Part 25
Another much esteemed native table-bird is the sora, crake, or Carolina rail, who should not be confounded with the British and European corn-crake or land-rail whom Michael Drayton refers to as "seldom coming but on rich man's spits," and Gilbert White represents as crying _crex! crex!_ from the low, wet bean-fields of Christian Malford and the meadows near Paradise Gardens at Oxford. The sora throngs the marshes of the Atlantic coast in early autumn, congregating in the greatest quantities south of the Rappahannock, where he is slaughtered by wholesale with comparatively little diminution of his ranks. He is a small dark-fleshed bird of great delicacy when broiled, and by many is prized more highly than the toothsome reed-bird or the golden plover. Though resembling the corn-crake in many ways, his nearest relative abroad is the spotted crake. The great-breasted or king-rail of the fresh-water marshes is likewise much esteemed. In flavour the sora is not unlike the wild duck; or, if the comparison may be made, a cross between the qualities of a teal and a snipe--deriving his special richness from the seeds of _Zizania aquatica_, or tall, wild reed of the tidewater shores. The juicy little bobolink whose rippling _scherzo_, flung over the fallows and buttercups of June, is basely forgotten by the epicure in the fall, may be crunched in a mouthful; the sora is thrice his size, and, though seldom as fat, is richer in the quality of his ruddy flesh.
It were a parlous task to attempt to describe from memory the respective merits of the reed-bird, the famed European ortolan, and the English wheatear, fieldfare, and mistletoe-thrush. One stands helpless under such a contretemps, and must necessarily await the advent and the edict of another La Reynière. The fig-pecker of southern Europe is more easily passed upon, and readily ranks first among small table-birds.
The tall yellowshank or stone-snipe, with his slim gilded stilts and snow-white breast, familiar to the gunner as a migrant and a frequent companion of the upland-plover, would be esteemed by the sportsman-epicure if only for the recollection of his splendid spread of wing, his graceful circlings, his loud whistling notes, and his lovely silvery plumage.
Although considered less desirable than the snipe and woodcock, the upland- or grass-plover--in reality a sandpiper--should by no means be overlooked. One intuitively thanks him for the scenes he graciously leads to--the placid September day steeped in sunshine, the tender green of sprouting wheat-fields, the pageant of asters, and the billowy roll of mushroom-studded pastures. One hears anew his weird, plaintive cry in the arc overhead--like the bleat of distant folds--audible long ere the grey forms are discernible, as the sportsman imitates their notes, and the wavering flock, with a flutter of white wings, drops down to the sward below. Besides the salad which should accompany all species of game, the upland-plover, therefore, should be garnished with his accessory, the field-mushroom, whose snowy pileus and pink gills his dainty tread is constantly brushing, but never ruffling, amid the old pastures, stump-lots, and sheep-walks he frequents.
But the graceful Bartramian sandpiper has other aliases than those of upland-, field-, and grass-plover. Besides his common appellation of "tattler," he is known in Louisiana as the "pepperpot," and more generally as the "papabotte"--a local name, from the Creole French, significant of all that is most prized in edible game. "Arriving from the vast prairies of Mexico and Texas, where they spend the winter," says Audubon, "the dry upland plains of Louisiana called Opellousas and Attacapas are amply peopled with this species in early spring as well as in autumn. About New Orleans they appear in great bands in spring, and are met with on the open plains and large grassy savannahs."
Upon the restaurant cards of New Orleans and other Southern cities he figures much as the truffle does in France--his particular food imparting to his flesh a peculiar flavour and certain peculiar virtues. The favourite mode of preparing him by the New Orleans clubs is to roast him and serve him slightly underdone with the trail finely minced on toast. His appearance is nearly simultaneous with that of a blister-beetle known as the "Spanish fly"--one of the extremely numerous members of the genus _Coleoptera_ and family _Cantharididæ_, of which a large portion are common to the haunts of the bird. This destructive insect comes in myriads to prey upon growing vegetation, but the papabotte consumes vast numbers until his disappearance during latter September, as the upland-plover does of grasshoppers and crickets in the North--waxing so fat upon his favourite diet that when he falls before the gunner he often bursts open like an overripe fruit. He is known chiefly as the plover in Texas, where, in addition to a diet of grasshoppers, etc., he subsists largely on the striped blister-beetle (_Lytta vitatta_), and doubtless also on the black blister-beetle (_Lytta atrata_), which is likewise quite common to Texas during certain years. It is probable that both these species of cantharides form a large portion of his diet in Louisiana as well. A wary bird when approached on foot, and not lying to the dog, he is frequently hunted on horseback, or by employing a horse and wagon, when he is easily brought to bag. The flesh of the cantharide-fed bird is always extremely heating in its effects; and, indeed, owing to the absorption of cantharidin, the active principle of the insect, it not unfrequently acts as a violent irritant and poison. Yet the papabotte is eagerly sought for, and by the epicure his flesh is more highly esteemed than that of the woodcock, snipe, or sora.[50]
Notable among indigenous game-birds are the ruffed grouse, the quail, the pinnated grouse, and the woodcock, together with numerous other varieties of the family _Tetraonidæ_, variously classed by the ornithologists, that are less familiar or less widely distributed, and are locally known under various names. With these may be included not a few species that do not figure properly as game, such as the wild turkey, canvasback duck, etc.
