EEEEHHHGADDS!!!!! some of my faithful literary followers might proclaim....we know times are tough these days but substituting Jimmy Dean's pork sausage with raccoon at the breakfast table..."Poor Mary"....old LCJoe has finally lost it. Well "loosing it" in whatever form one might consider at the robust age of almost sixty six (66) is all together possible. But believe me, when it comes to consuming the "masked bandit" I have complete awareness and control of all on my senses. What do raccoon and eggs have enough in common to headline my latest Lowcountry pontification you might ask.....Well....putting all political and culinary correctness aside "They Taste Damn Good Together"!
May I regress....Many a fond moment were spent many moons ago at my Aunt Nellie's dinner table on the family farm and believe me, I never once left hungry. We raised the finest of black angus steers, prime corn fed hogs and the healthiest of true free range chickens. I know that its hard to believe that eating juicy t-bone steaks each day gets old, but it does, so Aunt Nellie, true to form, would always "surprise us" with a fine delicacy. A lot of these last minute treats were passionately cooked cow and pig "parts" the Travel Channel's "Anthony Bourdain/No Reservations" would savor. But the real treat came in the form of a masked bandit that made the tragic mistake of noisily overturning my Aunt's garbage pail at 3 AM. She had a great "eye" coupled for a fondness for deep sleep and the sound of a twelve gauge shotgun reverberating over the serenely quiet Pennsylvania rolling meadows announced to all that raccoon was on tomorrow's menu.
As I now fast forward....I am spending a fine Summer afternoon "porch sittin" at the Silver Dew Winery with my dear "local" friend Freddie when the subject of consuming Daufuskie critters came up. We chatted about how our relatives prepared squirrel to die for and excitedly talked over each other about how we were brought up on and developed a fine taste for raccoon. The conversation spread from fur to feather with a deep appreciation of each others unlikely common culinary delights. It was enough to break out my trusty twelve gage and head for the woods. "True hunters", however, know that a long hard freeze is always mandatory and our fantasizing taste buds would have to wait.
Months passed and "da 2010 freeze it did come". The arctic blast came with a vengeance wiping out pesky bugs of all sorts, completely freezing over my never frozen 1/3 acre pond for days on end , thrilling Palmetto Electric to distraction and bringing my parka clad Friend Freddie to my door. Invited in, he grinned from ear to ear and from a brown paper bag presented a package securely wrapped in sturdy tin foil. The masked bandit from my childhood had arrived and was once again about to be savored and consumed.
So there you have it and "NO" my Bride Mary did not partake of or encourage my fine feast. But when she did ask me what the masked bandit tasted like I smiled and blurted RACCOON....No...Not Chicken.