Discussion:
Coon - The other dark meat
(too old to reply)
Sordo™
2009-01-14 15:29:43 UTC
Permalink
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table

Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM

He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.

In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.

His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.

That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.

Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.

"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.

"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”

Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.

Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.

As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)

Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.

Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.

The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.

As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.

"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.

"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.

And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”

Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.

But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."

He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.

In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.

"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."

Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."

Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."

For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.

Until you try one.

At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.

On this day, it's raccoon.

All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.

"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.

"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."

The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.

"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.

He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.

He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.

"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.

"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."

After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.

A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.

And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.

“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”

And the taste?

Definitely not chicken.
T***@nospam.net
2009-01-14 16:18:39 UTC
Permalink
Wonda do dey plans to have coon on de menu at de Noggeration? Soun's
lak hit wud be a natchal choice. If M ichelle do de bobbacuin, dat
iz.
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
J***@gmail.com
2009-01-14 17:10:34 UTC
Permalink
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
Game is always better.
El Castor
2009-01-14 18:15:02 UTC
Permalink
Post by J***@gmail.com
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
Game is always better.
I ate coon many years ago and enjoyed it. The server didn't tell me what
it was till after I had eaten it, not that it would have mattered unless
she told me it was a dog or cat.
I guess it could be quite greasy and rank if you didn't know how to
prepare it properly. When I was young most people in my rural area
lived off of game and all women knew how to cook it. My mother brined
all game, Pheasant, Ruffled Grouse aka Partridge, Squirrels, Rabbits,
Venison, Bear were prevalent and served at some time or other. Lots of
fresh fish too as my father was a fisherman as well as a hunter.
Hate to bring this up, but half the raccoons on the planet have
rabies. I wonder if you have to take special precautions preparing a
rabid one?
J***@gmail.com
2009-01-14 18:28:38 UTC
Permalink
Post by El Castor
Post by J***@gmail.com
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
Game is always better.
I ate coon many years ago and enjoyed it. The server didn't tell me what
it was till after I had eaten it, not that it would have mattered unless
she told me it was a dog or cat.
I guess it could be quite greasy and rank if you didn't know how to
prepare it properly. When I was young most people in my rural area
lived off of game and all women knew how to cook it. My mother brined
all game, Pheasant, Ruffled Grouse aka Partridge, Squirrels, Rabbits,
Venison, Bear were prevalent and served at some time or other. Lots of
fresh fish too as my father was a fisherman as well as a hunter.
Hate to bring this up, but half the raccoons on the planet have
rabies. I wonder if you have to take special precautions preparing a
rabid one?
That rabid thing is way overdone. Most of the stuff we hear about
racoons is when they are running rabid. But, most racoons are off
doing racoon business. Ever hear of possums? Naaaaaa. Cause a
couple are not out chasing dogs in neighborhood with rabies.

And most rabies cases I ever heard of are in real heat of summer.
Coons with rabies are gonna die before cooler fall hunting season is
my guess. One never shoots game during spring and summer. They are
lactating if female, immature if young . . . .

Hunting coons is an October - January thing where we grew up.

But, to respond directly, first make damn sure the coon is dead! Coons
are fierce fighters and can do great damage.
Sordo™
2009-01-14 17:28:04 UTC
Permalink
Post by J***@gmail.com
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
Game is always better.
I ate coon many years ago and enjoyed it. The server didn't tell me what
it was till after I had eaten it, not that it would have mattered unless
she told me it was a dog or cat.

