Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Nekid Fisherman
10:57 AM | Posted by
Cassie Designs
DON'T TRY TO BUFFALO YOUR WIFE!
Jim Croce was right: You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind; you don't pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger and you don't mess around with Jim. Actually, he was only 80% right because I learned you also don’t do some things without telling your wife.
Jim Croce was right: You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind; you don't pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger and you don't mess around with Jim. Actually, he was only 80% right because I learned you also don’t do some things without telling your wife.
The fall bow hunt just started in Utah, so many anglers’ thoughts turn to a nice venison stew or an elk steak. I fell prey to that delusion a few years ago and committed the unforgivable mistake of trying to sneak some wild game meat onto my wife’s plate without telling her. Since she rarely reads our fly fishing newsletter, I think I can avoid any additional fallout when I tell you MY side of the story. All I ask is that you keep a secret.
My wife used to eat the pheasants I hunted in Iowa. She eagerly eats the fish I bring home. And she’s been known to even try rabbit and squirrel. So when we moved to Utah and I began hunting deer and elk, I thought she would at least try some. Nope. Not Dave’s moose meat. Not his caribou. Not even her husband’s hard-won elk meat. No wild game. Period.
So I thought (which is where most wayward actions arise) I’ll cook some buffalo, since it is a great game meat that closely resembles beef. Buffalo steaks! That’s the ticket!
So I brought home some incredible buffalo steaks. I grilled them to perfection. And we sat down for a wonderful dinner. She loved the meat. In fact, she enjoyed nearly every bite—every bite except the last three left on her plate. That was when I said, “And at least it isn’t elk.” I couldn’t keep my trap closed.
She put her fork down beside her plate and said, “It’s not elk.” She said it in a way that suggested it better not be elk. So I quickly assured her it wasn’t elk. And then I realize that I’m in it pretty deep by now. She said, “What is it?” as she fondled her steak knife. I have never been a very good liar, so I admitted that it was buffalo. Now both of her elbows went on the table, but at least she hadn't started gesturing with her steak knife. She said, “It’s beef.” This in a way that said IT BETTER BE BEEF!
What an ethical dilemma! I could either tell her the truth or tell her the truth that she wanted to hear. Being a coward at heart, I chose the latter. I agreed with her and said it was beef. For just a nano-second, the tension left her body. Whew! That was close, I thought.
But the brief moment of possible reprieve passed and she continued, “It’s not beef, is it?” No, I admitted, it’s really buffalo. So she got both sides of the truth anyway. And, as it turned out, it didn’t seem to make her feel any better getting the whole truth. Without a word, she picked up her plate, went to the kitchen sink, disposed of those last three wonderful morsels of buffalo, and went to her office.
The rest of the evening passed rather slowly and quietly. I think it was partly because she gave me so much time to think about what I had done and partly because I tend to think pretty slowly when I’ve done something REALLY BAD. To this day I believe the entire evening would have gone better if I’d told her I’d had an affair with a buffalo rather than sneaking buffalo steak onto her plate.
The good news is that we have repaired the damage that the buffalo caused that night. And she showed her spirit by getting me to eat some chili that a friend had made. After I had eaten the chili, she sprang it on me: IT WAS MADE WITH ELK! I think she wanted me to learn some empathy by getting my reaction when somebody surprised me with wild game meat. Unfortunately, her lesson was lost on me; the chili was excellent!
The Nekid Fisherman
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