I'll Have My Coffee Now If You Please.

© 2009, 2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
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I had shot that three hundred pounder right through the cheekbone.

We had been hunting hog at a friend's ranch an hour or so from where I lived. We had been carefully stalking this bad boy for the better part of two hours. There were sows and piglets to contend with, mosquitoes, and the occasional pygmy rattle thrown in for fun. Actually, I was pretty sure those damned chiggers were, at that very moment, digging into my tender flesh and making themselves at home.

Skirting palmetto clumps, and patches of scrub oak, we finally got into position with out spooking him. I took off my leather hat, laid it in front of me, and used it as a rest for my hog hunting rifle, a 30/06 Weatherby Eurosport. I wanted an instant kill; I had had enough of chiggers, ticks and skeeters for the day, so I carefully lined up for a spinal shot. I was certain of my shooting ability, and I have complete confidence in my weapon and the ammo I use.

180 grains of copper clad and partitioned lead went right under his left eye, through his sinus cavity, and smashed right into his spinal column where it demolished nine inches of bone and nerves, disrupting much of his motor functions. But it wasn't enough. By the time I had crossed the forty or so yards between us, he had regained some use of his body. His jaws worked to and fro, slashing at the under growth, hooking roots, branches and the occasional shrub. Apparently he could use his back legs, and had some use of his front right one. He stumbled as he tried to charge me.

I had stoked the Weatherby with another Remington Safari Grade Swift A-Frame before I was even up. As I raised the Weatherby for a follow up shot, Matt put his hand on my shoulder. "Wait, don't waste the bullet, let me finish him with my .22." Moments later the big hog was down.

And what a hog! Scarred and cut up from slugging it out with the other males, he was a brute; three inches of whetted tusks stuck out either side. I had him mounted, but unfortunately over the years he has deteriorated to the point that it was, in my mind, disrespectful to his memory to have him displayed in that condition. So he now resides sealed in a large bin with a desiccant package and a pest control devise. Maybe, when times are a little better, I can have him refurbished, and he can take place of pride over my desk again.

I really need to get out hog hunting...

But that's not why I tell the tale. Cooking, that's what I want to talk about.

It all started, innocently enough, when I happened upon Miss Jamie's blog Borderland Adventures: Her Perspective and her post Stinky Little Pigs.

Now I like pigs. I like them as livestock, pets, and wildlife. I like them alive and I like them roasted. Now Miss Jamie is actually writing about the New World equivalent of the pig, that being the peccary also known as the javelina. Miss Jamie does an excellent job of explaining their natural history and taxonomy; and she does it with great humor. In addition you will find great narratives of the border area, posts on cooking both in the home and out in the field, and a product review. Not only that, but she has some great photography too! I heartily recommend visiting her Blog Borderland Adventures: Her Perspective.

Now back to the cooking. As it turns out both peccaries and that big ol' hog I took, have similarities. They both stink real bad. As in rank.

I don't like to waste game. But a rank old hog is unpalatable. Simple as that; just plain inedible. I had Matt carve out the tenderloins, if that's not a misnomer I don't know what is. I also got the two roasts. Matt got the rest to grind up for sausage.

When I got home I threw a box of coarse salt over the meat and ice in the cooler. I figured that would buy me enough time to figure out what I was going to do.

I've got one of those big enameled roasting pan, and I always have a lot of garlic. Work with what you got I always say. As I was trying not to pass out from the testosterone induced odor, I remembered reading somewhere that instant coffee neutralized the odor and helped to tenderize the meat. I couldn't remember how much was recommended, so I dumped a big handful in there. I mean I poured it into my hand and dumped it over the roast. With that done, I took a knife skewered that roast and stuffed garlic into every hole I made. I doused it thoroughly with some white wine, the cheap stuff I keep for those meddlesome neighbors, and put the cover on it.

I set the oven on low (325 F) and came back to it about four hours later.

Holy smokes! It worked! The smell was gone, and in its place a delectable and genuinely delicious aroma of cooked pork with subtle tones of garlic. After due deliberations though it was decided that a couple of more hours wouldn't hurt. I cut up some more garlic, potatoes, carrots, and celery, and poured in some more wine and water.

