CAMP FOOD
PARCHED CORN AS FOOD
WHEN America gave Indian corn to the world she gave it a priceless gift
full of condensed pep. Corn in its various forms is a wonderful food
power; with a long, narrow buckskin bag of nocake, or rock-a-hominy,
as parched cracked corn was called, swung upon his back, an Indian or
a white man could traverse the continent independent of game and never
suffer hunger. George Washington, George Rodgers Clark, Boone, Kenton,
Crockett, and Carson all knew the sustaining value of parched corn.
HOW TO DRY CORN
The pioneer farmers in America and many of their descendants up to the
present time, dry their Indian corn by the methods the early Americans
learned from the Indians. The corn drying season naturally begins with
the harvesting of the corn, but it often continues until the first snow
falls.
Selecting a number of ears of corn, the husks are pulled back exposing
the grain, and then the husks of the several ears are braided together
(Fig. 165). These bunches of corn are hung over branches of trees or
horizontal poles and left for the winds to dry (Fig. 166).
On account of the danger from corn-eating birds and beasts, these
drying poles are usually placed near the kitchen door of the farmhouse,
and sometimes in the attic of the old farmhouse, the woodshed or the
barn.
Of course, the Indians owned no corn mills, but they used bowl-shaped
stones to hold the corn and stone pestles like crudely made potato
mashers with which to grind the corn. The writer lately saw numbers
of these stone corn-mills in the collection of Doctor Baldwin, of
Springfield, Mass.
[Illustration: 161, 162, 163, 164
HOW TO PREPARE CORN TO EAT]
In the southwest much grit from the stone used is unintentionally mixed
with the corn, and hence all the elderly Indians' teeth are worn down
as if they had been sandpapered.
But the reader can use a wooden bowl and a potato masher with a piece
of tin or sheet iron nailed to its bottom with which to crush the corn
and make meal without grit. Or he can make a pioneer mill like Figs.
163 or 164, from a log. The pestle or masher in Fig. 164 is of iron.
SWEET CORN
There is a way to preserve corn which a few white people still practice
just as they learned it from the Indians. First they dig long, shallow
trenches in the ground, fill them with dried roots and small twigs
with which they make a hot fire and thus cover the bottom of the ditch
with glowing embers. The outer husks of the fresh green corn are then
removed and the corn placed in rows side by side on the hot embers
(Fig. 167). This practice gave the name of Roasting Ear Season to July
and August.
[Illustration]
As the husks become scorched the ears are turned over, and when browned
on all sides they are deftly tossed out of the ditch by means of a wand
or stick used for that purpose.
The burnt husks are now removed and the grains of corn are shelled from
the cob with the help of a sharp-edged, fresh water "clam" shell; these
shells I have often found in the old camping places of the Indians in
the half caves of Pennsylvania.
The corn is then spread out on a clean sheet or on pieces of paper and
allowed to dry in the sun. It is "mighty" good food, as any Southern
born person will tell you. One can keep a supply of it all winter.
PARCHED FIELD CORN
When I was a little shaver in old Kentucky, the children were very
fond of the Southern field corn parched in a frying pan (Fig. 161),
and then buttered and salted while it was still hot; we parched field
corn, sugar corn and the regular pop corn, but none of us had ever seen
cracked corn or corn meal parched and used as food, and I am inclined
to think that the old pioneers themselves parched the corn as did their
direct descendants in Kentucky, and that said corn was crushed or
ground after it had been parched. Be this as it may, we know that our
bordermen traveled and fought on a parched corn diet and that Somoset,
Massasoit, Pocahontas, Okekankano, Powhatan, all ate corn cakes and
that it was either them or the squaws of their tribes who taught bold
Captain Smith's people on the southern coast, and the Pilgrims further
north, the value of corn as an article of diet. The knowledge of how to
make the various kinds of corn bread and the use of corn generally from
"roasting-ears" to corn puddings was gained from the American Indians.
