Squirrels in the Pot
It's that time of year.
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Certain dishes in the American repertoire seem to be more enjoyable when a crowd is expected. Brunswick stew and booya are good examples. They are among the oldest dishes in our cookbooks. Their roots originate in England and France, and, with each immigration, every slave and indentured servant added to our shores, the ingredients modified and techniques slightly changed the recipes we use today (give or take the ongoing proclivities of the cook). But this is part of the reason Brunswick stew and booya are classic American dishes: Not unlike the Constitution’s values, the recipes are constantly absorbing new ideas and upholding the ideals of individualism and free will.
The basic recipes are strikingly similar, their differences coming down to just a few elements:
Region: If you’re eating Brunswick stew, chances are you’re points south along the East Coast, starting in Virginia and moving down to Georgia, although both states declare ownership. Booya, on the other hand, marks the Midwest, with Minnesota and the surrounding areas certain their recipes are better.
Order: How the ingredients are added to the pot.
The Cook: Who inevitably slips in his or her own flavors.
If there is a core similarity, it comes down to the time of year when the dishes are most popular, fashioned as they are to accommodate the hunting, planting, and harvest seasons, months when extra hands are most needed and there is an abundance of ingredients. Traditionally, we’re talking about game, specifically squirrel, a tiny animal that unfortunately is busily prominent in the fall and spring. They are also supposed to be very flavorful. A wild squirrel tastes like what it grows up eating: Bag one nesting by a pear or apple orchard, and the meat will taste sweetly redolent of fruit. City squirrels, on the other hand, will (at best) taste like hot dog buns and pretzels.
A good squirrel hunter will tell you the most important and pleasant aspect of the occasion is the opportunity to sit still, your back against a comfortable tree in a quiet forest, just listening to the woodsy noises around you. This all sounded like a nice way to spend an afternoon during the period in my life when I obsessed about cooking Brunswick stews and booya following the original recipes. I envisioned hauling my cast iron pot into my backyard or nearby park where I would induce a huge hunger in a host of friends while they sat around convivially drinking, enjoying the day.
The first step, of course, to making this happen was to find people who were willing to cart a completely gun-scared, antsy-pants novice into the woods. I did try, though, venturing so far as to visit a local practice range, a laughable outing of hopeless misfires and screams when the rifle kicked back against my shoulder. By the time I found someone in West Virginia who was willing to do a relative a favor and take me along—gun-less and pledged to sit still—I couldn’t get around the fact that what was good sport and a scrumptious occasion to one, were cute, defenseless animals to me.
So a good old-fashioned hunt was out, which was okay because these days the modern recipes for Brunswick stew and booya don’t mention squirrel at all. A few suggest deer and elk, but the most common incorporate chicken, turkey, beef, pork, maybe a good smoky ham butt. Oxtails for an extra flavorful broth are also called for.
At this point in the story, worlds aligne and, completely unbidden, a text from my brother-in-law arrives
I looked the site up and they have quite a selection of meats from animals you won’t find at your local butcher. And there is squirrel, although at $99.99 for one squirrel when a decent amount of Brunswick stew or booya calls for at least ten, is rather steep. More to the point, though, the sight of that sweet thing munching a nut on the screen….I can’t. I really can’t.
Come back on Saturday to receive the recipes for both, neither requiring squirrels.
One more thing….Thank you for reading America Eats! Your support helps me write stories not often told—and celebrate people who should be remembered and acclaimed—in the food world and at the American table.