I guess it could be quite greasy and rank if you didn't know how to
prepare it properly. When I was young most people in my rural area
lived off of game and all women knew how to cook it. My mother brined
all game, Pheasant, Ruffled Grouse aka Partridge, Squirrels, Rabbits,
Venison, Bear were prevalent and served at some time or other. Lots of
fresh fish too as my father was a fisherman as well as a hunter.
Evelyn
2009-01-14 18:43:25 UTC
Permalink
Post by J***@gmail.com
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon - the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they're
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey . or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, "this is a great value. And really good eatin'.
Best-kept secret around."
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 - each, not per pound - and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they're really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn't USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren't transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society - people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper - where
food comes from."
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family's table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That's the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we'd run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell - roast beef? chicken? - drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
"See that? Tender as a mother's love," he says with a grin. "Good
eatin'."
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
Game is always better.
I ate coon many years ago and enjoyed it. The server didn't tell me what
it was till after I had eaten it, not that it would have mattered unless
she told me it was a dog or cat.
I guess it could be quite greasy and rank if you didn't know how to
prepare it properly. When I was young most people in my rural area
lived off of game and all women knew how to cook it. My mother brined
all game, Pheasant, Ruffled Grouse aka Partridge, Squirrels, Rabbits,
Venison, Bear were prevalent and served at some time or other. Lots of
fresh fish too as my father was a fisherman as well as a hunter.
I have some bear meat right now in my refrigerator. It is really tasty. My
next door neighbor is a serious hunter.
--
--
Best Regards,
Evelyn

Rest in a sky-like mind.
Sit like a mountain floating on the earth.
Breathe like the wind circling the world
Rita
2009-01-14 21:29:47 UTC
Permalink
Post by Evelyn
Post by J***@gmail.com
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon - the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they're
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey . or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, "this is a great value. And really good eatin'.
Best-kept secret around."
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 - each, not per pound - and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they're really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn't USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren't transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society - people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper - where
food comes from."
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family's table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That's the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we'd run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell - roast beef? chicken? - drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
"See that? Tender as a mother's love," he says with a grin. "Good
eatin'."
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
Game is always better.
I ate coon many years ago and enjoyed it. The server didn't tell me what
it was till after I had eaten it, not that it would have mattered unless
she told me it was a dog or cat.
I guess it could be quite greasy and rank if you didn't know how to
prepare it properly. When I was young most people in my rural area
lived off of game and all women knew how to cook it. My mother brined
all game, Pheasant, Ruffled Grouse aka Partridge, Squirrels, Rabbits,
Venison, Bear were prevalent and served at some time or other. Lots of
fresh fish too as my father was a fisherman as well as a hunter.
I have some bear meat right now in my refrigerator. It is really tasty. My
next door neighbor is a serious hunter.
I don;t want to touch any rabbit, squirrel, bear, moose, or venison.
Perhaps irrational but then food tastes often are.
I'll eat almost anything from the sea though. Even raw fish.
Perhaps I should have been born an Asian -- I seem to enjoy more
of the Asian cusines than any other. Maybe in a former life...
Post by Evelyn
--
Evelyn
2009-01-15 01:25:30 UTC
Permalink
Post by Rita
Post by Evelyn
Post by J***@gmail.com
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon - the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they're
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey . or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, "this is a great value. And really good eatin'.
Best-kept secret around."
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 - each, not per pound - and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they're really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn't USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren't transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society - people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper - where
food comes from."
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when
temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family's table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That's the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we'd run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell - roast beef? chicken? - drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
"See that? Tender as a mother's love," he says with a grin. "Good
eatin'."
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
Game is always better.
I ate coon many years ago and enjoyed it. The server didn't tell me what
it was till after I had eaten it, not that it would have mattered unless
she told me it was a dog or cat.
I guess it could be quite greasy and rank if you didn't know how to
prepare it properly. When I was young most people in my rural area
lived off of game and all women knew how to cook it. My mother brined
all game, Pheasant, Ruffled Grouse aka Partridge, Squirrels, Rabbits,
Venison, Bear were prevalent and served at some time or other. Lots of
fresh fish too as my father was a fisherman as well as a hunter.
I have some bear meat right now in my refrigerator. It is really tasty.
My
next door neighbor is a serious hunter.
I don;t want to touch any rabbit, squirrel, bear, moose, or venison.
Perhaps irrational but then food tastes often are.
I'll eat almost anything from the sea though. Even raw fish.
Perhaps I should have been born an Asian -- I seem to enjoy more
of the Asian cusines than any other. Maybe in a former life...
Asians often say of food animals that if its back faces the sky, they are
edible.

