Saturday, November 20, 2010
The better half and myself went away for a day with some incredible, we don't deserve them, friends to a house in the woods, near a river, somewhere north of where we already are. It’s what you do in Michigan: You go “up north.” People do it all the time. Why? ‘Cause it’s there, I guess. In New York, I suppose they’d say they’re going “up state” or something like that.
To each his own.
The nice thing about laptops and the internet is that I can do at least some of my work pretty much anywhere. Which is what I did. But it was a little hard to concentrate with all the relaxing going on around me.
I happened to bring along with us some Alligator tail that I had purchased at a store near Lansing, Michigan, called Merindorf Meats. It’s just that kind of store. They have weird meats. It’s a great store.
So I had to decide what to do with this Alligator. I had never eaten alligator before. Never cooked it. Nothing. It was just a novelty. So I put it in a pot with some tomatoes and carrots and such, adding onions and potatoes and whatever struck my fancy. Cooked it low for hours until we were finally ready for dinner, really late, around eight at night.
We ladled the stew into bowls and, for the life of me, I couldn't find the alligator. It was like aliens had beamed the alligator chunks out of the pot while we weren't looking. Who knew aliens liked alligator? But finally we realized that it had simply broken down and it was spread all throughout the stew. The alligator wasn’t as tough as you’d think an alligator would be. And it was good. It did not die in vain.
But I wonder sometimes what leads me to such things. Why did I buy alligator in the first place? Why did I pull it out for this little trip? Why did I choose to make stew? Why did it end up tasting good? I don’t know why, really. I’m just an adventure seeker, I suppose.
Some people climb mountains. Some people travel the world. I make alligator stew.
Call me reckless, I don’t care.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010