he figures much as the truffle does in France--his particular food
imparting to his flesh a peculiar flavour and certain peculiar virtues.
The favourite mode of preparing him by the New Orleans clubs is to
roast him and serve him slightly underdone with the trail finely
minced on toast. His appearance is nearly simultaneous with that of
a blister-beetle known as the "Spanish fly"--one of the extremely
numerous members of the genus _Coleoptera_ and family _Cantharididæ_,
of which a large portion are common to the haunts of the bird. This
destructive insect comes in myriads to prey upon growing vegetation,
but the papabotte consumes vast numbers until his disappearance
during latter September, as the upland-plover does of grasshoppers
and crickets in the North--waxing so fat upon his favourite diet that
when he falls before the gunner he often bursts open like an overripe
fruit. He is known chiefly as the plover in Texas, where, in addition
to a diet of grasshoppers, etc., he subsists largely on the striped
blister-beetle (_Lytta vitatta_), and doubtless also on the black
blister-beetle (_Lytta atrata_), which is likewise quite common to
Texas during certain years. It is probable that both these species of
cantharides form a large portion of his diet in Louisiana as well. A
wary bird when approached on foot, and not lying to the dog, he is
frequently hunted on horseback, or by employing a horse and wagon,
when he is easily brought to bag. The flesh of the cantharide-fed bird
is always extremely heating in its effects; and, indeed, owing to the
absorption of cantharidin, the active principle of the insect, it not
unfrequently acts as a violent irritant and poison. Yet the papabotte
is eagerly sought for, and by the epicure his flesh is more highly
esteemed than that of the woodcock, snipe, or sora.[50]
Notable among indigenous game-birds are the ruffed grouse, the quail,
the pinnated grouse, and the woodcock, together with numerous other
varieties of the family _Tetraonidæ_, variously classed by the
ornithologists, that are less familiar or less widely distributed, and
are locally known under various names. With these may be included not
a few species that do not figure properly as game, such as the wild
turkey, canvasback duck, etc.
All things considered, the ruffed grouse--the "partridge" of the North
and "pheasant" of the South--is entitled to rank first among feathered
game. Nothing swifter or more valiant in plumage tests the sportsman's
nerve and skill. So far as sport is concerned, he may be placed, from
his alertness, swiftness, and the trying nature of his usual habitat,
on a par with the trout of the clear Hampshire chalk-streams, whose
fastidiousness in rising to the artificial fly so taxes the angler's
resources on the placid reaches of the Itchen, the Anton, and the
Test. He is preëminently the bird of the woodlands, supreme in his
sturdiness and his strength. His roll-call awakens the wind-flower, and
his thunderous _whir!_ fans the September air into freshness. He blends
with the buffs of the beech and russets of the oak, and is eloquent
with the lustihood of the ripened year. And how artfully he assimilates
with the shadows and thrusts a tree-trunk between himself and the
gunner!
See him as he springs from the tangle of the saplings, a shaft of
mottled splendour where the sunlight strikes his sides; and the hoarse
boom of the double-barrel fails to check his tumultuous flight. Behold
him in the spring while he struts upon his chosen log with extended
tufts and expanded feathers, beating the air with his wings, and
sounding his reverberating peal of defiance and of love. Consider
him amid the rigours of the frost, loyal to his native haunts, true to
the instincts of his race, when most of his companions have deserted
him for more congenial climes. Observe him once more when the deadly
volley has stopped his career, and he falls upon the russet carpet, in
glossy black ruff, and plumage in blended hues of olive, brown, black,
and grey--the noblest game-bird that treads the forest aisles!
[Illustration: PARTRIDGE SHOOTING, I. LA CHASSE AUX PERDRIX
From the coloured print after Howitt, 1807]
And if no other member of his family requires more address in bringing
to bag, none may surpass, if equal, him in his wild woodland flavour.