A couple of hours later we were sitting around the table enjoying a tender and tasty roast.

I've tried it out with other cuts of tough meat both wild and domestic with similar results. Oh and there is no taste of coffee either. What is in the instant coffee that does that is unknown to me. All I know is that it works.

Amazing what you can do with some coffee...

Regards,
Albert A Rasch
The Hunt Continues...

Update:
While cruising the Blogsphere this morning, I came upon this "The Bacon Weave." For those of you that don't have enough cholesteral in your diet, this is a sure fire way to get it up there! Brought to you by the fellows at BBQ Addicts!

AAR

Hog Hunting Rifles: Pt II

© 2009 Albert A Rasch

Well, Otto had time to mull his decision over. I wasn't in any hurry to leave, and Mike was working, if you can call it that.

"I've decided." He finally said.

Mike and I waited for the verdict. I figured he would go for the H&R in .308, or maybe even the 45/70.

"The Mossberg in 30/30!" Was his definitive answer.

Oops, my bad.

"Good choice!" Exclaimed Mike in his usual over exuberant way. Did I note a hint of self congratulatory smugness in his voice?

Glancing at Mike with some suspicion, I turned to Otto and asked, "That's a great choice! Now tell me, why did you pick the Mossberg?" I wanted to hear his logic for choosing it, I wanted to know if he was listening.

And why he didn't go for a .45 bore.

Otto ticked off three facts on his fingers. "One: It's a handy rifle for Florida habitat. Two: I can use the 30/30 on anything I might decide to hunt for. Three: It's affordable, and so is the ammo, so that means I can practice more."

"Good sound reasoning!" I said as a slapped him on his back; he was listening. "Mike, hand the man his rifle will you?" Mike was already reaching for it, but I thought a little motivating from me might make it happen quicker.

“So Otto, those are good reasons for picking the Mossberg leveraction, but now I want to know why you didn't decide to get the Weatherby, the H&R, or either of the Marlins."

"Well sir," he started, "I'm not sure I want to risk it all on one shot, so that pretty much ruled out the single shots for me. The price is right on the H&Rs but I'm not really liking them that much."

I can’t disagree with him too much one the aesthetics. I have a sixties vintage 10 gauge slug gun whose bluing rivals that of any other gun I have, and the stock is as pretty as any. She’s plain, but pretty.

"Now, I like the Weatherby, and if I had more money, I probably would have chosen it. But I really want to be able to practice so I'll need the money for the ammo. That and I'll need other stuff too."

"I really liked the Marlins, don't get me wrong, but I don't think I'm ready for the 45/70. What you said about respecting the game, I understand what you mean and I don’t want to be a bad shot and make a mistake while I’m out there. I don't reload my own ammo; so I can't make the 45 Colt ammunition. If I understood you correctly the stock factory ammo isn’t best for hunting hogs, and that Corbon is pretty expensive stuff. And the truth is, I like the way the Mossberg feels in my hand. That pretty much did it for me."

"That is pretty good reasoning." I responded. "Mike, what do you think? Has he got the smarts to outwit a big boar hog?"

"I think so." He replied and then added, "If he practices, stays honest to himself and the game, he'll do fine. You think you can do it kid?"

"Yes sir I sure can!" Came Otto's sincere reply.

"Alright, there's only one thing left for you to do, and that's to schedule some range time with Mike here." I turned to Mike, "Can you get Mr. Broward to help Otto out?" Mr Broward is an older gentleman who runs the range. He's real old school, and enjoys helping out younger folk getting started. He's half deaf so it's always a lot of fun when he's presiding over the range.

"I'll make sure he's here when Otto comes in." Mike’s as good as gold when it comes to getting someone started right.

"That'll be great." I added, "Otto, Mr Broward is an old cuss who will teach you more in an hour of range time, than most people can learn in a year of shooting, so mind your manners and pay attention."

"Yes sir I will."

Well I felt pretty good on this one. I’ve had them when they wouldn’t listen to reason, and get something completely ill suited for their skill level and the quarry they where after. Mike has to tread a thin line between pleasing the customer and advising.

If only more kids were as amenable as Otto was!

Albert A Rasch
The Hunt Continues...