That Gamey Smell

He called about half an hour before Kevin got home. Better than half a deer. Skinned and hung. Did we want it?

Of course.

But wild game is never convenient. You take it when it comes in. Even at midnight (no exaggeration, it has happened!), even when you are enjoying company. Because that is the only way you get it!

Kevin worked half the day (his usual day off), and when he came home he was tired. But after lunch, we went and loaded up the deer. The front half with one backstrap missing, and one back quarter. Tossed onto a sheet of clear plastic in the back of the van. Halfway home the smell of it has come to the front of the car, and we know there’s a deer back there. Not strong. But definitely wild.

Into the house, and onto the floor, on that same sheet of clear plastic. We cut it up on a low card table, with Kevin sawing up the carcass and boning out the meat, me trimming and cutting. This time we just boned it out, chunked it (plus some steaks), bagged it, and put it into the freezer.  We’ll thaw it and chunk it to can or grind into burger when time is more flexible.

Six small backstrap steaks went into the fridge, to cook an hour later. I go back to working on the computer. My hands smell of deer, even after washing up. Not strongly, but enough that I notice.

Dinner is fettucini noodles and deer steaks. Fried in butter, with Real Salt Seasoning Salt.

Just a little chewier than I prefer, but not gamey at all. Tasty. Meaty.

That smell. In the car. In the house. On my hands.

More than just one meal. Thirty odd pounds of meat, which will save us the cost and trouble of shopping for beef, for a few months. Gratitude seems an inadequate word for our appreciation.

That smell, and the backache that always goes with processing an animal.

It is worth it.