Ah, the anticipation of springtime. Waiting for the blooms to unfold after a long and trying winter. I look out over my domain at the sea of green and notice the garden is punctuated… by spikes; yes, once again, spiky stems of snapped-off tulips.
Alas, lopped in their prime, before the buds burst into bloom. Snap. Right at the top, an inch or so below the flower. See that: Nibble. Hear that: Patooey. Without even the decency to eat the spoils. So tender buds of are strewn about to shrivel on the ground. There. And there. And, oh look, over there.
At times like this, I get an inexplicable craving… for squirrel pie.
Fortunately, I own a 70s classic edition of The Joy of Cooking, that indispensable tome. The Joy of Cooking knows everything. Not only does it tell me how to cook squirrel, and other pesky small game like raccoon, it shows me, and quite graphically, how a squirrel should be skinned.
I love the fact that it’s shown to be a legitimate thing. Of course, you might eat squirrel or raccoon. Why not? Here’s how!
Some people read gardening books. Others, at certain times, get equal joy from a cookbook. It’s cuisine! That’s all. Why else would I want to read about something like this?
Now, let me see: I place my foot just there, and pull.