Over 100 F today with a 30 mph wind- our part of the Southwest is a sunny blast furnace waiting for the next fire to start and looking for a little rain if we're to have any quail or a fawn crop. Work still has the best of me, but we did get out to chase pheasants last December on a bit of a whirlwind trip. Let's think of cooler times- Up to North Texas after work on Friday, back Sunday afternoon. Five hundred miles in the truck and a couple on foot. Fewer birds than last year, but good fun, family, dogs, and we found some.
I had to go to my old faithful Citori, up there on the left, as a bit of a contretemps that ensued when Booker the Chessie lept out of the truck (& over me in the process) and jumped another dog left me with a stiff hand and made the double trigger on the LC Smith hard to manage. The o/u probably shoots better for me, anyway. More impressive was my Dad's work with his old Ithaca 37- thousands of rounds at dove, quail, & etc. have made those two a pretty deadly combination.
Back in NM and a few days later, A and I decided to see if the current trend for buttermilk fried chicken would lend itself to the wilder taste and drier texture of pheasant. Pheasant plains style, as it were:
Ever vigilant quality control:
Since we're now Southern plains, we added black-eyed peas, rice, gravy, and greens to the fried pheasant.
It all worked pretty well. The buttermilk did help keep the meat moist and the tang from it went well with the pheasant. We'll have to do it again, though likely in different weather.
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