It was from them we learned how to make the
ASH CAKES
This ancient American food dates back to the fable times which existed
before history, when the sun came out of a hole in the eastern sky,
climbed up overhead and then dove through a hole in the western sky
and disappeared. The sun no more plays such tricks, and although the
humming-bird, who once stole the sun, still carries the mark under his
chin, he is no longer a humming-birdman but only a little buzzing bird;
the ash cake, however, is still an ash cake and is made in almost as
primitive a manner now as it was then.
Mix half a teaspoonful of salt with a cup of corn meal, and add to it
boiling hot water until the swollen meal may be worked by one's hand
into a ball, bury the ball in a nice bed of hot ashes (glowing embers)
and leave it there to bake like a potato. Equalling the ash cake in
fame and simplicity is
PONE
Pone is made by mixing the meal as described for the ash cake, but
molding the mixture in the form of a cone and baking it in an oven.
JOHNNY-CAKE
Is mixed in the same way as the pone or ash cake, but it is not cooked
the same, nor is it the same shape; it is more in the form of a very
thick pancake. Pat the Johnny-cake into the form of a disk an inch
thick and four inches in diameter. Have the frying pan plentifully
supplied with _hot_ grease and drop the Johnny-cake carefully in the
sizzling grease. When the cake is well browned on one side turn it and
brown it on the other side. If cooked properly it should be a rich
dark brown color and with a crisp crust. Before it is eaten it may be
cut open and buttered like a biscuit, or eaten with maple syrup like
a hot buckwheat cake. This is the Johnny-cake of my youth, the famous
Johnny-cake of Kentucky fifty years ago. Up North I find that any old
thing made of corn meal is called a Johnny-cake and that they also call
ash-cakes "hoe-cakes," and corn bread "bannocks," at least they call
camp corn bread, a bannock. Now since bannocks were known before corn
was known, suppose we call it
CAMP CORN BREAD AND CORN DODGERS
In the North they also call this camp corn bread "Johnny-cake," but
whatever it is called it is wholesome and nourishing. Take some corn
meal and wheat flour and mix them fifty-fifty; in other words, a half
pint each; add a teaspoon level full and a teaspoon heaping full of
baking powder and about half a teaspoonful of salt; mix these all
together, _while dry_, in your pan, then add the water gradually. If
you have any milk go fifty-fifty with the water and milk, make the
flour as thin as batter, pour it into a reflector pan, or frying pan,
prop it up in front of a quick fire; it will be heavy if allowed to
cook slowly at the start, but after your cake has risen you may take
more time with the cooking. This is a fine corn bread to stick to the
ribs. I have eaten it every day for a month at a time and it certainly
has the food power in it. When made in form of biscuits it is called
"corn dodgers."
CAMP BISCUIT
Take two cups full of flour and one level teaspoonful and one heaping
teaspoonful of baking powder and half a teaspoonful of salt, and mix
them together thoroughly while dry. To this you add milk and water, if
not milk straight water, mixing it as described for the flapjacks. Make
a dough soft but stiff enough to mold with well floured hands, make it
into biscuits about half an inch thick, put them into a greased pan,
bake them in any one of the ovens already described, or by propping
them up in front of the fire. If the biscuits have been well mixed and
well baked they will prove to be good biscuits.
THE VREELAND BANNOCK
Fred tells me that he makes this the same as he would biscuits and
bakes it in a frying pan. The frying pan is heated and greased before
the dough is dropped into it, making a cake about a half inch thick.
The frying pan is then placed over the slow fire to give the bannock a
chance to rise and harden enough to hold its shape, then the frying
pan is propped up with a stick and the bannock browned by reflected
heat, it must be cooked slowly and have "a nice brown crust." I have
never made bannocks but I have eaten some of Vreeland's, and they are
fine.
FLAPJACKS
A fellow who cannot throw a flapjack is sadly lacking in the skill one
expects to find in a real woodcrafter. A heavy, greasy flapjack is an
abomination, but the real article is a joy to make and a joy to eat.
