The Gifts of Trout

At this time of year, bookended between Thanksgiving (for North Americans) and Christmas, thoughts often turn to gratitude and to gifts. And there are many things we fixed-liners can be thankful for. Gifts such as frequent opportunities to immerse in Nature, the camaraderie of a community bonded by a shared passion for “only a rod, line & fly”, and relationships with the glorious wild mediated by only a minimum of technology – such as relationships with trout that belong in art galleries, with bronze goddess smallmouths, and even with the magnificence, if we look closely enough, of an ancient carp. 

For some, myself included, tenkara also provides gifts of food; in my case trout from the Driftless Area. Of course, I release most of the trout I catch each year, and I also regularly keep some for the table. And a rich reward of my tenkara experience is being able share this sublime food with friends and family.  A recent special instance is one example. 

My daughter, Alonda, and her boyfriend, Mike, recently came out from New York City to spend about a week with me here at the Wisconsin farmhouse. We had a fine time, including a lot of good eating. Their visit coincided with Wisconsin’s main deer hunting season, and a few days before they arrived I shot and killed a fat doe.

Now, Mike is a city kid from Long Island, and Alonda grew up in the city of Vientiane, Laos and is pesca-vegan – that is, she eats fish and seafood (preferably wild) but not dairy or other animal products. To my surprise and my bemused, grateful delight they both absolutely got into helping me butcher the deer. I felt like Tom Sawyer at the whitewashed fence as they dove into what is usually a solitary chore for me.   

A spectacular dinner soon followed, all from the Driftless land and streams. Alonda loves mushrooms, and so after some foraging last spring, I froze for her next visit some morels sautéed in olive oil (olive oil produced by my nephew in Italy – more connection through food).  Morels appetizer, check.  For the main course, ‘Driftless surf & turf’ (of which Alonda could enjoy the surf): trout and venison.  

From the freezer I pulled a 16-inch brown I caught last October (in a light rain the fish launched to my offering of a Pass Lake), and as the trout thawed, I worked into medallions of venison backstrap a rub put together from birch syrup I produce each spring and a fantastic seasoned salt, pesteda, that Corina keeps me supplied with from the Italian-speaking part Switzerland.  

When it was time to start the cooking, out to the herb garden I went in the dark, and managed to dig from under the snow and the cold, stiff earth a clump of last-stand lemongrass; dead and brown above ground, but the buried stems and root shafts still holding plenty of flavor for the trout. The fragrance of lemongrass is wonderful anytime, and there’s something even better about taking it in while standing in snow.

Back in the kitchen, one of my favorite photos of their visit: Mike cleaning and trimming the cascade of lemongrass while Alonda tends the morels:

After filling the big brown with shafts of lemongrass, I laid it on parchment paper with a bit of my nephew’s olive oil, put some lemon slices and a sprinkling of this across the top, and the package was ready to crimp closed and bake at 400°F for 30 minutes.

What a fine feast we had, with the morels and the venison. And with everything provided from the Earth through us, or someone we know and love, it was a feast for both body and soul. Food as connection and relationship. 

A few nights later, for the last meal of Alonda and Mike’s visit, I took from the freezer three brook trout. Edible artwork. A bit of salt and pepper inside, a dusting of flour outside, and laid in a pan of hot, nearly smoking olive oil (for a crispy crunchy skin).  With some leftover Thanksgiving mashed potatoes and steamed beans from the summer garden (via the freezer), we sat down to another stellar meal.

It’s a time of year to remember, with gratitude, the abundance of the world. This tenkara thing and these Driftless trout are among the many gifts in my life. With these fish I fed my daughter and her loved one, which in turn is yet another gift of the trout to me.  

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