All things considered, the ruffed grouse--the "partridge" of the North and "pheasant" of the South--is entitled to rank first among feathered game. Nothing swifter or more valiant in plumage tests the sportsman's nerve and skill. So far as sport is concerned, he may be placed, from his alertness, swiftness, and the trying nature of his usual habitat, on a par with the trout of the clear Hampshire chalk-streams, whose fastidiousness in rising to the artificial fly so taxes the angler's resources on the placid reaches of the Itchen, the Anton, and the Test. He is preëminently the bird of the woodlands, supreme in his sturdiness and his strength. His roll-call awakens the wind-flower, and his thunderous _whir!_ fans the September air into freshness. He blends with the buffs of the beech and russets of the oak, and is eloquent with the lustihood of the ripened year. And how artfully he assimilates with the shadows and thrusts a tree-trunk between himself and the gunner!
See him as he springs from the tangle of the saplings, a shaft of mottled splendour where the sunlight strikes his sides; and the hoarse boom of the double-barrel fails to check his tumultuous flight. Behold him in the spring while he struts upon his chosen log with extended tufts and expanded feathers, beating the air with his wings, and sounding his reverberating peal of defiance and of love. Consider him amid the rigours of the frost, loyal to his native haunts, true to the instincts of his race, when most of his companions have deserted him for more congenial climes. Observe him once more when the deadly volley has stopped his career, and he falls upon the russet carpet, in glossy black ruff, and plumage in blended hues of olive, brown, black, and grey--the noblest game-bird that treads the forest aisles!
And if no other member of his family requires more address in bringing to bag, none may surpass, if equal, him in his wild woodland flavour. His back is the very incarnation of poignancy, while no bird that flies can vie with the whiteness and plumpness of his breast. This is saying nothing against the prairie-chicken in his younger stage, or the eastern quail, or even the two long-billed beauties beloved by the sportsman and the epicure. But the assertion may be safely ventured that he will lend himself to more varieties of wine in evolving their _sève_ than any other representative of the haunts of Pan. _Bonasa umbellus!_ may birch-bud and beech-nut, wintergreen and partridge-vine, never fail thee in snow and storm!
With the speckled trout, the rainbow-trout, the sunapee-trout or saibling, the black-bass and muscalonge should also be included among distinctly native game-fish. The brown trout of Europe has recently been introduced into many American waters, as the Mongolian pheasant has been introduced in the fields. But the American speckled trout, who is in reality a char and smaller than the European trout, is higher flavoured, and, like the saibling and the rainbow-trout of the Rockies, is a far more beautiful fish. The brown trout thrives under warmer conditions than the speckled trout, and consequently is an acquisition. But as he attains a much larger size, it is unwise to place him in waters tenanted by the native species, as the larger fish has already proved very destructive to the smaller fry of the _Salvelinus fontinalis_.
It is superfluous to state that fish cannot be too fresh, in which respect it is the reverse of game. The quail, and especially the ruffed grouse, should be hung long enough to develop their flavour. Eaten too soon, they do not represent game, as their quality is not attained; hung too long, on the other hand, they are not fit for the table. To cook quite fresh game is to deride its mission on earth. A happy medium should be observed in the ease of maturing most species. The duck, woodcock, and snipe should only be mellowed or kept under favourable conditions for a short period. They are like a peach, which is best when recently plucked, as opposed to a pear, which requires to be slowly ripened after gathering. It is possible to eat a "high" grouse or pheasant, if not too gamy; but a duck past the meridian of maturity is well-nigh impossible, as is also a shore-bird or either of the long-bills.
There is no occasion to bury the wild boar, as is sometimes done in Europe for the purpose of mellowing him; inasmuch as he does not exist in America, and the razorback hog of the South, however well he may have feasted on beech-mast, cannot take his place. But in place of the wild boar we have the lordly moose, elk, and caribou, and the picturesque Rocky Mountain sheep and goat, which, if not all desirable for the larder, nevertheless afford magnificent sport; while by many a young caribou or elk, as also a mountain sheep, is considered among the graces of edible furred game.