Put a large tin cupful of flour in the pan, add half a teaspoonful of
salt, also one heaping teaspoonful and one level teaspoonful of baking
powder; mix the salt and baking powder well with the flour while it
is dry. Then build your little mountain or volcano of flour with its
miniature crater in the middle, into which pour water little by little;
making the lava by mixing the dough as you go. Continue this process
until all the flour is batter; the batter should be thin enough to
spread out rapidly into the form of a pancake when it is poured into
the skillet or frying pan, but not watery.
Grease the frying pan with a greasy rag fastened to the end of a stick
or with a piece of bacon rind. Remember that the frying pan only needs
enough grease to prevent the cake from sticking to the pan; when one
fries potatoes the pan should be plentifully supplied with very hot
grease, but flapjacks are not potatoes and too much grease makes the
cakes unfit to eat. Do not put too much batter in the pan, either; I
tried it once and when I flapped the flapjack the hot batter splattered
all over my face, and that batter was even hotter than my remarks.
Pour enough batter into the pan to spread almost but not quite over
the bottom; when the bubbles come thickly in the middle and the
edges begin to smoke a bit, it is time to flap the flapjack. Do so by
loosening the edges with a knife blade, then dip the far side of the
pan downward and bring it up quickly, sending the cake somersaulting
in the air; catch the cake as it falls batter side down and proceed to
cook that side.
The penalty of dropping a flapjack in the fire is to be made to eat it
without wiping off the ashes.
DOUGHGOD
First fry some bacon or boil it until it is soft, then chop up the
bacon into small pieces quite fine, like hash. Save the grease and set
the bacon to one side; now take a pint of flour and half a teaspoon
of salt, a spoonful of brown sugar and a heaping spoonful of baking
powder and mix them all while they are dry, after which stir in the
water as already described until it is in the form of batter; now add
the chopped bacon and then mix rapidly with a spoon; pour it into a
Dutch oven or a pan and bake; it should be done in thirty-five or forty
minutes, according to the condition of the fire.
When your campfire is built upon a hearth made of stones, if you brush
the ashes away from the hot stone and place your doughgod upon it, then
cover it with a frying pan or some similar vessel, and put the hot
cinders on top of the frying pan, you will find that it will bake very
nicely and satisfactorily on the hearthstone.
In the old-fashioned open fire-places where our grandparents did their
cooking, a Dutch oven was considered essential. The Dutch oven is still
used by the guides and cowboys and is of practically the same form as
that used by Abraham Lincoln's folks; it consists of a more or less
shallow dish of metal, copper, brass or iron, with four metal legs
that may be set in the hot cinders. Over that is a metal top which is
made so as to cover the bottom dish, and the edges of the cover are
turned up all around like a hat with its brim turned up. This is so
made to hold the hot cinders which are dumped on top of it, but a
DUTCH OVEN MAY BE IMPROVISED
From any combination of two metal dishes so made or selected that the
large one will fit over the top and snugly overlap the smaller dish,
so as not to admit dirt, dust or ashes to the food inside. In this
oven bread, biscuits, cakes, pies, stews, bakes, meat, fish, fowl and
vegetables may be cooked with delightful results. In camp two frying
pans are frequently made to act as a Dutch oven. A Dutch oven is
sometimes used in a bean hole (Fig. 106). First build a fire, using
sufficient small wood, chips and dry roots to make cinders enough with
which to fill your bean hole. While the fire is doing its work let the
cook prepare to cook
THE SOURDOUGH'S JOY
Slice bacon as thin as possible and place a layer over the bottom and
around the sides of the Dutch oven like a pie-crust. Slice venison,
moose meat or bear steak, or plain beef, medium thin and put in to the
depth of 2½ inches, salting each layer. Chop a large onion and sprinkle
it over the top, cover with another layer of bacon and one pint of
water and put on the lid. Fill the hole half full of hot embers,
place the Dutch oven in the center and fill the space surrounding the
oven full of embers. Cover all with about 6 inches of dirt, then roll
yourself up in your blanket and shut your eyes--your breakfast will
cook while you sleep and be piping hot when you dig for it in the
morning.
