Backed up my GMC/NASCAR/GOP half-ton on some little squirrels. Not one, but two squirrels. Arrgh. Such cute little fellas. But what were the odds of getting such premium roadkill in my very own driveway? Zero is the answer. But there they were, dead. Or mostly, until I drove over 'em again, just to make sure.
Waste not, want not. Children starving in Swahilistan and all that, so I decided our cute little fellas' deaths should not be in vain. They would not have wanted it to go down like that, of this I am sure. Squirrels are Republicans too in their squirrelly way: they hoard all their nuts, do not share with 0thers, breed like religious freaks or rabbits, and exploit the hard work of others, like trees and people. They neither spin nor toil nor sow nor whatever, but they do want their bodies eaten by the masses. You could look it up. Republicans are like that. Abraham Lincoln.
So, we (Eddie, Jim & yr humble truck backer-upper) experimented around a little in our culinary science laboratory (Eddie's mother's kitchen) and came up with this. Peel before eating, like shrimp:
2 dead squirrels
½ bag Fritos® (crushed)
7½ oz. Kraft NASCAR® Barbecue Sauce
1 jar Cheese Whiz®
½ tsp coriander
1 quart Tabasco®
1 sprig parsley
Stir, set a tire on fire and cook it all 'til it's a golden black. Top with Cheez-Its®.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Oh, man. I'm proud to be an American, and dang wasn't that an unexpected feast. Providence, the Founding Fathers used to call it, before they all died. We are the new Promised People and God was smiling at my back tires before they accidentally crushed the heads of those tasty varmints, I can tell you that much for sure. Felt sorry about the squirrels and their heads and all, but hey, we're all just spokes on the Great Mandala. Some of us eat, some of us just taste good. And if I may say, especially with this recipe.
Bon Appétit, as I'd say in France if I were there (which I'm not, thank God), and Jeff Gordon better get his pit crew's ass in gear or he's gonna miss out on The Chase. Bush too.
I was right there until you decided to cook it up in a tire. Cast iron is the only appropriate vessel for cookin' varmints.
ReplyDeleteSnob.
ReplyDeleteOops! I know spelling some of todays finer foods can be a challenge, and it looks like you forgot that pesky little 'h' in Cheez-Whiz.
ReplyDeleteSometimes we need to drop the 'h', for other fine foods such as Reddi-Wip.
And don't go thinking yer that great a chef either. Cheez-Whiz makes anything good.
Thanks, CLA. The spelling has been corrected for Google posterity.
ReplyDeleteAnd I am too a great chef.
Hi Tom!
ReplyDeleteI started reading your piece in the middle, and thought you were talking about some kind of protest march in Zimbabwe, or some such. For that matter, it sounded like a protest march in California if you were to substitute tofu for the squirrel. I was quite surprised to learn otherwise.
You are indeed a thrifty man!
P.S. Using that tire to cook with showed real genius! You could have used your hub-cap, but that could have led to metal poisoning.
Perhaps I'm just dumb, or too far outside conservatism to get some sort of cultural joke, but I completely don't get this post.
ReplyDeletePerhaps I'm just dumb, or too far outside conservatism to get some sort of cultural joke
ReplyDeleteYou're just too California. It's probably too late for this, but marrying a woman from, say, Indiana, would broaden your cultural horizons considerably. Did wonders for my San Diego Sweetheart.
You may not be able to take the Hoosier out of the girl, but I've lived in Maryland long enough, and absorbed enough of the Eastern Shore ethos, that if van Dyke dares to claim one more time that canned crab is fit for human consumption I'm gonna hafta git the varmint gun.
Maryland. Fresh crabs.
ReplyDeleteSure, rub it in.
It's probably too late for this, but marrying a woman from, say, Indiana, would broaden your cultural horizons considerably.
ReplyDeleteMy fiancee is from New Mexico. Her dad's from Indiana, though.
Moving from Indiana to New Mexico is a VERY bad sign!
ReplyDelete