Friday, February 04, 2005

Brining and Smoking Fresh Baby Caribou

Top of the morning gents,

Long ass weekend.

Helped my neighborhood killers butcher up a slew of
walrus and caribou "in the mud, and the blood, and the
beer." (J. Cash)

Must be 15 to 20 boats out at the ice pack, popping
corn and mid twenty caliber rifle rounds. That's the
way it sounds, fuck you.

My browner bros, the Brower boys did a fine job of
Western style killin', namely driving a V-8 Chevy out
Gaswell Road, and blasting dozens of caribou from
their car windows. Jerry's and Dale's .338 mag rounds
occasionally zipped 2 caribou with only one bullet.
Oviak, R2 and Freddy shot with .223 steam cleaners,
much less mess for me, the dude that can disassemble
any land or sea mammal faster than a fucking spic with
a speed wrench. Notice I crafted this tale to omit my
own gun play? Guns are bad, and my mommy won't let me
have one. Fuck you.

In total, we dragged 23 back to the trailer, #24 was a
baby and way too fun to chase on foot. I tripped and
wiped out more than the recommended daily allowance
for a chemically impaired Finn, but Jim Beam and
nigger heads are the likely culprits to my unpleasant
smelling mud caked exterior. Freddy joked I looked
more native with my tundra and poop mask on.

A decent preamble is priceless, I intentionally
declined to make the comparison to gunslingers famous
for the same; Hickok, Cody, buffalo, train windows et
al. Decimation and extinction of caribou and woolly
mammoths are politically correct, if you only examine
hunters from the mud races. In my emerging
alterNative opinion of murder, shooting whole herds is
fair play and good sport. It's my book and like you
chaps, their my best friends, fuck you.

We brought the larger snow machine trailer, served well
as gutting staging area, and far easier to butcher and
transport with, than a blood drenched pick up or a
piss puddled front yard. As mentioned, we even chased
down and captured an orphan caribou baby, probably
less than 2 weeks old. Cute thing was happy to sit up
front, while we sawed mommy and daddy into luggable
chunks.

With lots of canned milk and leftover vegetables,
we'll soon have a veal l'orange perfect for our
impatiently waiting no teefer elders at the Barrow
Senior Center. You boys may gag, but it's good karma
to catch a living baby caribou, which is then
fattened, suffocated, gutted and skinned, then
barbequed immediately or aged with all yer other
Ukpeagvik subterranean grub cellar groovies. Fuck
you, ain't my menu, a gang of violent old Eskimos
special order smoked dead baby caribou chaw annually.

My contribution? Find what's needed or wanted, then
produce it.

Nancy from across the street phoned for us to pick up
bags of walrus meat and our pie pans, see the
relationship? I'm discovering new ways to experience
beauty and fulfillment in an environment described as
otherwise. Cruel people? You bet. Battered
children? Damn straight. Am I happy as a dyke in
Auschwitz? Yes sir!

Stinking clothes, blood-stink gloves, poop-rot spray
in my beard. My DNA impulses me to orgy in blood,
human or otherwise. Happy as a pig in shit? Yes sir.

More pictures will soon be added to my photo archives,
and subsequent chatter with smart fuckers down yonder,
south of 70 lat, you pussies.

Saturday evening the Mrs. cut up a pile of caribou
meat whilst I washed. I only clean up for special
occasions; Karlukmun's brine op was underway.

Top secret recipe.
*Real simple; pay attention.

Cut up yer game meat into any size or shape you
desire, cross cutting allows for easier chewing, if ya
ain't got no teefers.

Fill up as many buckets or bowels you can with fresh
cut meat chunks or strips.

Brine target taste: smoke, salt, sweet.

Brine ingredients:
-One large jug of Soy Sauce
-One small bottle of red hot sauce
-One small bottle of liquid smoke flavor
-Lots of sugar, couple cups minimum
-Liquor is optional; beer, wine, whiskeys, all serve
well if more liquid and dilution is desired.

Stir up yer brine and pour over all yer cut up game
meats, covering completely to prevent exposure to air.

Marinate is a gay word, doesn't encapsulate the FOUR
days of refrigeration required to brine yer meat to
perfection.

You heard me; 4 days soak time in the fridge. Softens
up the meat and completely penetrates the tissue with
expensive flavorings.

I cannibalized some shelving from an old fridge, and
in our furnace room, I lay my brine soaked meat out to
dry. This usually takes 3 days for big chunks, 2 days
for thin slices.

When I air dry my jerked game meats at room
temperature and not in my hot furnace room, I point a
fan at the drying rack, insuring fast drying and far
better hygiene.

Note: Drying game meat is a race to stay ahead of
molding, thus mucking up the whole fucking process.

Turn yer meat as often as you like. It's fun to play
with the stuff, inspect it, maybe brush on more
seasonings, or sprinkle with more garlic salt. Spray
bottle and warm water allows a chap to apply Cajun
powders or Chili powders to nail a pert near perfect
Tex/Mex Punniktuq.

After four days of shooting, drinking, smoking, and
brining, even gun toting motherfuckers need day care
treatment;
-play time (killing caribou or walrus)
-snack time (Fride Bred, bourbon)
-nap time (sober up to kill more)

Four days of this may be considered a bit excessive,
that is, if you don't have a Viking's thirst for Jim
Beam, and unjustifiably cruel homicides.

Killing cleanses the soul, and undesirable
ethnicities. Stupid fucking white man. When are his
buddies gonna take him out hunting, and come back
alone?

You sons of bitches remember Kim Nay's advice?

"Hand guns aren't for big game, they're for your
fellow hunters."

Karl.

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