His back is the very incarnation of poignancy, while no bird that
flies can vie with the whiteness and plumpness of his breast. This is
saying nothing against the prairie-chicken in his younger stage, or
the eastern quail, or even the two long-billed beauties beloved by the
sportsman and the epicure. But the assertion may be safely ventured
that he will lend himself to more varieties of wine in evolving their
_sève_ than any other representative of the haunts of Pan. _Bonasa
umbellus!_ may birch-bud and beech-nut, wintergreen and partridge-vine,
never fail thee in snow and storm!
With the speckled trout, the rainbow-trout, the sunapee-trout or
saibling, the black-bass and muscalonge should also be included among
distinctly native game-fish. The brown trout of Europe has recently
been introduced into many American waters, as the Mongolian pheasant
has been introduced in the fields. But the American speckled trout,
who is in reality a char and smaller than the European trout, is
higher flavoured, and, like the saibling and the rainbow-trout of
the Rockies, is a far more beautiful fish. The brown trout thrives
under warmer conditions than the speckled trout, and consequently is
an acquisition. But as he attains a much larger size, it is unwise
to place him in waters tenanted by the native species, as the larger
fish has already proved very destructive to the smaller fry of the
_Salvelinus fontinalis_.
It is superfluous to state that fish cannot be too fresh, in which
respect it is the reverse of game. The quail, and especially the ruffed
grouse, should be hung long enough to develop their flavour. Eaten too
soon, they do not represent game, as their quality is not attained;
hung too long, on the other hand, they are not fit for the table. To
cook quite fresh game is to deride its mission on earth. A happy medium
should be observed in the ease of maturing most species. The duck,
woodcock, and snipe should only be mellowed or kept under favourable
conditions for a short period. They are like a peach, which is best
when recently plucked, as opposed to a pear, which requires to be
slowly ripened after gathering. It is possible to eat a "high" grouse
or pheasant, if not too gamy; but a duck past the meridian of maturity
is well-nigh impossible, as is also a shore-bird or either of the
long-bills.
There is no occasion to bury the wild boar, as is sometimes done in
Europe for the purpose of mellowing him; inasmuch as he does not exist
in America, and the razorback hog of the South, however well he may
have feasted on beech-mast, cannot take his place. But in place of
the wild boar we have the lordly moose, elk, and caribou, and the
picturesque Rocky Mountain sheep and goat, which, if not all desirable
for the larder, nevertheless afford magnificent sport; while by many a
young caribou or elk, as also a mountain sheep, is considered among the
graces of edible furred game.
The relative time of keeping all game to savour it under the best
conditions will depend upon the weather. It is always better when hung
in the fur or feathers, and where it may have a circulation of air,
than when confined in a close receptacle. When frozen it loses in
flavour and succulence. Dark-fleshed birds, with few exceptions, are
best rather underdone--rosy, but not raw. White-fleshed birds should be
done sufficiently, but not cooked to the extent of drying their juices.
The cooking of mutton will serve as a type for the one, and veal
for the other. Most game-birds are best plainly roasted or broiled,
although for variety they may be served in various appetising ways. In
roasting the smaller species, the vine-leaf and a strip of larding-pork
should not be overlooked; and where these or well-buttered paper are
not employed, as in the case of over-fat birds, the basting-spoon
should be kept in constant agitation. Larding lightly often improves a
white-fleshed bird where he has not been enveloped in pork.
Especially, let game be zealously watched in the cooking; let its
appropriate wine be carefully considered; and let no delay occur in its
flight through the butler's pantry to the dining-room. Its garnishing
also should be studied, that it may flatter the eye as well as the
palate; and, for the most part, with feathered game watercress or
filets of lemon should lend their colour and their zest.
Game-birds should always be hung by the head, not for the purpose
of sending the juices to the legs, as is fantastically supposed by
some, but to allow the lower viscera and their contents an approach
to the natural exit. Were they hung by the feet, the visceral
machinery--softening more and more, as it always does--would of course
press upwards to their bodies and probably taint them. A game-bird
should never be drawn until that office is performed by the cook. Hares
are usually hung by their hind legs, it is true; but hares, if hung for
any time, are invariably "paunched," so that no lower viscera remain in
them.
