Moose hairs are long, thick, and stiff. But when you fry them, they turn to shrunken, curly, wiry things. How do I know this? Experience. You see, there is no Public Health Department that roams the tundra checking food preparation sites. They don’t evaluate the snow, the dirt, the bathtub, the kitchen floor, or any other surface that an animal might get butchered on. (See “Alaska’s Bounties” in the blog.)
That makes things interesting in the food-making department. We get all sorts of little goodies here that we missed out on in the lower 48. Things like hairs, pebbles, and some suspicious looking goop. Makes life interesting—or disgusting.
Even with a three-washing system, we can’t seem to catch all the foreign matter. (My three-wash system? The hunk of meat gets hosed off good after it’s cut up, again before it gets frozen, and I all but scrub it before I cook it.)
We have a friend who shot a moose near the river. Well, the animal promptly walked to the middle of the river, and fell over. Since the thing has the body mass of a small elephant, they had to butcher it right there—underwater. You’d think that would solve the problem of foreign matter in the meat—but it didn’t. They were still picking out “stuff.”
Apparently, when you cut up an animal outside and on kitchen floors, there’s just no way around it—you are going to get extra little tidbits in the meat.
So I have become a very “picky” eater—I pick foreign objects out of my food. But try as I might, I can’t seem to get them all. I still find myself chewing on the occasional moose-hair. If I stay here much longer, I’ll be to be coughing up hair balls.
Showing posts with label moose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moose. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Moose Run Amuck
The other day, two of our new teachers went for a walk to enjoy the scenery of the bush. They are a married couple, and she happens to be pregnant. While they were meandering along, they bumped into a moose and her calf. They got a quick lesson in Bush Survival 101. AVOID MOTHERS AND THEIR CALVES/CUBS AT ALL COST!!! Actually, that is a pretty good idea for survival in general, and the same rule applies across species. Whether you are talking moose, bears, lions, wildebeest, wild pigs, pigeons, or humans—unless you have a death wish, you don’t get in the middle of a mother and her baby.
So these two hapless teachers were strolling along hand-in-hand, and out from behind a tree tromps a very irritated mama moose. They could tell she was annoyed because of all the snorting and bellowing she did. Well, the woman shrieked and took off running. Her husband was right behind her, trying to work his gun out of his pocket—in all the walks they’d taken, this was the first time he had brought along his pistol. And the moose was rapidly gaining ground. Finally, the guy got his gun worked loose, whirled around, and let off a couple of shots. Turns out he is the world’s worst aim. He missed the giant charging moose bearing down on them, and hit the calf way back in the bushes instead. But it worked. The moose stopped chasing them, and ran back to where her calf was.
Mr. Sharpshooter and his pregnant wife hardly broke stride. They ran full out, heading straight for the village.
Meanwhile, the mama moose became even more agitated—she was out for blood. She circled back around and charged out of the bushes in front of the teachers, cutting off their retreat. But this time, Mr. Sharpshooter was ready; he still had the gun in his hand. He let off a couple more shots, and the moose ran off again. The two of them finally made it back to the village, but were rather upset. In fact, the poor woman about went into labor.
Someone reported the incident to the VPOs—Village Police Officers. This is a group of guys posing as village cops, who are about as effective in handling crimes as a bunch of crossing guards. But apparently, they were fascinated with the whole “moose run amuck” idea. And besides, no self-respecting local would pass up a hunt—so they armed themselves and went in search of the crazed animal.
They realized they’d stumbled upon her when she charged at them from the bushes. She had the entire VPO squad on the run. But never fear. They just regrouped, and headed back in to do their “civic duty.” By the time the day was done, both the moose and her calf were dead. And the VPO squad returned to town, heads held high.
After all—you can’t have a mama protecting her baby. That just goes against the laws of nature.
So these two hapless teachers were strolling along hand-in-hand, and out from behind a tree tromps a very irritated mama moose. They could tell she was annoyed because of all the snorting and bellowing she did. Well, the woman shrieked and took off running. Her husband was right behind her, trying to work his gun out of his pocket—in all the walks they’d taken, this was the first time he had brought along his pistol. And the moose was rapidly gaining ground. Finally, the guy got his gun worked loose, whirled around, and let off a couple of shots. Turns out he is the world’s worst aim. He missed the giant charging moose bearing down on them, and hit the calf way back in the bushes instead. But it worked. The moose stopped chasing them, and ran back to where her calf was.
