I sometimes get the redneck tag for hunting my own food. Apparently owning guns and hunting beautiful natural sources of meats is deemed barbaric in this synthetic culture. I must have missed the memo. I accept the sniggers and innuendoes not just because it’s something that I believe strongly about but it has the added bonus that my fellow hunter gather’s share the fruits of their bounty. Last night a knock on the door was heard, our neighbour let’s call him ‘Buck’ (to keep in line with the hunters stereotype). Buck handed me two bags of frozen wild quail he’d shot the weekend prior. Apparently the season is one of the best in decades. I promptly use my subtle hunting interrogation skills to get some sort of a location as to the hunting fields. I’m quickly put back in my box. Hunters can be a funny sort, me included. Protecting the special spots ensures a good harvest when the season is on. I got the usual ambiguous comments along the lines of “it’s somewhere near Clunes”….”but you’d never find it if you didn’t have a guide”. For now I’ll have to be happy with the bags of Quail. But I must get out there!
I think I’ll go out at lunch time and forage some wild mushrooms and make a Jamon & mushroom stuffing, then roast the Quail serving it with roasted with Pine mushrooms on a bed of polenta.