My Tale Of Gator Tail
Many years ago, me and Racer had a friend in Florida (we met online) who was a big believer in DIY carnivory--as in, he either raised or hunted much of the meat he consumed.
Our friend, whom we shall call "Red", stopped by for an overnight visit on his way to a music festival. Red immediately made Page 1 of my "good houseguests" list by bringing gifts: a couple pounds of venison, a half dozen pan-sized and pan-ready domestic rabbits, and a good-sized chunk of alligator meat. Tail and side meat, allegedly the finest part of an alligator you can eat. Red had raised and slaughtered the bunnies, and shot the deer and the alligator, himself.
Soon after he had moved on, we had the deer meat and the rabbits. They were quite tasty, and I told Red so in an e-mail. He asked if we'd tried the gator meat yet.
A week later, he e-mailed and asked if we'd had the nerve to try the gator yet. I was stung and resolved to cook it as soon as possible. I found what seemed like an appropriate recipe and got to work.
There was a whole lot of gator meat; I used half of it-- which left a whole lot.
Red had instructed us to pound the hell out of the saurian delicacy, and to cook it wet, and slowly. So we did (I did, anyway, being the chief kitchen engineer at our house back then). First, I took a steel meat tenderizer and pounded the mortal shit out of that meat. It was nearly all muscle with some lumps of rubbery pink fat, very dense, and very, very tough--after forty-five minutes of determined whacking with the meathammer, I was bushed and started stewing. The recipe (from The People's Guide To Camping In Mexico) was originally for Iguana stew, and plenty wet. The chunks of aligator had an unnerving way of clenching like fists when they started to cook. Nonetheless, I stewed that reptile all day long, with onions and carrots and chile peppers and what smelled like a very nice sauce.
At the end of seven or so hours of slow simmerage, , I dished up a couple of big bowls of my alligator stew for Racer and myself. It smelled okay, odd but okay...so we steeled ourselves and each took a bite.
Jeeez. It was still clenched defensively, and as tough as a mouthful of steel belted radial tire. The taste was bland, almost offensively so, with a faint, not-too-pleasant fishy undertaste (we both love fish and seafood, btw and ftr), and prolonged chewing didn't make it any less tough. The fat was pink and of a most peculiar texture, the feel of which made one's mouth unhappy. Racer and I loked at each other, stricken, managed to swallow our spoonfuls (spoonsfull?), and set those spoons down simultaneously. The rest of the pot of stew went out into the nearest alley for the raccoons and alley cats and we ordered a pizza for supper.
After that debacle, there remained at least that much again raw alligator still in our freezer. A week later I was at the home of our then-current pot dealer, a guy from the South who loved to cook. While we chatted after our transaction, I told him my sorry tale of attempted crocodile cookery. Our man, Albert, grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, man, I fuckin' love gator meat," he said. "Ain't had any for years."
"You want some? Like, I could go get it right now!" I said quickly. Albert's grin got even wider, We quickly reached favorable terms of exchange, I went home and got the rest of the alligator meat out of the freezer and brought it back to Albert's house. He traded me a half ounce of his best pot for it, and I went home certain I'd gotten the best end of that deal.
TL,DR: we tried it. We did not like it at all.