Mr. Sharpshooter and his pregnant wife hardly broke stride. They ran full out, heading straight for the village.
Meanwhile, the mama moose became even more agitated—she was out for blood. She circled back around and charged out of the bushes in front of the teachers, cutting off their retreat. But this time, Mr. Sharpshooter was ready; he still had the gun in his hand. He let off a couple more shots, and the moose ran off again. The two of them finally made it back to the village, but were rather upset. In fact, the poor woman about went into labor.
Someone reported the incident to the VPOs—Village Police Officers. This is a group of guys posing as village cops, who are about as effective in handling crimes as a bunch of crossing guards. But apparently, they were fascinated with the whole “moose run amuck” idea. And besides, no self-respecting local would pass up a hunt—so they armed themselves and went in search of the crazed animal.
They realized they’d stumbled upon her when she charged at them from the bushes. She had the entire VPO squad on the run. But never fear. They just regrouped, and headed back in to do their “civic duty.” By the time the day was done, both the moose and her calf were dead. And the VPO squad returned to town, heads held high.
After all—you can’t have a mama protecting her baby. That just goes against the laws of nature.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Alaska's Bounties
Alaska sure has its bounties. Of course, those come at a price.
For example—we decided that if we are going to survive this experience, we had better start eating better. So we placed a produce order with Full Circle Farms. They are a lovely business of green houses and artificial light that grows produce year round. And they ship out orders via the bush planes. Well, the other day, we had our first order delivered to our door. There is a village agent here—a guy who picks up the mail and any packages from the planes and takes them to the post office or the school. And he’s a nice guy. If he thinks a package might be really expensive or important, or might be damaged if it got frozen, he’ll drop it off right at your door. There are some people in life you will do almost anything to stay on their good side. He is at the top of that list.
So, we got our box of produce. In it was a head of lettuce, some Swiss chard, a small stalk of celery, a bunch of green onions, a very small head of broccoli, a nice sized orange pepper, three tiny purple onions, two smallish grapefruit, three apples, four tiny tangerines, a lime-green mango, about eight of the tiniest red potatoes I’d ever seen (with a combined weight of a single russet), and a small (lip gloss sized) jar of fennel & salt. And we were THRILLED! It’s not very often that a house breaks into dance over produce. The cost of that little treasure chest? A mere $67.50. Yup. In the lower 48 we would have had a very difficult time finding the same stuff, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it sold that small. But if you just went by weight, we could have gotten the same thing for under five bucks. Three if you shopped the sales. But at least we get to eat fresh green stuff for a day or two.
But to make things even more exciting in a “declare it a public holiday” sort of way, Keri and Taco went moose hunting that afternoon—and GOT A MOOSE!!!!! Not only did they get a moose, but on the way back, they almost ran into another one with the snow machine. Moose were out in abundance that night!
A friend of Keri’s, a local by the name of George (though everyone calls him Boise for some unfathomable reason) took them hunting. Showed Keri where he goes to get his moose every year. Yup. This guy has the monopoly on meese—mooses—miisen—those really big things that look like a giant ugly donkey—and he was willing to share. That is one nice friend.
Judging by our past serious lack of success in the hunting department, I really didn’t expect much from the trip. (We are great at trapping rabbits, but had struck out with moose.) So I armed them with toe and hand warmers (those things you put in your boots and gloves so you can carry your own personal heater into the great outdoors while you pretend to rough it). And I humiliated Taco by screaming, “Hey—where’s your hat?!” at the top of my pneumonia-strained lungs. (I had a hard time being heard over the snow machine engine.) Apparently, they were just driving in a circle to make sure the sled was secure. He still had to come inside to finish getting decked out for the trip.
Anyway, when I heard the snow machine pull up front several hours later, I figured their toe and hand warmers had run out of steam or something. I was shocked to see a moose being drug behind in the sled! At first, I thought maybe they had just run into an ugly donkey—like road kill or something. But nope, it was an honest-to-goodness moose. And Keri and Taco were proud as punch!
Personally, I had a hard time looking. I remember being traumatized as a child the time my dad went deer hunting. For weeks, our bedtime story had been several pages out of the novel Bambi. We were convinced shooting animals was a sin.
When it comes to getting meat, I think I prefer picking up nameless and faceless packages of beef in the grocer's freezer. But it's a different world out here.