The bean hole is far from a modern invention and the dried droppings of
animals, like "buffalo chips," were used for fuel away back in Bible
times; in ancient Palestine they stewed their meat in a pot set in a
hole filled in with stones over which burned a fire of "chips" gathered
where the flocks pastured.
When the wood is of such a nature that it is difficult to obtain a bed
of live coals for toasting, meat may, in a pinch, be cooked upon a
clean flat stone (Figs. 116, 117 and 128). Be certain that the stone
is a dry one, otherwise the heat may burst it. If satisfied that it
is dry, heat it good and hot and spread your thick slice of venison,
moose, bear or sheep or even beef upon the very hot stone; leave it
there about twenty minutes and allow it to singe, sizzle and burn on
one side, then turn it over and burn the other side until the charred
part is one-quarter or even a half inch deep. Now remove the meat and
with your hunting knife scrape away all the charred meat, season it and
toast some bacon or pork on a forked stick and, after scoring the steak
deeply and putting the pork or bacon in the cuts, the meat is ready to
serve to your hungry self and camp mates.
HOW TO COOK VENISON
If you want to know how real wild meat tastes, drop a sleek buck with a
shot just over the shoulder--no good sportsman will shoot a doe--dress
the deer and let it hang for several days; that is, if you wish tender
meat. Cut a steak two inches thick and fry some bacon, after which put
the steak in the frying pan with the bacon on top of it, and a cover
on the frying pan. When one side is cooked, turn the meat over and
again put the bacon on top, replace the cover and let that side cook.
Serve on a hot plate and give thanks that you are in the open, have a
good appetite and you are privileged to partake of a dish too good for
any old king. The gravy, oh my word! the recollection of it makes me
hungry! I have eaten moose meat three times a day for weeks at a time,
when it was cooked as described, without losing my desire for more.
PERDIX AU CHOUX
Is a great dish in Canada; the bird is cooked this way: Chop cabbage
fine and highly spice it, then stuff the bird with the cabbage and
nicely cover the partridge or grouse with many thin slices of bacon,
and put bacon also in the baking pan. When this is well baked and well
basted a more delicious game dinner you will never eat. Try it; it is
an old French way of cooking the partridge or pheasant.
When you need a real warm fire for cooking, do not forget that dry
roots make an intensely hot fire with no smoke; look for them in
driftwood piles, as they are sure to be there; they are light as a cork
and porous as a sponge, and burn like coke.
No one with truth may say that he is a real woodcrafter unless he
is a good camp cook. At the same time it is an error to think that
the outdoor men live to eat like the trencher men of old England,
or the degenerate epicures of ancient Rome. Neither are the outdoor
men in sympathy with the Spartans or Lacedemonians and none of them
would willingly partake of the historic and disgusting black broth of
Lacedemonia. Woodcrafters are really more in sympathy with cultured
Athenians who strove to make their banquets attractive with interesting
talk, inspiring and patriotic odes and delightful recitations by poets
and philosophers. As a campfire man would say: "That's me all over,
Mable" and he might add that like all good things on this earth
BANQUETS
Originated in the open. The word itself is from the French and Spanish
and means a small bench, a little seat, and when spelled banqueta,
means a three-legged stool. It has reference to sitting while eating
instead of taking refreshments in "stand up" fashion. The most
enjoyable banquets in the author's experience are those partaken in the
wilderness, and prominent among the wildwood dishes is the
LUMBERMAN'S BAKED BEANS
Wash the beans first, then half fill a pail with them, put them over
the fire and parboil them until their skins are ready to come off; they
are now ready for the pot. But before putting them in there, peel an
onion and slice it, placing the slices in the bottom of the bean pot.
Now pour half of the beans over the onions and on top of them spread
the slices of another onion. Take some salt pork and cut it into square
pieces and place the hunks of pork over the onions, thus making a layer
of onions and pork on top of the beans. Over this pour the remainder
of the beans, cover the top of the beans with molasses, on the top of
the molasses put some more hunks of pork, put in enough water to barely
cover the beans. Over the top of all of it spread a piece of birch
bark, then force the cover down good and tight.