Fish, it has been pointed out, should never be covered up, or it will
suffer fatally from the condensation of the steam. It may be noted
that for an all-round sauce for broiled fish, none wears better than a
maître-d'hôtel and, occasionally, its modification, a sauce _au beurre
noir_.
A well-made bread-sauce, an accessory which we owe to England, always
accords with quail and grouse, and is not amiss with prairie-chicken,
even if they are already well moistened with the sauce of cooking them
with pork and basting with bouillon. Francatelli's delicious sauce,
Number 65, the recipe for which has been presented in a previous
chapter, will need no recommendation as an adjunct for venison and
mutton where it has once been enjoyed. Apple-sauce is indispensable
with the domestic duck, and boiled onions should not be omitted by way
of a vegetable accompaniment. _Canard saignant_ is reprehensible, and
equally so is the overdone bird. A wildling should be fresh and sweet,
and "passed through the kitchen" not "once," but thrice; the domestic
fowl will, of course, be allowed more time on the range to plume
himself for the table. The celery-fed bird (_O avis jucundissima!_)
calls for no other sauce than his own, but with some species a stuffing
of olives and an olive sauce are excellent additions. Then, if your
bins of _têtes de cuvée_ of the Vosne be not lacking, you may hear your
whistler simply praying to be engulfed in Richebourg or Romanée.
The wild turkey, the "spruce-partridge," and the "cottontail" will
prove more desirable subjects for the seasonings and provocative sauces
of the French cookery books than their more princely companions. The
wild turkey, notably, despite his splendid wattles and emerald plumage,
it must be conceded cannot compare with the tamer fowl in edible
qualities; and it were well, where a stately gobbler has been sent as
the result of the prowess of a friend, to dispense at once with his
drumsticks, which, owing to his roving habits and wide ranging, have
become tougher than the ham-strings of a patriarchal sage-cock.
He should be treated as a somewhat plain-looking woman, who has passed
the hey-day of her charms, pranks and accoutres herself for a ball, and
the aid of art be summoned to amplify his good points and gloze over
any of his deficiencies. His resonant voice of course will be stilled
by the cooking, but his voluptuous breast will remain. Thus by neatly
cutting across the lower part of the back and thighs, removing his
shapely legs, and then inverting him, he will have been formed into a
boat-like receptacle for an artistic chestnut stuffing. One may then
proceed to lard him; and, while roasting, baste him thoroughly, send
him to the table with some oak-leaves _en couronne_, a currant-jelly
sauce in a _saucière_, and, with the assistance of a perfumed and
generous red wine, make the most of his seductive contours. All this
may be contrary to the tenets of Savarin, who pronounces the wild
turkey superior to the tame. But it must be remembered that he is
speaking of a wild turkey that he had the good fortune to kill by
his own hand while in Connecticut--a fact which, with the appetite
engendered by his shooting-outings, will readily account for the
preference he expresses for the wild form of this noble member of the
_Phasianidæ_. At a certain season, however, when he has fattened on
pecan-nuts, the flesh of the wild turkey is of excellent flavour; and
to this circumstance Audubon's eulogy is probably due: "The ruffed
grouse, in my humble opinion, far surpasses as an article of food every
other land bird which we have in the United States, except the wild
turkey when in good condition."
