The time I ate moose
I have this thing on my list of things I want to do in my life that I don’t think many people share. I want to see a moose. A real live moose in the wild, not in a zoo. I’ve been to Vermont twice, both times hoping I would see a moose. It didn’t happen.
Now, my need to see a moose ended up getting me closer to a moose that I would have imagined, but not really in a way that I wanted. Last time we went to Vermont to visit our friends Sam and Jason, I shared my moose story with Sam’s parents. Somehow at the end of the story, Sam’s dad decided since I didn’t see a moose I may as well eat a moose. They just so happened to have moose in their freezer and sent us home with some.
Not that I especially wanted to eat moose, but since we had some I figured I’d at least try it. Wrong. Dane made it one night and ate it all before I got home. Bummer.
But as luck would have it, Sam and Jason stayed at our place before going home to Minnesota and brought us more moose. Awesome. So we made it this weekend and after much deliberation I decided to try it.
We had steak that night too, since I wasn’t too crazy about the moose idea. Dane grilled it up and seasoned it. Have to admit, it smelled pretty good.
Then came the moment of truth. The bite of moose.
And with that bite, I have officially eaten moose. It tasted basically like steak, but had a gamey after taste. I don’t have any intention of becoming a regular moose eater, but I’m glad I tried it.
Sorry to the mooses (is that the plural of moose? pretty sure it’s not) out there. But you were pretty yummy.