Outdoor Cooking Isn’t For
The Faint of Heart
Trust Me!
Cooking in a Dutch oven can be tricky but the results make it worth the trouble!
If you look toward my burgeoning waistline, you will see a clear resume of my outdoor cooking skills. While I have not yet reached professional chef status, I am just about one pie and two dozen cookies away because I am a firm believer in the old saying, “Never trust a skinny cook.” You can trust me.
During some recent yard work at our Little Estate on the Prairie, I split a couple of huge hickory trunk slabs that had been lying around for several years. The effort produced a nice pile of firewood along with a first-rate finger laceration, a herd of back spasms and enough sweat to fill a saltwater aquarium. Much later, I discovered the firewood I cut would be too long to fit our fireplace.
The Beginning of the End
Standing, sweating and sucking on the bleeding finger, I suddenly was confronted with an answer in search of a problem. On a passing cool breeze, an idea took shape — it was time to break out my brand-new Dutch oven!
For those who aren’t familiar with the true Dutch oven, it is essentially a heavy cast iron kettle with a specially designed lid made to hold hot coals, thus baking the food from all sides. The Dutch oven was the versatile pioneer equivalent of a slow cooker and can even bake bread.
I had used a Dutch oven previously when camping but had not attempted anything more elaborate than boiled beans. Feeling frisky, I therefore vowed to use my ample supply of wood to master the art of Dutch oven cooking. For a guy who spends a lot of time shooting at stuff, it seemed natural.
The first order of business before using any new cast iron utensil is to “season” it. This is the process of driving oil into the pores of the metal to form a natural non-stick surface. My oven came from the factory with a paraffin coating that first needed removal so I placed the oven directly onto the nice bed of hardwood coals I had prepared. Within minutes, the outside coating dissolved into an oily sheen and I opened the lid with the metal potholder.
This was a mistake because I hadn’t considered what happens when superheated petroleum products are suddenly exposed to air. The resulting flash fire was quite spectacular and momentarily took my mind off the injured finger.
Ready, Set ...
After the oven had cooled, I washed it with very hot water, rubbed cooking oil all over it and waited for half an hour for the oil to soak into the pores of the still-warm iron. My Dutch Oven was now ready for use.
The first cooking attempt involved two packages of store-bought cornbread mix. I put the oven back on the fire and used a shovel to pile more coals onto the lid.
It wasn’t long before steam began wafting from the edges of the pot. Concerned the cornbread wouldn’t brown properly, I added more coals until the oven was hidden under a small glowing orange pyramid.
Ten minutes later, I checked inside. My first recipe turned out to be a fancy Cajun dish — Blackened Cornbread.
The first rule of Dutch oven cooking: you don’t really need that many hot coals. After scraping the mess out with a garden spade, the oven was oiled and put away until the following weekend.
A little venison roast, seasoned with garlic and touch of soy sauce make a great base for venison stew.
Second Chances
My next attempt at committing gastronomy would be venison stew. This was in the hopes a dinner made from a deer I had personally killed, cooked over wood I had cut myself, would be a tasty and meaningful way to use the bounty of nature. I also hoped it would be harder to burn stew.
Starting at noon, a nice roast from the freezer was cut into one-inch cubes and browned in butter. Here’s another outdoor cooking tip: a half stick of butter is nearly as flammable as paraffin if you’re not careful.
After the meat was nicely browned and my burns salved — my campfire cooking endeavors always seem to involve a lot of salve — the venison was covered with water and seasoned with salt, pepper and garlic powder. I then puttered around with yard for the remainder of the day while periodically adding sticks of wood around the pot and replenishing the water level.
Brent has worked his way up from his typical camping meal — gruel, with a side order of assorted flies and gnats.
His outdoor creations have actually been lauded as tasty, if you can ignore the familiar smell of burnt hair in the vicinity.
Toward evening, half a diced white onion was added to the broth. As darkness approached, I cut up several potatoes and carrots and added the lot. Twenty minutes later, I checked and found the whole affair bubbling nicely. A couple of tablespoons of flour were added to thicken the gravy, and after calling the kids and dogs, the Dutch oven was triumphantly fully carried into the house and sat upon the stove.
My family approached the blackened and ash-covered iron pot with trepidation, at least until I opened the lid. As the smell of cooked vegetables, velvety soft venison and rich gravy filled the kitchen, the assembled crew did a group double take.
It turned out to be a good day for The Flaming Chef. Once my eyebrows grow back, I might even attempt biscuits.
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