Furred game is more amenable to variety in preparation than feathered;
and while _marinéd_ venison and a civet of hare may be delicious, the
fewer culinary frills on a grouse, woodcock, or snipe the better. A
salmis, nevertheless, has its virtues; and as for the lord of the
woodlands, when tired of him _au naturel_, if that be possible, he
may be invested with a new glory as partridge _aux choux_, if one but
follow the counsels of Baron Brisse, whose prescript is well worth
transcribing and comes within the compass of all:
"_Perdrix aux choux._ All housewives do not succeed with
_perdrix aux choux_. This is the way to set about it in order
to be complimented. Pluck, draw, singe, truss, and tie up
the partridges. Blanch some cabbages, cut in quarters from
which the cores have been removed; put them to soak in fresh
water, dry them and press out all the water. Blanch also
a small piece of lean pork from the breast. Make a light
_roux_ in a large stewpan, put the cabbages in with the small
pieces of pork, some uncooked sausages, some carrots, an
onion _piquéd_ with two cloves, a _bouquet-garni_, salt and
pepper. Plunge the partridges in the centre of the cabbages,
cover with broth and cook gently in a closed stewpan. When
done, remove the birds, the pork and sausages, dry off the
juice of the cooking, then drain the cabbages--that is, turn
them in a stewpan, on a quick fire, until they are free from
liquid. Untruss and dress the partridges on a platter, on a
bed of cabbages, with the backs underneath, cut the pork and
sausages in pieces, slice the carrots, and garnish with all.
Partridge _aux choux_ is accompanied with a sauce made from
a _roux_ moistened with broth and added to the juice of the
cooking."[51]
The touch of the baron in everything relating to the all-important
office of eating is invariably delicate and sure. Nevertheless, if one
may venture to suggest an improvement, not in the mode of cooking,
wherein he is impeccable, but in the shading of the _plat_, it would
be to remove the birds after they have simmered sufficiently in the
cabbage, glaze them with melted butter, and place them for an instant
in the oven, with a very lively fire, in order to brighten their
otherwise somewhat blanched complexion. Sauerkraut, instead of cabbage,
is frequently employed by the French, but with far less happy results.
With care in its employment, the Brussels sprout, after it has felt the
finger of the frost, might be used as a medium with no regrets unless
on the score of a slight indigestion. Were one an ostrich, nothing
could serve as a more delicious or colourful vehicle than the German
_roth-Kohl_. Of sausages, the highly spiced little _Wienerwurst_ is
best adapted to the dish.
A game-pie composed of numerous spoils of field and cover--seasoned and
stuffed with herbs, shallots, bay-leaf, mushrooms, truffles, chestnuts,
sweetbreads, and various vegetables, and cooked in broth and red wine,
with a fingerful of brandy and another or two of Madeira--is a triumph
of the chef when well executed. But to indulge in this requires a
vigorous digestion and toes impervious to arthriticism.
In its relation to wine, the maturity of game should be taken into
consideration; as, for example, with dark-fleshed birds that are
comparatively fresh, a fine Bordeaux; with those that are more matured,
and particularly duck, the warmer and more generous red vintages of
the Côte d'Or and the Côte du Rhône. For a well-hung prairie-chicken,
a red wine will naturally be selected; for a "partridge" that inclines
to freshness, either champagne or Bordeaux, Burgundy or a Deidesheimer
_Auslese_ may serve for a bath with equally good results. But game is
too often undeservedly treated and served at the end of a dinner of
numerous courses, when, whatever its merit or that of its accompanying
wine, the palate and appetite are in scant mood to appreciate it.
With the advent of the autumnal equinox the calendar of seasonable
sport begins. There is then an exhilaration in the air that
irresistibly invites to out-of-door exercise and an exploration of the
covers. Game is then matured, fleet of foot and strong of wing; and at
no other period do upland and vale present such varied attractions.
September is the true adagio of sport, October and November the
allegro, and December the diminuendo. For pure sylvan beauty, no
month may compare with October, when the torch of autumn kindles
the woodlands into living flame, although the dreamy Indian summer
possesses a charm that is matched only by May when she rolls away the
resurrection-stone. Then when the purple landscape lies hushed in
slumber, one may recall anew the forgotten ode of an unknown bard, in
whose haunting cadences are subtly expressed all the rest and peace
and rhythm, all the tone, the tenderness, and benediction, of the
latter-year:
I.
