I slipped. Already. Day 5 and I missed days 3 & 4. My theory is that I now need to compose 600 words instead of 200. It will make up for my missing days.
Oh where to begin?!
Yesterday I attended my first Game Dinner. We had venison, rabbit (both wild and tame) and bear. It was delicious. My stomach didn't leave room for the bear, so I took some home. Now I can say I have a bear in my fridge that is below the counter.
We all sat around the table. He set up an extra plastic table to accommodate everyone. Gosh there were maybe 15 of us all together. Friends who are treated like family and family who is treated like friends all gathered for the shindig. I've met most everyone there before, and if I hadn't I still knew of them.
Plastic plates and hungry stomachs filled the tables. Bottles of homemade wine followed the meat down. A second bottle of red wine and then a third and a fourth flowed through the afternoon. Warmness filled my belly as the NASCAR race turned and the meat kept changing.
He brought each plate out in phases. The spezzi was first. The white Italian bread soaked up the tomato base and the chicken pieces broke right apart. So tender! The tame rabbit was put on a platter in front of me. They looked like big chicken wings. It took me awhile to try a piece of the white meat. It was tender and dry, but not bad.
Next he placed the venison meatballs and wild rabbit out on the buffet table. The meatballs were some dry, but also rich with flavor. He used a sausage and ground venison mixture. More friends and more food joined us. Folks were moving to the couch to make room for our new guests. Friends were asking about family and hoping more would come.
As the bear and other venison plated the table, I sat back and wondered how much more I could taste, how much more my dish could hold. As our stomachs were stretching, the conversations were shrinking. Soon there was just one – one that involved everyone. It was nice, smooth, and simple.
It didn't take long for our mouths to just take on the task of talk. Talk, wine, and espresso set the sun. The small white mug delivered a sweetness that countered the red wine. Before long, the last drops of the red wine vanished and the white wine was all that was left. When the shots of espresso had grown cold, and the homemade chardonnay was a refreshing new taste.
People began to go home, to go indulge in the food coma that all the game and wine induced. The few of us left behind decided it was time for wine tasting. We left his house and went to his parents' basement. The barrels lined the walls and the soupy hung from the pipes above. The air was filled with a mellow and balanced scent – as if the soupy and wine cancelled each other out mostly.
One of the gentlemen reached above the sink to get something out of the cupboard. He turned and handed each of us a small plastic Dixie cup – our tasting cup. From the drawer he grabbed a turkey baster. Meanwhile, another gentleman with whom I am familiar but this was our first time hanging out, told me to watch what he was going to do. He tapped the top of the barrel like a trumpet and then wiggled his hand in front of it. The water levels on the top danced. He claimed it to be magic.
The turkey baster was rinsed and he proceeded over to one of the barrels. He pulled the cookie size cork out of the top where the water had just danced and stuck the turkey baster inside. He then squirted each cup two-thirds of the way full. They were like little delicious shots.
Eventually we made it around to all the barrels. The other women and I bargained another glass before we left. Then, like family parting we locked up and walked away. No empty promises of phone calls, no feelings of discontent, no lackluster memories. Rather I left with the feeling I will be there again.
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