One of the things I learned when we moved to Rushville, MO was the difference from my California, big city life to life in the country when it comes to foods and how they are prepaired. Some of the adjustment was learning exacly how much batter to use when you batter and flour anything resemling chicken, thus making it acceptable to the redneck pallet.
One of the most interesting new things for me, was to go into the woods and gather food. I knew it could be done, but actually selecting edibles from the forest floor made me a bit uneasy. What if I poisoned my hubby instead of nurishing him? Learning the secrets of the Morel Mushroom Hunt took years and frankly, it never excited me to walk for hours, in snake infested woods, avoiding poison ivy and being slapped in the face with the thorny branches of locust trees.
In the end, a plastic grocery sack filled with dirt, twigs, ants and beetles, oh...and some mushrooms is the reward.
Still looking for a redeeming degree of entertainment or flavor for foraging the forest floor for fine foods, I learned to cook the priceless wrinkled shrooms. Soak them, clean them, dry them, dip them in an egg mixture, roll them in seasoned flour and pan fry to golden brown.
Take a big bite and....YUCK, BLECH...SPUTTER.... Wow...not worth it at all...what was I thinking. It has to be an aquired taste.
Then, something changed that made it worth it. John came in for dinner. His eyes lit up when he saw the platter filled with mushroom goodness. He took a bite and his face exploded into a grin so wide he couldn't hide the partly eaten mushrooms in his cheeks. He regained his composure and devored every bit of the fungus I found offensive.
His love of morrels makes it worth finding them for him.
It's not about whether I like the foods of the forrest, but that in cooking them I honor my redneck man and more than that, I honor God's requirement for a Redneck Bride.
No comments:
Post a Comment