AN ACQUIRED TASTE

     In January, the Garden State warned hunters and residents near a toxic waste dump in Ringwood in North Jersey to limit their consumption of squirrel after the feds thought they found lead in a dead squirrel. Officials now say it was a false alarm.

     That's good news for members of the Ramapough Mountain Indian Tribe and others who like squirrel meat.

     - New York Daily News

     I first got turned on to squirrel meat by my friend Tonto. I visited him at his trailer one day and he was frying up something on the stove. Frankly, I was hungry, and it was no coincidence that I showed up at lunchtime.

     "Would you like a sandwich, Kemo Sabe?" he asked. ("Kemo Sabe" is a running joke we have. I'll explain some other time.)

     "Sure, Tonto. Thanks," I said. 

     I grabbed a Pabst Blue Ribbon from the fridge and sat at the breakfast nook. Tonto brought over two sandwiches consisting of meat, melted cheese and fried onions on a long roll. Ah, cheesesteaks, I thought. My favorite!

     I dug in and chowed down, washing down the hot sandwich with cold beer. Did life get any better than this? Well, maybe for some people, but not for me.

     "This steak is dee-lish, Tonto," I said. "You're a regular Chef Boyardee!"

     "Thank you, my friend" he said.

     "What's your secret?" I inquired offhandedly. It's not like I go around collecting recipes. It's just something I say during a free meal. And it WAS good.

     He said, "Are you sitting down?" (This was another running joke: I'm not very tall.)

     "Yes, you crazy bastard, I'm sitting down! Now what's your secret???"

     "You're eating squirrel."

     "I beg your pardon?"

     "You're eating squirrel."

     I thought about saying "I beg your pardon?" again, but didn't bother. The trailer began spinning, and it wasn't a problem with the cinder blocks.

     I took a long swig of my Pabst. "Squirrel? I'm eating squirrel??? I think I'm going to be sick!"

     Then Tonto pointed out how different cultures have different acceptable and unacceptable menu items. Like, for instance, you might eat a cat in China, but you wouldn't eat a cow in India. He made a good point, but still.

     "But Tonto, we're in New Jersey!"

     "Exactly."

     His one-word reply spoke volumes. Do I need to say more? New Jersey? Eating squirrels?  What could be more natural? The why and the wherefore I cannot explain, but somehow the two go together like Pamplona and The Runnung of the Bulls.

     "I see your point, my Native American brother! May I have seconds?"

     We ate and drank (mainly drank) into the night and had a great time, as usual, ending up in a friendly fistfight, also as usual.

     Since that day I've been eating squirrel on a regular basis. And it's not just for lunch any more! It tastes great, and hell, the price is right. I rigged up a squirrel trap behind my trailer and I've now got a freezer full of squirrel fillets.     

     And while it's true that I don't usually go around collecting recipes, I did get one from Tonto before he unexpectedly relocated to New York City in the middle of the night for reasons that remain murky. I'm dying to try it out over the Holidays.

     It's a squirrel stuffed inside a chicken, stuffed inside a duck, stuffed inside a turkey. It's called a "turduckensquir." I can't wait!

     I don't know if he's pulling my leg or not, but Tonto claims that in New York, a Holiday delicacy is a cockroach stuffed inside a mouse, stuffed inside a rat. It's called a "ratmoucock." He says some people like to substitute a pigeon for the rat ("pigmoucock") for a more traditional birdlike appearance. (Do pigeons have giblets, I wonder?)

     Sounds disgusting to me, but to each his own, I guess.