The relative time of keeping all game to savour it under the best conditions will depend upon the weather. It is always better when hung in the fur or feathers, and where it may have a circulation of air, than when confined in a close receptacle. When frozen it loses in flavour and succulence. Dark-fleshed birds, with few exceptions, are best rather underdone--rosy, but not raw. White-fleshed birds should be done sufficiently, but not cooked to the extent of drying their juices. The cooking of mutton will serve as a type for the one, and veal for the other. Most game-birds are best plainly roasted or broiled, although for variety they may be served in various appetising ways. In roasting the smaller species, the vine-leaf and a strip of larding-pork should not be overlooked; and where these or well-buttered paper are not employed, as in the case of over-fat birds, the basting-spoon should be kept in constant agitation. Larding lightly often improves a white-fleshed bird where he has not been enveloped in pork.
Especially, let game be zealously watched in the cooking; let its appropriate wine be carefully considered; and let no delay occur in its flight through the butler's pantry to the dining-room. Its garnishing also should be studied, that it may flatter the eye as well as the palate; and, for the most part, with feathered game watercress or filets of lemon should lend their colour and their zest.
Game-birds should always be hung by the head, not for the purpose of sending the juices to the legs, as is fantastically supposed by some, but to allow the lower viscera and their contents an approach to the natural exit. Were they hung by the feet, the visceral machinery--softening more and more, as it always does--would of course press upwards to their bodies and probably taint them. A game-bird should never be drawn until that office is performed by the cook. Hares are usually hung by their hind legs, it is true; but hares, if hung for any time, are invariably "paunched," so that no lower viscera remain in them.
Fish, it has been pointed out, should never be covered up, or it will suffer fatally from the condensation of the steam. It may be noted that for an all-round sauce for broiled fish, none wears better than a maître-d'hôtel and, occasionally, its modification, a sauce _au beurre noir_.
A well-made bread-sauce, an accessory which we owe to England, always accords with quail and grouse, and is not amiss with prairie-chicken, even if they are already well moistened with the sauce of cooking them with pork and basting with bouillon. Francatelli's delicious sauce, Number 65, the recipe for which has been presented in a previous chapter, will need no recommendation as an adjunct for venison and mutton where it has once been enjoyed. Apple-sauce is indispensable with the domestic duck, and boiled onions should not be omitted by way of a vegetable accompaniment. _Canard saignant_ is reprehensible, and equally so is the overdone bird. A wildling should be fresh and sweet, and "passed through the kitchen" not "once," but thrice; the domestic fowl will, of course, be allowed more time on the range to plume himself for the table. The celery-fed bird (_O avis jucundissima!_) calls for no other sauce than his own, but with some species a stuffing of olives and an olive sauce are excellent additions. Then, if your bins of _têtes de cuvée_ of the Vosne be not lacking, you may hear your whistler simply praying to be engulfed in Richebourg or Romanée.
The wild turkey, the "spruce-partridge," and the "cottontail" will prove more desirable subjects for the seasonings and provocative sauces of the French cookery books than their more princely companions. The wild turkey, notably, despite his splendid wattles and emerald plumage, it must be conceded cannot compare with the tamer fowl in edible qualities; and it were well, where a stately gobbler has been sent as the result of the prowess of a friend, to dispense at once with his drumsticks, which, owing to his roving habits and wide ranging, have become tougher than the ham-strings of a patriarchal sage-cock.
He should be treated as a somewhat plain-looking woman, who has passed the hey-day of her charms, pranks and accoutres herself for a ball, and the aid of art be summoned to amplify his good points and gloze over any of his deficiencies. His resonant voice of course will be stilled by the cooking, but his voluptuous breast will remain. Thus by neatly cutting across the lower part of the back and thighs, removing his shapely legs, and then inverting him, he will have been formed into a boat-like receptacle for an artistic chestnut stuffing. One may then proceed to lard him; and, while roasting, baste him thoroughly, send him to the table with some oak-leaves _en couronne_, a currant-jelly sauce in a _saucière_, and, with the assistance of a perfumed and generous red wine, make the most of his seductive contours. All this may be contrary to the tenets of Savarin, who pronounces the wild turkey superior to the tame. But it must be remembered that he is speaking of a wild turkey that he had the good fortune to kill by his own hand while in Connecticut--a fact which, with the appetite engendered by his shooting-outings, will readily account for the preference he expresses for the wild form of this noble member of the _Phasianidæ_. At a certain season, however, when he has fattened on pecan-nuts, the flesh of the wild turkey is of excellent flavour; and to this circumstance Audubon's eulogy is probably due: "The ruffed grouse, in my humble opinion, far surpasses as an article of food every other land bird which we have in the United States, except the wild turkey when in good condition."
