As far as I know, I’ve only eaten roadkill twice. The first time, I was dosed — I knew my friend to be a hunter, and thought the venison I was eating was the victim of first-degree murder. Then my friend said “well, when I found it…” and I realized we were talking involuntary deerslaughter. It was roadkill, and of uncertain provenance, too – not organically free-range run over by my friend, but run over by someone else and discovered freshly dead alongside a Colorado highway.
I forged ahead through my steak. It wasn’t bad, but I later had regular old premeditated-murdered venison and it was better.
The other time was just last weekend, the morning after the Derby party. Our Louisville-born hostess fired up the crockpot for the gourmet roadkill brunch of Foolhardy Grouse That Thought It Could Take on a Ford Focus. I had a small slice of white meat, and it tasted fine.
Late last night, driving home from the ferry after working late, I swerved to avoid a possum. Because I looked at its leering, underworldy face, and did not feel hungry at all.
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5 comments:
"Foolhardy Grouse That Thought It Could Take on a Ford Focus" - LOL. You travel in eccentric circles. I've never eaten roadkill. We do however have the better part of a whole pig, in pieces in freezers up and down the Hudson valley. Better part meaning that as yet only the head, feet and several chops have been eaten.
I think it's safe to say that once the head and feet are gone, what you've got left is the "better part."
Remember what they say in France : tout est bon dans le cochon...
and remember what they say in Alabama: mmmmm...possum
What if it had been waddling toward you swathed in a lemon butter sauce?
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