Meanwhile a fire should have been built in the bean hole (Fig. 105).
When the fire of birch has been burnt to hot cinders, the cinders must
be shoveled out and the bean pot put into the hole, after which pack
the cinders around the bean pot and cover the whole thing with the dead
ashes, or as the lumbermen call them, the black ashes.
If the beans are put into the bean hole late in the afternoon and
allowed to remain there all night, they will be done to a turn for
breakfast; the next morning they will be wholesome, juicy and sweet,
browned on top and delicious.
A bean hole is not absolutely necessary for a small pot of beans. I
have cooked them in the wilderness by placing the pot on the ground in
the middle of the place where the fire had been burning, then heaping
the hot ashes and cinders over the bean pot until it made a little hill
there, which I covered with the black ashes and left until morning. I
tried the same experiment on the open hearth to my studio and it was a
wonderful success.
THE ETIQUETTE OF THE WOODS
Requires that when a porcupine has been killed it be immediately thrown
into the fire, there to remain until all the quills have been singed
off of the aggressive hide, after which it may be skinned with no
danger to the workmen and with no danger to the other campers from the
wicked barbed quills, which otherwise might be waiting for them just
where they wished to seat themselves.
This may sound funny, but I have experimented, unintentionally, by
seating myself upon a porcupine quill. I can assure the reader that
there is nothing humorous in the experience to the victim, however
funny it may appear to those who look on.
After thoroughly singeing the porcupine you roll it in the grass to
make certain that the burnt quills are rubbed off its skin, then with
a sharp knife slit him up the middle of the belly from the tail to the
throat, pull the skin carefully back and peel it off. When you come to
the feet cut them off. Broiled porcupine is the Thanksgiving turkey of
the Alaskan and British Columbia Indian, but unless it has been boiled
in two or three waters the taste does not suit white men.
PORCUPINE WILDERNESS METHOD
After it has been parboiled, suspend the porcupine by its forelegs in
front of a good roasting fire, or over a bed of hot coals, and if well
seasoned it will be as good meat as can be found in the wilderness. The
tail particularly is very meaty and is most savory; like beef tongue it
is filled with fine bits of fat. Split the tail and take out the bone,
then roast the meaty part.
Porcupine stuffed with onions and roasted on a spit before the fire is
good, but to get the perfection of cooking it really should be cooked
in a Dutch oven, or a closed kettle or an improvised airtight oven of
some sort and baked in a bean hole, or baked by being buried deep under
a heap of cinders and covered with ashes. Two iron pans that will fit
together, that is, one that is a trifle larger than the other so that
the smaller one may be pushed down into it to some extent, will answer
all the purposes of the Dutch oven. Also two frying pans arranged in
the same manner.
Always remember that after the porcupine is skinned, dressed and
cleaned, it should be _put in a pot and parboiled_, changing the water
once or twice, after which it may be cooked in any way which appeals to
the camper. The
NORTH METHOD
Is to place it in the Dutch oven with a few hunks of fat pork; let the
porcupine itself rest upon some hard-tack, hard biscuit or stale bread
of any kind, which has been slightly softened with water.
On top of the porcupine lay a nice slice or two of fat pork and place
another layer of soaked hard biscuit or hard-tack on the pork, put it
in a Dutch oven and place the Dutch oven on the hot coals, put a cover
on the Dutch oven and heap the living coals over the top of it and the
ashes atop of that; let it bake slowly until the flesh parts from the
bones. Thus cooked it will taste something like veal with a suggestion
of sucking pig. The tail of the porcupine, like the
TAIL OF THE BEAVER
Is considered a special delicacy. Many of the old wilderness men hang
the flat trowel-like tails of the beaver for a day or two in the
chimney of their shack to allow the oily matter to exude from it,
and thus take away the otherwise strong taste; others parboil it as
advocated for porcupine meat, after which the tail may be roasted or
baked and the rough skin removed before eating.