Furred game is more amenable to variety in preparation than feathered; and while _marinéd_ venison and a civet of hare may be delicious, the fewer culinary frills on a grouse, woodcock, or snipe the better. A salmis, nevertheless, has its virtues; and as for the lord of the woodlands, when tired of him _au naturel_, if that be possible, he may be invested with a new glory as partridge _aux choux_, if one but follow the counsels of Baron Brisse, whose prescript is well worth transcribing and comes within the compass of all:
"_Perdrix aux choux._ All housewives do not succeed with _perdrix aux choux_. This is the way to set about it in order to be complimented. Pluck, draw, singe, truss, and tie up the partridges. Blanch some cabbages, cut in quarters from which the cores have been removed; put them to soak in fresh water, dry them and press out all the water. Blanch also a small piece of lean pork from the breast. Make a light _roux_ in a large stewpan, put the cabbages in with the small pieces of pork, some uncooked sausages, some carrots, an onion _piquéd_ with two cloves, a _bouquet-garni_, salt and pepper. Plunge the partridges in the centre of the cabbages, cover with broth and cook gently in a closed stewpan. When done, remove the birds, the pork and sausages, dry off the juice of the cooking, then drain the cabbages--that is, turn them in a stewpan, on a quick fire, until they are free from liquid. Untruss and dress the partridges on a platter, on a bed of cabbages, with the backs underneath, cut the pork and sausages in pieces, slice the carrots, and garnish with all. Partridge _aux choux_ is accompanied with a sauce made from a _roux_ moistened with broth and added to the juice of the cooking."[51]
The touch of the baron in everything relating to the all-important office of eating is invariably delicate and sure. Nevertheless, if one may venture to suggest an improvement, not in the mode of cooking, wherein he is impeccable, but in the shading of the _plat_, it would be to remove the birds after they have simmered sufficiently in the cabbage, glaze them with melted butter, and place them for an instant in the oven, with a very lively fire, in order to brighten their otherwise somewhat blanched complexion. Sauerkraut, instead of cabbage, is frequently employed by the French, but with far less happy results. With care in its employment, the Brussels sprout, after it has felt the finger of the frost, might be used as a medium with no regrets unless on the score of a slight indigestion. Were one an ostrich, nothing could serve as a more delicious or colourful vehicle than the German _roth-Kohl_. Of sausages, the highly spiced little _Wienerwurst_ is best adapted to the dish.
A game-pie composed of numerous spoils of field and cover--seasoned and stuffed with herbs, shallots, bay-leaf, mushrooms, truffles, chestnuts, sweetbreads, and various vegetables, and cooked in broth and red wine, with a fingerful of brandy and another or two of Madeira--is a triumph of the chef when well executed. But to indulge in this requires a vigorous digestion and toes impervious to arthriticism.
In its relation to wine, the maturity of game should be taken into consideration; as, for example, with dark-fleshed birds that are comparatively fresh, a fine Bordeaux; with those that are more matured, and particularly duck, the warmer and more generous red vintages of the Côte d'Or and the Côte du Rhône. For a well-hung prairie-chicken, a red wine will naturally be selected; for a "partridge" that inclines to freshness, either champagne or Bordeaux, Burgundy or a Deidesheimer _Auslese_ may serve for a bath with equally good results. But game is too often undeservedly treated and served at the end of a dinner of numerous courses, when, whatever its merit or that of its accompanying wine, the palate and appetite are in scant mood to appreciate it.
With the advent of the autumnal equinox the calendar of seasonable sport begins. There is then an exhilaration in the air that irresistibly invites to out-of-door exercise and an exploration of the covers. Game is then matured, fleet of foot and strong of wing; and at no other period do upland and vale present such varied attractions. September is the true adagio of sport, October and November the allegro, and December the diminuendo. For pure sylvan beauty, no month may compare with October, when the torch of autumn kindles the woodlands into living flame, although the dreamy Indian summer possesses a charm that is matched only by May when she rolls away the resurrection-stone. Then when the purple landscape lies hushed in slumber, one may recall anew the forgotten ode of an unknown bard, in whose haunting cadences are subtly expressed all the rest and peace and rhythm, all the tone, the tenderness, and benediction, of the latter-year:
I.
Nothing stirs the stillness save a leaf that slowly rustles down, Dim, through sunny mists the trees uplift their branches bare and brown; Winds are hushed, and skies are soft and grey, and grassy slopes are sere,-- Calm and sweet and still, ah! sure is this the twilight of the year.
II.
There is this in these November days, the message that is sent-- Peace undying, rest, and sweet and measureless content; Life's wild fever over, sleep's soft mood enchanting, such as fills Golden dreams of gods immortal, sits enthroned upon these hills.
III.
Offered in day's golden chalice, sweet and dreamy peace is mine; All's forgotten, lying here and watching tides of glorious light divine Slowly sweep along the hills, and vaguely thrilling to their sway-- All that love hath lost or wrong hath won, O calm and royal day!