. So I guess he went to a farm and killed a chicken. Yeah, Steven has an extreme side to him.


But he also has a point. The first time I went elk hunting with Ed in Jackson I wasn't prepared to actually kill an elk myself, but I knew I liked to eat elk meat and I knew Ed was an ethical hunter. So when Ed shot an elk the next day (I'd opted out of the hunt that day), I decided I'd help him pack it out.

We hiked into the forest, where Ed had field-dressed the beautiful animal. I was afraid to go near it at first; I could smell the blood, see the insides of the elk, and I just really didn't know how to handle it.


I finally walked over to the elk, I bent down, and I pet the soft fur on its cheek. Of course tears ran into my eyes, but I also had an immense feeling of gratitude toward this animal. Maybe it sounds hokey, but I made a promise to myself that I would eat every last piece of meat that the elk provided. I don't think I understood that there's an unspoken agreement between predator and prey until it hit me like a ton of bricks: If you take an animal to eat, you are obligated to waste nothing.

And then I packed an 80lb hind quarter out of the woods, which was hard as all hell.

It sounds like Elise Bauer, the author of my favorite recipe site, Simply Recipes, had a similarly powerful experience recently, when she traveled all the way to Iowa for no other reason than to visit a pig farm. Read about her amazing trip hanging out with the piglets (and seeing what pork looks like before it's bacon) here.