Then I put kindling on the left group of coals and started another fire, to which I added bigger pieces of wood. Soon I had a small fire crackling. Then I transferred over some of the burning wood and put it under the grilling rock to help heat it up faster.
I also needed a plate for the final product, so I found another relatively flat rock and scrubbed it clean with snow from just outside the opening of the cave. Once it was clean, I set it near the fire to dry.
The fat had liquified a bit by then. I smeared it all over the grilling rock, coating it as much as possible. As soon as it started smoking, I threw on the tenderloins. They immediately began to sizzle.
My God, the smell… I was practically drooling.
I let the tenderloins’ bottom side sear, then flipped them over.
After about ten minutes, I used my knife to cut into the middle of one of the steaks. Medium rare. I would have normally taken it off right then, but I knew you were supposed to cook it to 145 degrees Fahrenheit. Wanting to err on the side of safety, I let both steaks go a bit more before I took them off and placed them on my new ‘plate.’
You were normally supposed to let the meat ‘rest’ after you finished cooking it. Resting lets the meat fibers reabsorb moisture; if you cut it too soon (which I had done on one piece, unfortunately), a lot of liquid spills out, and the meat’s not as juicy or flavorful.
But try telling a starving man to sit there for five minutes and wait.
I let one steak cool just enough where it wouldn’t scald me, then I picked it up with my fingers, caveman-style, and bit in.
Heaven.
I chewed and felt the hot juices coat my tongue. Flavors exploded over my taste buds.
There really was something better about food cooked out in the wild. Add in extreme hunger, and it’s guaranteed to be one of the best meals you’ll ever eat.
I forced myself to go slow and savor every bite. By the time I was finished, the second steak had rested. I could control myself enough to cut off slices with my knife and eat them one by one.
God damn that was good.
Could have used some salt, but other than that, I wasn’t going to complain.
Salt… that was another thing to add to the list. I would be able to survive a while without it – venison had a certain amount of naturally occurring sodium – but I would eventually need to find a source to supplement the meat.
That could wait, though. Time to enjoy the moment.
I sighed, lay back by the fire, and licked my greasy fingers clean.
Katie would’ve loved it. She always did enjoy the meals I cooked over an open campfire.
It was nice… I could think of her now without that feeling of somebody shoving a knife into my heart.
I chalked it up to doing something that made me happy: being out in the wild.
And to the fact that I just didn’t have as much time for grief, seeing as I was scrambling to stay alive.
Alive… that was funny…
I mean, I was dead, right? The avalanche had done me in.
But if this was ‘dead,’ then dead wasn’t so bad.
I rested for a while and watched the flickering flames, then got back to work.
My belly was full at the moment, but I knew that it would take hours to roast some of the bigger cuts of meat, so I set to work creating a makeshift rotisserie station with the Y-shaped sticks I’d gathered in the forest.
First I removed the grilling rock so the meat could roast directly over the coals.
Then I shoveled more coals over from the active side of the fire.
After that, I spitted the deer’s front shoulders and propped them up on the walls of stone so they were suspended over the coals.
There’s a problem with deer meat in that it’s too lean for certain preparations. Back home, if you wanted to turn the tougher cuts into ground meat, most people added pork. The pork fat helps the meat stick together better as hamburger patties, otherwise it would fall apart on the grill.
But I didn’t have any pork – or any machinery to grind meat – so I wasn’t going to be picky.
Every five minutes or so, I would do a quarter turn on the spits, making sure the meat got cooked evenly.
Fat dripped off the meat and onto the coals, burning and filling the air with delicious-smelling smoke.
Despite the fact that I’d just eaten, the scent made me hungry all over again.
I didn’t have to do anything about the rest of the meat except keep it close to the entrance of the cave. The rest of my new home was like a refrigerator, which would suck for me when I went to sleep – but at least the meat wasn’t going to go bad. Hell, it was already starting to freeze.
My own cave-sized Frigidaire.
About an hour into roasting the meat, it started to get dark outside. I could tell by the fading light coming through the cave entrance. The sun had probably set behind the mountain, though it hadn’t gone down yet.
Shortly after that, the wind began to pick up. I could hear it moaning outside the cave.
I went over to the opening, squatted down, and peered out. Jesus, it was cold over here without the fire…
The sky was thick with dark clouds, and snowflakes were falling heavily from the sky.
Looked like we were in for a big storm tonight. Thank god I had the cave.
Then I heard the wolves.
They were far away, but they were getting closer.
I had no fear whatsoever, since I was a good 40 feet higher than they could jump or climb – but I was curious.
Why would they be out on the hunt with a storm rolling in? They should be holing up for the night in their den.
Then
