An apple, forgotten on the counter, caught our attention at the same time and, giggling like Sunday School kids playing a prank at the church picinc, we grabbed it up, skinned it, chunked it, and tossed it in the Bisquick, along with a couple dozen delicate morsels of walleye sliced from fillets.
In the spring I planted some potatoes in my garden at camp. It was a new venture. Part way through the summer my plants died. They turned yellow and wilted away.
The rhubarb plants I scooped into a shallow hole beside the garden last fall have flourished like ferns in a rain forest and while breaking off a few stalks to mingle into a peach pie tomorrow, I dug up the dead potato plants, curious to find out what was underneath the surface.
Wow! What a great surprise! I unearthed about three dozen of the most beautiful Yukon Golds I've ever fondled. Those potatoes made my heart sing.
I set up a batch of bread dough mid afternoon, mixed my peach/rhubarb pie filling to marry overnight, and whipped up a big jar of blue cheese dip to dance the night away, awaiting tomorrow's HERF ( cigar smoking get-together with "the boys").
In the morning I'll bake a loaf of dutch oven bread and the pie in my barbeque, then when the guys, and all our wonderful and intelligent wives, are here at the Palace I'll fire up a hot burner topped with five gallon cast iron kettle to cook up Buffalo Wings, Sweet Pickerel, and french fries from garden fresh potatoes, to accompany hot bread, smokey pie, wine, single malt, fat cigars, and some of my finest friends.
That fishing trip... part way through supper those many years ago my buddy Pete, puzzled, blurted out over a half bitten hunk of deep fry, "Hey. This one tastes different..."
Smothering a smirk, Glen commented, innocently, "Oh, that's a sweet pickerel."
To this day, Sweet Pickerel, discovered accidently, by us anyway, is a traditional delicious part of many cherished meals. Battered, deep fried apple slices...
For those who may think I'm a sissy weenie, cooking and all that, I've included a picture of me and my pitchfork. Digging up the potatoes I busted the goddamn handle off the sonofabitch with my bare hands.
And then I stuck it back together with duct tape.