Mt. Jumbo Gin Grouse

Our son decides to combine his lifelong favorite sport with a relatively new one, he says, “to participate in the ecosystem out of a desire to catch my own dinner.” His parents’ idea of fishing is to buy fresh sockeye from Costco. (One autumn, we even borrowed a friend’s vacuum sealer to “put up” previously frozen Costco fish, until we noticed the store was selling it throughout the off-season.) Hunting for us is adding a package of free-range ground buffalo to the shopping list. So when he shows up at the back door on an April weeknight, carrying his skis, gun, and pack on his back, face flushed, fresh with a mission accomplished glow, I’m rather amazed.

We live on Douglas Island at the foot of Mt. Jumbo. Between home and the peak is a network of muskeg meadows and coniferous rainforest. In spring, grouse hang out on spruce boughs hooting for a mate. On a rainy, misty day, our son parks his car in our driveway, slaps skins on skis. His dad goes along for the ride, and they head up through our backyard towards the mountain, following the birds’ call, a low bass guttural sound you can almost feel as much as hear.

Through binoculars, they spot the silhouette of a “hooter” about 50 feet away high in a spruce tree. To prepare for the ready, aim, fire, our son takes off his skis, uses a ski pole to stabilize the gun, sights through the scope, and shoots. This time, the bird falls but is still alive. Having completed the hunt, they recall that it “involved a lot of sweating,” postholing in ski boots, finding the injured bird, and dispatching it. Several hours and burned calories later, our son stands at the foot of the stairs, dangling a white plastic grocery bag. I peak inside to see a smooth, shiny, deep purple, headless carcass—a skinned and cleaned grouse. I have no idea how to cook it.

From the bottom rung of the dining room bookshelf I slide out the 1997 Joy of Cooking tome, first published in 1931, the year before my mother was born. It was her go-to recipe source. Much more than a cookbook, it’s also a history and guidebook. Of course, there’s a Game chapter, with advice and recipes for making meals from pigeon, wild turkey, venison, even ostrich. “Grouse,” it informs, “is considered to be the finest of game birds, with darker and more flavorful meat than partridge.”

It’s a pheasant recipe, however, that catches my eye: Pheasant Braised with Gin and Juniper. “Slow braising guarantees a moist bird. Use a good quality gin.” Already there. In the liquor cabinet is a bottle of Amalga Juneauper Gin from our friendly neighborhood distillery, which opened a few years ago. I can’t decide which is more wondrous, inhaling the aroma or the first sip.

Then come some of my favorite ingredients— shallots, butter, bacon. We’re in business. “Joy” as it’s apparently known in cooks’ shorthand, instructs that grouse is “best barded,” a practice dating back to before the end of the 19th century to fatten up small wild game birds, which have “40 percent fewer calories and 60 percent less fat than chicken.” Barding is pretty much wrapping the entire bird in raw bacon and securing it with twine wrapped around the carcass. If you don’t have bacon, the book tells us you can rub the bird all over with butter, like my Uncle Ben did with the Thanksgiving turkey.

Brown the bird in a Dutch oven with a little oil; move it to a plate. Melt butter, sauté shallots, and add stock, Juneauper Gin, dry sherry, bay leaves. Then braise until tender. This one took not more than 20 minutes. Place on a platter, strain sauce, skim fat, and boil until gravy forms. Add parsley, salt, and pepper to taste. I serve it with boiled new potatoes and steamed broccoli.

The grouse tastes like, well, bacon-infused lean game meat smothered with juniper-infused gin sauce. I wonder if our wild repast will restore the calories our son burned earning it, even with the butter and bacon. But that’s not the point. Satisfied is his wish to acquire and “eat food from the forest” with us. Next time, maybe I’ll try the roasted grouse recipe.