BEAVER TAIL SOUP
Is made by stewing the tails with what other ingredients one may have
in camp; all such dishes should be allowed to simmer for a long while
in place of boiling rapidly.
A man who was hunting in North Michigan said, "Although I am a
Marylander, and an Eastern Shore one at that, and consequently know
what good things to eat are, I want to tell you that I'll have to take
off my hat to the lumber camp cook as the discoverer, fabricator and
dispenser of a dish that knocks the Eastern Shore cuisine silly. And
that dish is beaver-tail soup. When the beaver was brought into camp
the camp cook went nearly wild, and so did the lumbermen when they
heard the news, and all because they were pining for beaver-tail soup.
"The cook took that broad appendage of the beaver, mailed like an
armadillo, took from it the underlying bone and meat and from it made
such a soup as never came from any other stock, at the beck of the most
expert and scientific chef that ever put a kettle on."
MUSKRAT
Is valuable also for his flesh. Its name and rat-like appearance have
created a prejudice against it as a food, but thousands of persons eat
it without compunction. For those to whom the name is a stumbling-block
the euphemism "marsh rabbit" has been invented, and under this name the
muskrat is sold even in the Wilmington market and served on the tables
of white country folk. In Delaware, especially, the muskrat is ranked
as a delicacy, and personally the author ranks this rodent with the
rabbit as an article of food.
At Dover the writer has had it served at the hotel under its own name;
the dish was "muskrats and toast." For the benefit of those who revolt
at the muskrat as food, it is well to state that it is one of the
cleanest of all creatures, that it carefully washes all its own food
and in every way conducts itself so as to recommend its flesh even to
the most fastidious. As a matter of fact the flesh of the muskrat,
though dark, is tender and exceedingly sweet. Stewed like rabbit it
looks and tastes like rabbit, save that it lacks a certain gamy flavor
that some uneducated persons find an unpleasant characteristic of the
latter. But to the writer's way of thinking, while the muskrat is good
to eat, there are many things much better; the point is, however, that
everything which tastes good and is not indigestible is good to eat no
matter what its name may be.
THE BURGOO
Of all the camp stews and hunters' stews of various names and flavors,
the Kentucky burgoo heads the list; not only is it distinguished
for its intrinsic qualities, its food value and delicious flavor,
its romance and picturesque accompaniment, but also because of the
illustrious people whose names are linked in Kentucky history with the
burgoo. One such feast, given some time between 1840 and 1850, was
attended by Governor Owlsley (old stone-hammer), Governor Metcalf,
Governor Bob Letcher, Governor Moorhead, General George Crittenton,
General John Crittenton, General Tom Crittenton, James H. Beard, and
other distinguished men.
All Kentuckians will vow they understand the true meaning of the word
"burgoo." But an article in the Insurance Field says, "It is derived
from the low Latin burgus, fortified (as a town) and goo-goo, very
good." Hence the word, "burgoo," something very good, fortified with
other good things, as will be found in "Carey's Dictionary of Double
Derivations": "Burgoo is literally a soup composed of many vegetables
and meats delectably fused together in an enormous caldron, over which,
at the exact moment, a rabbit's foot at the end of a yarn string is
properly waved by a colored preacher, whose salary has been paid to
date. These are the good omens by which the burgoo is fortified."
HOW TO MAKE THE BURGOO
Anything from an ordinary pail to one or many big caldrons, according
to the number of guests expected at the camp, will serve as vessels
in which to serve the burgoo. The excellence of the burgoo depends
more upon the manner of cooking and seasoning it than it does on the
material used in its decoction.
To-day the burgoo is composed of meat from domestic beasts and barnyard
fowls with vegetables from the garden, but originally it was made from
the wild things in the woods, bear, buffalo, venison, wild turkey,
quails, squirrels and all the splendid game animals that once roamed
through Kentucky.