I am not crazy about the idea of eating bear meat, but venison is excellent.
My neighbor will serve us venison pot roast and you wouldn't know it from
beef, excepting the meat is a bit more dark in color and more dense, as
there is less fat in the muscle tissue.
--
--
Best Regards,
Evelyn

Rest in a sky-like mind.
Sit like a mountain floating on the earth.
Breathe like the wind circling the world
J***@gmail.com
2009-01-14 18:34:19 UTC
Permalink
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
How about possum ? Which reminds me -- how many presidents does it
take to eat possum ? Two. One to eat, and watch out for cars.
Never never never eat possum. Some folks will. Not me. My uncle was
a famous hunter, trapper, fisherman in Louisiana bayous and he taught
me never to eat possum. One day he showed me why when we came across
a dead cow. There was movement of the two legs in the air and at some
point several possums came running out. Nasty scavengers and if one
likes them, they would love turkey vultures as well. If you ever
smelled a turkey vulture, you would not touch that either.
AndyS
2009-01-14 18:39:42 UTC
Permalink
Andy writes:

I caught one in a trap in my back yard a couple years ago...

It was NOT pleased, and dared me to mess with it.

I figured out a way to release it without getting bitten and the
big sucker scampered up a tree like a squirrel, and began
jumping from tree to tree to go deeper into the woods.

I got the hell away as I was afraid it would jump down on
me just for spite.......

They are cute in petting zoos..... they are vicious in the
wild......if
you piss them off....... and I did......


