If you’ve read my recent outdoor column, “Squirrel hunt,” you will know that the boys and their mother recently had a successful walk in the woods for some squirrel. But fortunately for my fellow carnivores, there’s more to that story than just the hunt. My oldest was the most interested in the hunt, following all the action; my youngest was perhaps more intrigued at the start of the hunt.

In any case, we returned to the house with our bounty, and I retrieved my game cutting board and a knife. Rorick wanted the tail to keep as a trophy, but I wanted to get the most out of this experience, so I opted to show him how to skin the entire thing. It was a clean shot towards the front of the carcass, which meant little damage to the meatiest parts, and the hide was in good shape overall. 

To my surprise, he sat and watched me skin the whole thing, and then sat and played with the skin while I finished cleaning the meat. We bagged up the squirrel, discarded the offal, and saved our pelt for later by putting it in the fridge.

It was a couple days later when I pulled the squirrel from the fridge, and Rorick came bouncing into the kitchen with excitement. I had debated what the most enjoyable recipe for him would be so that he didn’t get turned off from eating wild game, and to my great satisfaction, this turned out to be a winner. Kids like fried food. Nuggets, patties etc. So with that in mind, I set out to make him some squirrel wings. 

He also likes some healthy and often more complex flavors so I took a risk and added some dill to the batter to give it just a little aromatic complement/distraction to the flavor of the squirrel itself.

Lard is never a bad option when frying something robust like this, so out came the cast iron, and in went the squirrel. Since we had the oil going, I chose to make some fresh French fries as well to get the most out of it. They turned out OK, but I have a bad habit of thinking they’re crispier than they really are by the time they cool down. Oh well, something to work on.

We plated our squirrel and fries, all under the big-eyed supervision of my son, and dug in. Everyone had some, but of us all, this was Rorick’s meal hands down. He ate over half the squirrel himself and left a tidy pile of well-cleaned bones to prove his contentment.

The way out here we eat what we hunt, and nothing compares to fresh squirrel, country fried, and a smiling son who devoured it.