Nothing stirs the stillness save a leaf that slowly rustles down,
Dim, through sunny mists the trees uplift their branches bare and
brown;
Winds are hushed, and skies are soft and grey, and grassy slopes
are sere,--
Calm and sweet and still, ah! sure is this the twilight of the year.
II.
There is this in these November days, the message that is sent--
Peace undying, rest, and sweet and measureless content;
Life's wild fever over, sleep's soft mood enchanting, such as fills
Golden dreams of gods immortal, sits enthroned upon these hills.
III.
Offered in day's golden chalice, sweet and dreamy peace is mine;
All's forgotten, lying here and watching tides of glorious light
divine
Slowly sweep along the hills, and vaguely thrilling to their sway--
All that love hath lost or wrong hath won, O calm and royal day!
Days there are in late November and December, too, when the beauties
of leafless vegetation are scarcely surpassed by the pomp of October
or the glamour of the Red Man's summer; when tender tones of russet
and grey bask over bare fields and fallows, and wanton amid mysterious
woods; and strange, ripe hues, rich as those of old tapestries,
smoulder and gleam the livelong day from the southern horizon's verge.
There is a charm as well in the clear crispness of a winter's day,
when the woods are cushioned with snow on which the sylvan denizens
have left their imprint, and when one may penetrate into the swamp's
most secluded labyrinths, where the hare and fox have gone before. But
October and November for the delights of the chase and glories of the
countryside! The gay medley of summer has passed, and in its place are
the aster and goldenrod hosts, the bright berries of bittersweet
and black alder, the fragrant life-everlasting and lingering yarrow.
Ceased is the drone of insect choirs, and birds are silent save for the
chattering of congregating flocks and call-notes of passing migrants.
But through the rustle of Autumn amid her falling leaves the quail
cries aloud from the coppice, "I am here!" the squirrel barks, and far
within the woodland's depths the drum of the grouse proclaims the reign
of sport.
[Illustration: "PARTRIDGE SHOOTING--SEPTEMBER"
From the coloured engraving by Reeve, after the painting by R. B.
Davis, 1836]
What more appropriate at this most alluring moment, when everything
incites to an outing, than a hunting-party in the woods?--especially
as one remembers that both the fall woodcock and time are on the wing.
To a shooting-jaunt, therefore, with a well-prepared luncheon in the
hampers, the reader is invited; it being understood that this is to
include, as nearly as possible, an equal number of both sexes. We will
suppose a day in mid-October, after the frost has vivified the air,
when the tints of vegetation vie with those of the noblest pressings
of the vine, and the matured plumage of a game-bird in the cover far
exceeds the liveliest gilding the chef may bestow upon him on the table.
Here, still more than at the dinner-table, success will depend largely
upon careful forethought; for even should the birds be unusually wary,
and there be not enough game in the pockets to weigh very heavy, the
excursion will prove none the less enjoyable, provided the party and
the lunch be well composed. And whether the goal be within driving
distance, or accessible only by train, the details will have been
planned by one who is thoroughly conversant with the region to be
visited, and the refection have been looked after by hands that never
fail. Let the luncheon never be neglected. If the sportsman's efforts
turn to good account, appetite is a certain sequence; if not, an
appetising spread will help to bridge over any chagrin at lapses of
marksmanship, or the drawing of sparsely populated covers. Thus, under
the most divergent circumstances, a choicely filled hamper answers an
admirable purpose. Granted that one may shoot better during the first
hour after a meagre repast, yet should an outing possess other features
than mere weight and numbers. For hath not wise Montaigne declared, "He
who hath no jouissance but in enjoying; who shoots not but to hit the
marke; who loves not hunting but for the prey; it belongs not to him to
intermeddle with our schoole."
The start will necessarily follow a reasonably early breakfast; and
ere arriving at the final destination of the morning, various covers
may be explored by the devotees of the gun. And while the music of the
barrels rings through the painted woods, and the russet bird of October
tops the ranks of the aspens, there will be sufficient novelty in the
situation and in the attractions of their own company, no doubt, to
prevent any ennui on the part of those in waiting.