Never killed a thing

I married into a family from northern Ontario. The culture up there is quite different from the one I grew up in or the one I'm living in right now. Not worse or better, just different.

One thing my in-laws do is hunt. Deer, moose, and partridge. These were meats that I hadn't tried until I met my in-laws and boy was I missing out. Grilled venison T-Bone is amazing and I now love a nice moosemeat stew. Wild game has a earthier, richer taste that the stuff from the grocery store and I relish every bite because I know there is a limited supply until next year.

But every time I partake in the lovely spoils I feel a little guilty. Guilty that I 'm eating an animal that I don't think I could kill and clean myself. I take that back - I think I could kill the animal, but I don't think I have the stomach to clean one. Heck - I can even get a little woosey cleaning a bass.

Perhaps it is something that I just need to do once; to gut-check my queasiness and then be ok after that. Or it might not be something that I can ever do or watch. Living with a vet who comes home with, um, interesting stories to share over dinner has indeed strengthened my stomach but not that much.

What spawned this thought process was an Outfront podcast that I listened to on the way home tonight. (Aside: Outfront is a CBC program with a weekly podcast. I listen to several from the CBC, the Culinary Podcast Network, and TVO; but that's another entry). This entry is about a family trying to live off the land and the struggle that poses for one member of the family. If you have 15 minutes, it's an excellent listen - probably one of the best from Outfront.

Maybe one year I'll take a week off in November, head up to the "Gateway to the North" and go deer hunting with my father-in-law. I'll bag myself a nice buck and Dave will force me to clean it. Maybe he'll even catch me when I faint.