Friday Classic: Hunt Camp Grub
Chef’s are underrated. The products of a gifted Chef de Cuisine should, by my estimation, rate right alongside those of lauded musicians, painters, dancers and poets. Maybe they get short shrift because of the transitory nature of their art – it will all eventually, literally, become crap.
That seems unfair to me. But maybe the lack of fair credit owes, more reasonably, to the fact that their most inspired creations can never stack-up to the basest of meals, served under the right conditions. It’s not their fault. The backcountry will always provide the best seasoning, and you just can’t find it in the kitchens of Paris.
Hunt Camp Grub
Step 1: Wake up before dawn. Brace yourself, then unzip the tent. Step quickly into sodden, frozen boots, and pile on yesterday’s layers. Race through a meager, headlamp lit breakfast of lumpy gruel and map study. Pack your pack.
Step 2: Start hiking. Uphill. Fast. Sit down. Ignore the wind. Ignore the muddy slush. Keep glassing. Challenge every bush. Examine every stump. Sit still and keep glassing. Hike some more, slower this time, each foot placed just so, each sense tuned to the limit.
Step 3: Repeat for the next 10 hours.
Step 4: Season liberally with heavy winds, half frozen drizzle, mid-day naps, coyotes, ermine, eagles, scratches, bruises and blood.
Step 5: Empty a can of whatever into a pot. Warm it up on a camp stove. Serve with a plan for tomorrow.
Trade it for dinner in a 4-star restaurant? Not on your life. Bon Appetite!