Keri and Taco brought in the guns and grabbed the knives so they could cut up the moose. (It’s kind of hard to fit the whole thing in a freezer.) About 15 minutes into the job, I heard a banging at the door. There, looking as pathetic as could be, stood my two fearless hunters, each carrying a hind quarter and pleading frostbite.
Before I knew it, I had lost my kitchen floor to the cause.
I threatened them with a night in the great outdoors if there was one drop of blood left anywhere in the house.
They’ve butchered rabbits in my bathtub. They have now butchered a moose on my kitchen floor. I shudder to think what will happen if they ever shoot a bear.
For example—we decided that if we are going to survive this experience, we had better start eating better. So we placed a produce order with Full Circle Farms. They are a lovely business of green houses and artificial light that grows produce year round. And they ship out orders via the bush planes. Well, the other day, we had our first order delivered to our door. There is a village agent here—a guy who picks up the mail and any packages from the planes and takes them to the post office or the school. And he’s a nice guy. If he thinks a package might be really expensive or important, or might be damaged if it got frozen, he’ll drop it off right at your door. There are some people in life you will do almost anything to stay on their good side. He is at the top of that list.
So, we got our box of produce. In it was a head of lettuce, some Swiss chard, a small stalk of celery, a bunch of green onions, a very small head of broccoli, a nice sized orange pepper, three tiny purple onions, two smallish grapefruit, three apples, four tiny tangerines, a lime-green mango, about eight of the tiniest red potatoes I’d ever seen (with a combined weight of a single russet), and a small (lip gloss sized) jar of fennel & salt. And we were THRILLED! It’s not very often that a house breaks into dance over produce. The cost of that little treasure chest? A mere $67.50. Yup. In the lower 48 we would have had a very difficult time finding the same stuff, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it sold that small. But if you just went by weight, we could have gotten the same thing for under five bucks. Three if you shopped the sales. But at least we get to eat fresh green stuff for a day or two.
But to make things even more exciting in a “declare it a public holiday” sort of way, Keri and Taco went moose hunting that afternoon—and GOT A MOOSE!!!!! Not only did they get a moose, but on the way back, they almost ran into another one with the snow machine. Moose were out in abundance that night!
A friend of Keri’s, a local by the name of George (though everyone calls him Boise for some unfathomable reason) took them hunting. Showed Keri where he goes to get his moose every year. Yup. This guy has the monopoly on meese—mooses—miisen—those really big things that look like a giant ugly donkey—and he was willing to share. That is one nice friend.
Judging by our past serious lack of success in the hunting department, I really didn’t expect much from the trip. (We are great at trapping rabbits, but had struck out with moose.) So I armed them with toe and hand warmers (those things you put in your boots and gloves so you can carry your own personal heater into the great outdoors while you pretend to rough it). And I humiliated Taco by screaming, “Hey—where’s your hat?!” at the top of my pneumonia-strained lungs. (I had a hard time being heard over the snow machine engine.) Apparently, they were just driving in a circle to make sure the sled was secure. He still had to come inside to finish getting decked out for the trip.
Anyway, when I heard the snow machine pull up front several hours later, I figured their toe and hand warmers had run out of steam or something. I was shocked to see a moose being drug behind in the sled! At first, I thought maybe they had just run into an ugly donkey—like road kill or something. But nope, it was an honest-to-goodness moose. And Keri and Taco were proud as punch!
Personally, I had a hard time looking. I remember being traumatized as a child the time my dad went deer hunting. For weeks, our bedtime story had been several pages out of the novel Bambi. We were convinced shooting animals was a sin.
When it comes to getting meat, I think I prefer picking up nameless and faceless packages of beef in the grocer's freezer. But it's a different world out here.
Keri and Taco brought in the guns and grabbed the knives so they could cut up the moose. (It’s kind of hard to fit the whole thing in a freezer.) About 15 minutes into the job, I heard a banging at the door. There, looking as pathetic as could be, stood my two fearless hunters, each carrying a hind quarter and pleading frostbite.
Before I knew it, I had lost my kitchen floor to the cause.
I threatened them with a night in the great outdoors if there was one drop of blood left anywhere in the house.
They’ve butchered rabbits in my bathtub. They have now butchered a moose on my kitchen floor. I shudder to think what will happen if they ever shoot a bear.
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