Hog Wild

With the onset of fall, a few of the local Harley-riding chefs known as the District Hogs break the pen and head to the woods -- specifically, to a blind on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, widely considered the country’s best terrain for goose hunting. Pastry chef David Guas, who grew up enjoying the country’s best duck hunting in southern Louisiana, now has the best of both worlds when he shoots geese at the property of a close buddy in the industry out in Maryland. He’s usually joined by a rotating cast of Hog colleagues, including Robert Wiedmaier of Marcel’s, Brasserie Beck, and Brabo fame, and Vidalia’s RJ Cooper.

In a few weeks, Guas will be heading out to ‘re-dress’ the property’s three blinds, in advance of the season opening around Thanksgiving. He’ll help cut new evergreen, cornstalks, grasses, and other natural materials to cover and disguise the plywood shelters from which they shoot. “It’s my way of giving something back to our host,” he explains, “besides my standard offering of peanut brittle to stock the blinds.”

Of course, with a crowd like this, food plays a significant role in any event, and gourmet peanut brittle is just the beginning. Guas reminisces about a meal on the last day of goose season last year, featuring Robert’s venison chili, fresh seared duck breast, his own roasted cauliflower casserole and lemon meringue pies. “I much prefer eating duck to goose, which can be tough and pretty gamey” he says, “but RJ gave me a great recipe for goose pastrami that seems to be the ideal treatment: you roll the breast meat in heavy salt and spices – coriander, cinnamon, and so on, then cool them on a drying rack/sheet pan in the refrigerator again. Then I hang them in cheesecloth for about a month to cure them; I find that in my northern Virginia garage, the temperature at the end of the season is just about perfect for the job – about 50 degrees – so I rig a broomstick between my tool cabinet and workbench, and hang them right over with butcher’s twine. Then I’ll cryovac them, and pull them as needed. It’s do-it-yourself charcuterie.”

Guas loves the ritual of hunting waterfowl, as much as the game itself, and has fond childhood memories of hunting with male family members and friends. Within a few years, he hopes to pass his own first shotgun on to his elder son, who has also expressed an interest. “I’ll probably bring him along to the blind this season, with earplugs,” he says, “to expose him to the reality and discomfort, and frankly, for a kid, long stretches of boredom. Then if he’s still raring to go, we’ll get him in to a hunting safety course to do it right.”

With a supply of his father’s peanut brittle in the blind, heck, what’s not to enjoy?

Rachel’s Kids, Part II

It’s time to take another brief break from the whirl of restaurant openings and cookbook launches to provide a happy update from the Kenyan Postal Service front: nearly three months after I first wrote about my friend Rachel Jones and her mission to help the children of PCEA Muniu Primary School in an impoverished refugee camp two hours outside Nairobi [where she is now living,] the boxes I’d shipped have been delivered.

With superhuman mental discipline, energy, and determination – hopefully no bribes necessary this time – Rachel tackled the postal service and collected the boxes of my boys’ outgrown summer clothes, gently used toys, and new workbooks, and delivered them personally to the school. The government has completely abandoned these refugees, she explains, and so they are amazed when people so far away care about their plight.

“I wish you could have heard the squeals of delight!” she writes. But I don’t have to; these photos say it all. The clothes, she says, are desperately needed, and the books will be used in English language class. What you can’t see, though, and what really made me cry was this line from her letter: “you'll be happy to know that the bag full of action figures is perfect for the mental health counseling sessions for the kids in the refugee camps. The counselors were really thrilled to see them.”

True to her promise, with the help of the English language teacher, Rachel has identified a pen pal for my son Kemp. “He is a 6-year-old boy named Duncan Mbugua, in Form 1 (like American First Grade), one of the top kids in the English class. I've asked him to write a letter to Kemp, so they can be pen pals. I will let you know when he's finished and when I'll be putting it in the mail,” she writes. Kemp is beside himself with excitement, suspense, and plans – these pictures, and the prospect of a friendship with Duncan have already expanded his 7-year-old world more than Rachel knows. An enormous return on a few cartons of old clothes –