The Judge Cooks a Squirrel

The Junior League of Baton Rouge has a chapter in its "River Road Recipes II" called "How Men Cook". Its expert on squirrels is a Judge Fred A Blanche,Jr.

"I prefer young, tender gray squirrels over all other game", writes the Judge, and he includes a recipe for a brown gravy that he serves with it.

Perhaps the Judge's family liked squirrel as well, but I imagine that when the judge cooked it, it was in the company of other men deep in those woman-free havens of the fish camp and the hunting lodge. Men need a place away from women. That is why there are Moose Halls.

"Cut the squirrels into serving sized pieces", writes the Judge. I will have to take him on faith, since I am having trouble seeing how many pieces one squirrel could end up in. I doubt that tail or those ears have much meat on them. And would not the legs be tough from all that skittering and jumping? But perhaps the Judge and his companions find that his Milk Punch (half a gallon of ice cream, 1 quart of milk, a fifth of bourbon) makes any meal taste better.

I picture the Judge and his friends lakeside at Reelfoot Lake. I ,in fact, know of one male hideout there on Blue Basin Road. Someone who knows told me that this house is a club for rich city men who need to get away. I can see attorneys and doctors, and judges standing on its porch drinking how ever much they want and smelling squirrel or catfish sizzling in a 12 inch cast iron skillet. And maybe after dinner the men will play cards and dream out loud about well-trained retrievers and duck season.

Meanwhile, back at home, Mrs.Judge is enjoying her husband less time. Now she can go out with a friend to see a movie their husbands would hate. Or go to dinner by herself. Freedom for him is freedom for her.

I feel sorry for the sexes these days. We are too much in one another's company. I cringe when I hear a man telling people that "We" are pregnant. I squirm thinking of husbands in the delivery room. I wager most of them would rather be somewhere-anywhere-else. So I begrudge no man his lodge, his privacy, his fishing buddies, and his fried squirrel cut into serving size pieces and served forth on good old paper plates.