_religious Bedroll Recipes

_LAS PIEDRAS

Steps:

• For those of you who didn't take high school Spanish this translates to 'The Rocks'. Las Piedras Ranch owned by Dwain and Sandy Riney of Montgomery, Texas, is aptly named. Located in Real County, WNW of San Antonio, Las Piedras Ranch exemplifies the Texas 'Hill Country'! Their ranch, though not large by Texas standards, supports a healthy population of native wildlife and is also host to numerous exotic species. These wild, free ranging exotics escaped from neighboring ranches years ago. Dwain and Sandy recently invited me down to cook for some of their hunters. This particular hunt is a 'special hunt' for both the Riney family and the hunters. Once a year Dwain and Sandy donate a hunt for exotic species at Las Piedras to the Montgomery County Cattle Barons' Ball and benefit auction. The money raised from this annual event benefits the Montgomery County Unit of the American Cancer Society. In the course of my visit Dwain pulled out the 'ranch recipe box' and selected several favorites of his and Sandy's that he thought I'd like. In addition Sandy has since called me with a couple of other old family favorites. We hate to think of family heirlooms disappearing, but it happens when you prepare these recipes. My thanks to Dwain and Sandy for sharing them and inviting me down to share their corner of heaven in the Texas Hill Country!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Appetizers

SCOTTISH BAPS - SOFT MORNING BREAD ROLLS

Steps:

• Rub the butter into the flour and make a well in the centre.
• Cream the yeast with the sugar, then add the liquid and salt, and pour into the well. Mix to a slack dough, adding extra warm liquid if required.
• Allow to rise until the dough has doubled in bulk, for about an hour or two according to temperature.
• Knead, and divide in eight even pieces. Knead each into a ball about the size of a fist, and flatten with the hand. Then lightly roll to a round with a rolling-pin.
• Place the ball doughs on a well-floured baking tray/s, lightly pressing your thumb in to the middle of the baps. Brush with milk and sprinkle flour all over the top of the baps. Prove for 15 to 20 minutes until well risen.
• Bake in the oven at 200°C (400°F) mark 6 for 10 minutes, or until firm and lightly golden brown, but still soft - tap them underneath and they should sound hollow when they are cooked. . Cool on a wire rack. Dust with more flour.
• These freeze very well - serve them with assorted fillings for sandwiches or just split whilst warm and spread with butter.
• US conversions: 1 lb flour = 4 cups. 2 ozs butter = 1/2 stick butter.

_HOW TO COOK A COOT

Steps:

• If you're not a duck hunter or married to a duck hunter, just skip this recipe. Personally, I've never tried to cook a coot, primarily because I've never even shot at an "Ivory Billed Mallard". Remember, this is the guy who will eat every thing except grits and green lima beans. In this modern age, it seems to me, too many people blame events in their childhood for the mistakes or failures they make as adults. Some rightly so, but I can't help but feel a lot of it is over done!So where is all this leading, you ask yourself? Yup! you guessed it, my childhood. Since my dad first took me duck hunting at age three, the list of things I've done in life longer than I've duck hunted is fairly short. Memories of those first duck hunts are still vivid. Back in that distant past, I learned that the preferred duck of those who wait at home while others duck hunt, to be mallards. Those of the green headed variety! My dad, being a pretty fair hand with a shotgun, seldom got skunked in those days. He'd been there before, but it was a new experience for me, just four years old. About the only thing flying in the marsh that day were coots, which Dad had several different adjectives to describe. I didn't understand why dad didn't shoot them as they patterned by. At that time I obviously thought-ducks are ducks! Wrong! How long I pestered Dad to shoot them, I can't remember. What I do remember is him saying, "Mother didn't like any kind of ducks except those with green heads" and it wouldn't be very smart to take something home she didn't like. Though I was just four years old, that part I understood! I'm sure Dad first passed this recipe on that day. Over the years, Dad repeated this recipe so many times I've memorized it without ever having cooked it.A Back Country Guide to Outdoor Cooking Spiced with Tall Tales - Fowl & Fish

RESURRECTION ROLLS

Steps:

• Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Lightly grease a baking sheet.
• Separate crescent rolls into individual triangles.
• In a small bowl, mix together cinnamon and sugar.
• Dip a marshmallow into melted butter, then roll in sugar mixture. Place marshmallow into the center of a dough triangle. Carefully wrap the dough around the marshmallow. Pinch the seams together tightly to seal in marshmallow as it melts. Place on a baking sheet. Repeat.
• Bake in a preheated oven until golden brown, about 15 minutes.

_RELIGIOUS BEDROLL

Steps:

• For two or three years running I was the victim of a conspiracy. No matter how carefully I scheduled things a conflict would arise which precluded my going on Middle Fork of Salmon River float trips with my pards. Instead, my house became the staging area for everyone as they gathered from the four corners of the country. These pre-launch rendezvous left me feeling deflated and left out, like the perennial bridesmaid who never becomes a bride! And much like a wedding, the festivities were great fun but the next morning after everyone departed, a feeling of being unfulfilled would descend. Actually, though, what I really suffered from the morning after might be better described as a hang over. Anyway...One such rendezvous included Greg Rost, aka Rosterman, a friend from college days at Utah State University. Greg graduated a year ahead of me in 1973 and went on to complete a MS Degree in Wildlife Management at Colorado State University. While I worked on a dude ranch, drove long-haul truck, and trapped grizzly bears prior to becoming a game warden, Greg began his career with the Division of Animal Damage Control with the US Department of the Interior. By the time of this reunion, Greg had advanced to an Area Supervisor position in Elko, Nevada. Long into the night, we regaled the group with stories from college days and beyond. Long after the liquor store closed, things started to dry up with many stories yet to tell.Greg called for an intermission, walked out to the garage, and rummaged through his river bag for his 'river jug'! In he came with a 1/2 gallon of Christian Brothers Brandy®. He was willing to sacrifice some of what he'd brought for riverside campfires for one more round with his pards! I broke the seal and commenced pouring. This particular jug came equipped with one of those new-fangled plastic pouring spouts. Since it seemed to inhibit the flow, I popped it out...the better to quickly pour a man-sized drink!The next morning while I cooked breakfast, everyone including Greg packed their river bags and got ready to go. Greg came into the kitchen, grabbed his jug and cranked the lid down tight. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure as the old saying goes, so Greg wrapped his jug in his bedroll to guard against accidental breakage.I later learned that the first evening at Trail Flat Camp, Greg learned something about the bottles that the good Brothers put their brandy in. In order to completely seal the jug, it's imperative to leave the little new-fangled pour spout in the neck of the bottle! With little daylight left to dry his sleeping bag, Greg spent the night rolling around trying to get comfortable with the Christian Brothers! Unsubstantiated reports relayed since that hot sticky night indicate Rosterman indeed prayed for the continued good health of a certain game warden until fitting revenge could be meted out!Our next rendezvous ended before it began with the crash of Greg's plane. To this day when I pass the crash site I raise my hand and pretend I'm taking a drink from his 'river jug' and say, "Here's to you pard, wherever you are!" Ten years later, I still have more than memories of Greg. Before he moved to Alaska he left a bay horse and his saddle with me for safekeeping. Greg called him Rusty but he's known as Slim in my string. On more than one occasion riding down a trail alone on Slim I've reached into saddlebags for a small flask containing a certain brand of brandy and taken a swig before thanking my old pard for his friendship and the use of his horse!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Dedications