Andy in Eureka, Texas

PS I named him "Rochester", after the town in New York.....
Gary
2009-01-14 21:20:02 UTC
Permalink
Post by Sordo™
The other dark meat: Raccoon is making it to the table
Lee Hill Kavanaugh
Kansas City Star
January 13, 2009 08:32:44 AM
He rolls into the parking lot of Leon's Thriftway in an old, maroon
Impala with a trunk full of frozen meat. Raccoon — the other dark meat.
In five minutes, Montrose, Mo., trapper Larry Brownsberger is sold out
in the lot at 39th Street and Kensington Avenue. Word has gotten around
about how clean his frozen raccoon carcasses are. How nicely they’re
tucked up in their brown butcher paper. How they almost look like a
trussed turkey … or something.
His loyal customers beam as they leave, thinking about the meal they'll
soon be eating.
That is, as soon as the meat is thawed. Then brined. Soaked overnight.
Parboiled for two hours. Slow-roasted or smoked or barbecued to
perfection.
Raccoon, which made the first edition of The Joy of Cooking in 1931, is
labor-intensive but well worth the time, aficionados say.
"Good things come to those who wait," says A. Reed, 86, who has been
eating raccoon since she was a girl.
"This right here," she says, holding up a couple of brown packages tied
with burlap string, “this is a great value. And really good eatin’.
Best-kept secret around.”
Raccoons go for $3 to $7 — each, not per pound — and will feed about
five adults. Four, if they’re really hungry.
Those who dine on raccoon meat sound the same refrain: It's good eatin'.
As long as you can get past the "ick" factor that it's a varmint, more
often seen flattened on asphalt than featured on a restaurant menu. (One
exception: French restaurant Le Fou Frog served raccoon about a dozen
years ago, a waiter said.)
Eating varmints is even in vogue these days, at least in Britain. The
New York Times reported last week that Brits are eating squirrels with
wild abandon.
Here in Kansas City, you won't see many, if any, squirrel ads in the
papers. But that's where Brownsberger was advertising his raccoons last
week.
The meat isn’t USDA-inspected, and few state regulations apply, same as
with deer and other game. No laws prevent trappers from selling raccoon
carcasses.
As for diseases, raccoon rabies doesn't exist in Missouri, state
conservation scientists say. It's an East Coast phenomenon. Parvo and
distemper kill raccoons quickly but aren’t transferred to humans. Also,
trappers are unlikely to sell meat from an animal that appears to be
diseased.
"Raccoon meat is some of the healthiest meat you can eat," says Jeff
Beringer, a furbearer resource biologist with the Missouri Department of
Conservation.
"During grad school, my roommate and I ate 32 coons one winter. It was
all free, and it was really good. If you think about being green and
eating organically, raccoon meat is the ultimate organic food," with no
steroids, no antibiotics, no growth hormones.
And when people eat wild meat, Beringer says, "it reminds the modernized
society — people who usually eat food from a plastic wrapper — where
food comes from.”
Statewide, consumption of raccoon meat can be tracked somewhat by how
many raccoon pelts are harvested each year. In 2007, 118,166 pelts were
sold.
But there are plenty more out there, Beringer says. The raccoon
population "doubled in the '80s. There's more now than when Missouri was
first settled."
He estimates there are about 20 raccoons per square mile of habitat.
In the wild, raccoons typically live five or six years. Populations that
grow too dense can be decimated by disease, especially when temperatures
drop, Beringer says.
"The animals huddle together, passing on the infections. In the winter,
we sometimes have massive die-offs. If we can control the fluctuations
in the populations by hunting and trapping, we can have healthier
animals."
Fur trappers, who harvest most of the raccoons sold in Missouri, "try to
kill as humanely as possible," says Beringer, a trapper himself. "It's
part of the culture."
Pelts last year sold on average for about $17. They're used for coats
and hats, and many are sold to Russia. But the conflict between Russia
and Georgia severely cut into the fur-trading market, Beringer says.
"Pelts will probably be less this year."
For the average person, who probably doesn't spend much time thinking
how a steer or a pig or a chicken might meet its maker, raccoons may
seem too cute to eat.
Until you try one.
At the Blue Springs home of Billy Washington, raccoon, fish, bison and
deer are staples on his family’s table.
On this day, it's raccoon.
All night he has been soaking a carcass in a solution of salt and
vinegar in a five-gallon bucket. Now he rinses the raccoon in his
kitchen sink.
"Eating raccoon has never gone out of style. It's just hard to get
unless you know somebody," he says as he carefully trims away the fat
and the scent glands.
"My kids love eating game. They think eating deer and buffalo make you
run faster and jump higher. My grandkids will just tear this one up,
it'll be so good."
The meat is almost ready to be boiled, except for one thing: Although
its head, innards and three paws have been removed, it still has one.
That’s the law.
"They leave the paw on to prove it's not a cat or a dog," Washington
says.
He cuts off the paw and drops the carcass into a stew pot, slices up a
carrot, celery and onion, and sprinkles some seasoning into the water.
Two and a half hours later, he transfers it to a Dutch oven. It looks a
lot like chicken.
He bathes the raccoon with his own combination of barbecue sauces.
Stuffs the cavity with canned sweet potatoes and pours the rest of the
juice from the can over the breast.
"I follow the same tradition I watched when I was little. My uncle would
cook 'em all day, saving the littlest coon for me," he says.
"If stores could sell coon, we’d run out of them. It's a long-hidden
secret that they're so good."
After several hours, a delicious smell — roast beef? chicken? — drifts
from the oven.
A mingling of garlic and onion and sweet-smelling spices.
And when Washington opens the lid, a tiny leg falls easily from the
bone.
“See that? Tender as a mother’s love,” he says with a grin. “Good
eatin’.”
And the taste?
Definitely not chicken.
How about possum ? Which reminds me -- how many presidents does it
take to eat possum ? Two. One to eat, and watch out for cars.
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