As this book is for woodcrafters we will take it for granted that
we are in the woods, that we have some venison, moose, bear meat,
rocky mountain goat, big horn, rabbit, ruffed grouse, or some good
substitutes. It would be a rare occasion indeed when we would really
have these things. If, for instance, we have a good string of grouse we
will take their legs and wings and necks for the burgoo and save their
breasts for a broil, and if we have not many grouse we will put in a
whole bird or two. We will treat the rabbits the same way, saving the
body with the tenderloin for broiling. When cleaned and dressed the
meat of a turtle or two adds a delicious flavor to the burgoo; frogs
legs are also good, with the other meat.
Cut all the meat up into pieces which will correspond, roughly
speaking, to inch cubes; do not throw away the bones; put them in also.
Now then, if you were wise enough when you were outfitting for the trip
to secure some of the ill-smelling but palatable dried vegetables, they
will add immensely to the flavor of your burgoo. Put all the material
in the kettle, that is, unless you are using beans and potatoes as
vegetables; if so, the meats had better be well cooked first, because
the beans and potatoes have a tendency to go to the bottom, and by
scorching spoil the broth.
Fill your kettle, caldron or pot half full of water and hang it
over the fire; while it is making ready to boil get busy with your
vegetables, preparing them for the stew. Peel the dry outer skin off
your onions and halve them, or quarter them, according to their size;
scrape your carrots and slice them into little disks, each about the
size of a quarter, peel your potatoes and cut them up into pieces
about the size of the meat, and when the caldron is boiling dump in
the vegetables. The vegetables will temporarily cool the water, which
should not be allowed to again boil, but should be put over a slow fire
and where it will simmer. When the stew is almost done add the salt
and other seasonings. There should always be enough water to cover the
vegetables. Canned tomatoes will add to the flavor of your broth. In a
real burgoo we put no thickening like meal, rice or other material of
similar nature, because the broth is strained and served clear. Also no
sweet vegetables like beets.
When the burgoo is done dip it out and drink it from tin cups. Of
course, if this is a picnic burgoo, you add olive juice to the stew,
while it is cooking, and then place a sliced lemon and an olive in each
cup and pour the hot strained liquid into the cups.
The burgoo and the barbecue belong to that era when food was plenty,
feasts were generous and appetites good. These historic feasts still
exist in what is left of the open country and rich farming districts,
particularly in Kentucky and Virginia. In Kentucky in the olden times
the gentlemen were wont to go out in the morning and do the hunting,
while the negroes were keeping the caldrons boiling with the pork and
other foundation material in them. After the gentlemen returned and
the game was put into the caldron, the guests began to arrive and the
stew was served late in the afternoon; each guest was supposed to come
supplied with a tin cup and a spoon, the latter made of a fresh water
mussel shell with a split stick for a handle. Thus provided they all
sat round and partook of as many helps as their hunger demanded.
Since we have given Kentucky's celebrated dish, we will add "Ole
Virginny's" favorite dish, which has been named after the county where
it originated.
THE BRUNSWICK STEW
"Take two large squirrels, one quart of tomatoes, peeled and sliced,
if fresh; one pint of lima beans or butter beans, two teaspoonfuls of
white sugar, one minced onion, six potatoes, six ears of corn scraped
from the cob, or a can of sweet corn, half a pound of butter, half a
pound of salt pork, one teaspoonful of salt, three level teaspoonfuls
of pepper and a gallon of water. Cut the squirrels up as for fricassee,
add salt and water and boil five minutes. Then put in the onion,
beans, corn, pork, potatoes and pepper, and when boiling again add the
squirrel.
"Cover closely and stew two hours, then add the tomato mixed with the
sugar and stew an hour longer. Ten minutes before removing from the
fire cut the butter into pieces the size of English walnuts, roll in
flour and add to the stew. Boil up again, adding more salt and pepper
if required."
The above is a receipt sent in to us, and I would give credit for it if
I knew from whence it came. I do know that it sounds good, and from my
experience with other similar dishes, it will taste good.
I am not writing a cook book but only attempting to start the novice on
his way as a camp chef, and if he succeeds in cooking in the open the
dishes here described, he need not fear to tackle any culinary problem
which conditions may make it necessary for him to solve.