How to Cook a Moose

How to Cook a Moose

Kate Christensen

Language: English

Pages: 298

ISBN: 193403147X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Inspired by her move from Brooklyn to Maine, as well as the slow-food, buy-local movement that has re-energized sustainable farming, bestselling author Kate Christensen turns her blockbuster talent to telling the story of the hardship and happiness that has sustained her adopted home through thick and thin, as demonstrated through the staple foods of the region. Using a candid blend of humor, insight, culinary knowledge, and taste for rugged adventure, Christensen shares personal insights and takes readers on a journey into the lives and landscapes of the farmers, fishermen, hunters, chefs, and families who harvest or produce delicious, healthful food. She also details the history of food in the region and the secrets to cultivating her own sources of joy. The result is a mouthwatering literary stew that combines the magic ingredients of love, personal appetites, hard labor, history, and original recipes.

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family, taking the ferry to Newfoundland, the guys he met up there, the hunting lodges and the experience of being out in the wilderness, looking for moose. “We walk through a strange, marshy tundra,” said Shane. “It’s like ten layers of carpet in three feet of water. You sink down with every step into this soft, spongy mass.” He added, “It’s best to try for a young moose. It’s the dichotomy of hunting: trophy versus meat—and I want the meat.” Then he gave me his recipe for moose jerky, which

rabbit, barking at snow drip-melting off the roof and fluffing his copiously shedding fur in the breeze and sunlight. After an uncharacteristically studious, intent winter of hard work and concentration, Brendan and I reverted to our punchy and goofy and amorous selves. I felt scattershot and addlepated with unfocused disorganization: What was I working on, again? Eight different things, it turned out. All night one night, the full moon blazed in through the bedroom window and lit up the long

kids not much younger than me. I married him at twenty-four, a single mother. He legally adopted Jaim a couple of years later. In the divorce, he tried to get full custody and was awarded half. He changed the locks when I moved out. I took only what could fit in a suitcase. I lost my grandmother’s china . . . so many things. But they’re just things. I had to let go, to move on.” Broke, homeless, and heartbroken, she moved back to Freedom with Jaim, in with her parents again (“Thank God for

anything, or it might end up in a book. People here struck me as fiercely private; they minded their own business and trusted that you would do the same, which was a soothing relief after the relentless gossip of the city. Sometimes, staying in the isolated farmhouse with my true love, I caught myself feeling as if I were living inside a children’s book—a happy one. The view from the table where we sat working together all day was wondrous: long, wild meadows surrounded by stone walls,

just seeing them as they are—opportunities to learn—but I often allow them to build into rain clouds that hover over my psyche the rest of the day. But as Jane Kenyon says, “How much better it is to carry wood to the fire than to moan about your life.” And it’s true and a little bit miraculous what a good day of hard work and a spot of sunshine can do to turn your attitude around. By the time the skies cleared on Thursday afternoon, I had let go of my self-doubt and felt grateful to be exactly

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