I have always wanted to try venison but have never had the chance.

Never thought twice about hog before - I just assumed it was the same as pork. Given half the chance however I will eat anything out of the ordinary just to say I've eaten it.

Well, almost anything.

So I've never had venison - or hog for that matter.

That is, until last Saturday night.

How I finally got to eat Bambi is pretty interesting.

It started the Friday night before.

I went out to a bar, frustrated about something I won't bore you with. By the way, I haven't set foot in a bar in about two or three months now.

The reason I haven't is, well, a combination of things. I guess I'm just not that into them anymore, which is funny because I used to be into them.

WAY into them.

It's also funny that in a moment of frustration I headed straight for a bar, but I'll be honest - I wasn't out to get drunk. I actually just wanted to eat... just didn't want to do it sitting in my car at a Sonic drive thru.

But then I figured as long as I'm going out, why not go to some place where there's people and have my dinner? My choices were either Red Lobster or some little joint  up the street called FIASCO'S.

The green awning over the door said "Bar and Grille".

It should have said "Bar and Grille - except on Friday nights after 9".

By the time I settled into a booth it was too late. I had already ordered a drink. The small cover band in the joint was playing your standard classic rock. A bunch of regulars out of central casting were either hording the stools at the bar or attempting to dance on the dance floor.

At this point I was ready to go back into my cave.

I took a phone call and stepped outside. At the tail end of that call came another, from one of my nephews.

I came back in about 1/2 hour later to my booth, ready to down my drink, leave and head straight to a bowl of clam chowder with my name on it.

The bad version of "More Than A Feeling" I was greeted with when I walked back in the door only solidified this decision.

And so I go back to my table... and my drink is gone.

What to do, what to do...

I head to the bar, complain to the bartender. She gives me the "Whattaya want me to do about it" attitude.

I've been here before. I've made tougher, more grizzled, far, far more experienced soda jerks then her pony up the free suds.

Hell, I've made bartenders that were Vietnam Vets  who slung firewater in biker bars using metal hooks instead of their own hands comp me the goods.

Who'd she think she was dealing with?

So I head back to my table with my new drink. I sit down for about two minutes and then, a beautiful woman joins me at my table.

You heard right.

She introduces herself. "Hi, I'm Brittney," she says.

"I'm whatever you want me to be", I'm thinking.

Then the shoe drops... of course.

"I was sitting back there with my husband and his friend and we were wondering what you did for a living."

"I meet beautiful women who are unable to date me on a regular basis", I answer under my breath.

"I'm a teacher and I bet my husband you were a teacher," she says.

"I'm not a teacher," I tell her. I then went on and told her what I did for a living, which she found fascinating. Fascinating enough to invite me over to her table with her husband and her husband's buddy.

"Why not," I say, and I mosey over and join them.

Turns out their pretty cool folks. The husband own's a construction company. The friend is an investment consultant. Within five minutes the four of us are acting like we've known each other since 1987.

Another lady comes over and joins us. Turns out she's a teacher too. Her husband is in the band, playing bass. She was the one that invited everyone out to come see them play.

The husband and I are shooting the breeze, getting along pretty good. Turns out he owns some acreage and he goes hunting all the time.

"You're alright," he says. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"I have no plans."

"You should come to our party!" the wife says. "We're having 30 people over for a BBQ!"

"What's the occassion?" I ask.

"Saturday", the husband answers. "Saturday's reason enough."

"Good enough for me," I say. "What are you going to cook?"

"Deer meat and feral hog", he says.

"Come again?"

"Deer meat and feral hog," he repeats.

At this point I now understand why I stepped out my door that Friday night.

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

"Don't worry about the deer meat being too gamey," he tells me. "I'm a dead on shot. When I hunt, I kill them - never see it coming. The meat has no adrenaline in it - no gaminess."

I didn't know adrenaline made meat gamey either.

"I am there," I answer. "I am SO there."

So it's Saturday night and I'm driving to some high class neighborhood in the suburbs. The chance to dine on not only BBQ Rudolph but also FERAL HOG is making me giggle like a little girl.

I get to the house and walk right into this intimate party already in procession. The people who've invited me here met me in a bar... they were probably drunk when they asked... everyone else is a total stranger... the bass player in the cover band is standing next to his wife eyballing me... every other male inside is wearing a ten gallon hat, dressed like Garth Brooks and smelling o' Stetson...

...but WHO CARES.

I'm eating rabid Porky and sirloin Prancer!

And it was delicious.

I had two plates.

Later on all of us sat outside in the freezing cold, sitting around a pair of pit fires. Everybody was joking, talking all kinds of mad ish about one another.

The Husband turns to me. "Now you got a real story to tell all the folks back in California about those crazy Texans."

I rub my full belly... my eyes are glazed as I'm in a pre-protein coma.

"Es la verdad, mi amigo. Es la verdad."

copyright,  © 2007 Paul Silva 

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