THE RANGE COOK's STEAKS & STEWS

THE RANGE COOK'S STEAKS AND STEWS

Cowboys were meat eaters. It took quite a quantity of beef to satisfy the robust appetites of a roundup crew. According to tradition, no old-time cowman liked the taste of his own beef. It was customary for them to kill one of their neighbor's animals, but the neighbor, in turn, killed theirs so the score worked out about even. One of the stand-ing jokes was about the rancher who invited his neighbor over to dinner "so he could see what his own beef tasted like." Such beef was referred to as "slow elk," or "big ante-lope." So prejudiced was the old-time rancher against eating his own beef that one ranch woman declared she would just as soon eat one of her children as one of her own yearlings.City dwellers demand that their meat be "hung," sea-soned and refrigerated before using, but the cowman liked his beef freshly killed. The range man did not "butcher," he "killed a beef." As soon as the cattle got fat after the coming of grass, a calf was killed. Having spent the winter living on sowbelly and beans, the first meat of the spring usually upset the cowboy's system, but he quickly got over it.

After the roundup got well under way the wagon boss rode out to select an animal for meat. He kept his eyes open for a yearling heifer, and, if he was breeding up the herd, he tried to choose one with poor markings. Having selected the animal, it was driven toward the wagon and assistants were detailed for the work of slaughter. Some bosses merely had the animal shot in the head, but shooting caused internal bleeding. The more particular man had it roped by the head and hind feet, thrown and stretched out. Then a blow was delivered on the frontal bone of the head with an ax. A quick knife thrust and the beast's eyes became glazed in death as a torrent of hot blood gushed over the dust.

After the animal had bled, the carcass was turned on its back, with the head under its shoulders to balance it, and the work of skinning commenced. A sharp knife handled by a man who knew his business slit the hide from chin to tail right down the center of the belly. Then the inside of each leg was slit from heel to the split in the belly. The whole was peeled off, leaving it on the ground as a protec-tion against dirt while the meat was being quartered and cut up.

An animal was never killed close to other cattle, espe-cially in the early days when the odor of blood would cause the old-time longhorn to run amuck. It made even the slow-gaited modern animal nervous, and the wagon boss took precautions.

There was no refrigeration on the range, but the killing was done in the late afternoon and the meat hung up to be chilled by the cool night air of the high plains. In the early morning it was wrapped in tarps or slickers and placed in the wagon bed where bedrolls or other trappings would be placed on top to hold its temperature and keep it from the day's heat. This nightly cooling would be repeated as long as the beef lasted which was usually only a few days.

Sometimes a forequarter would be sent some nearby granger and swapped for eggs or vegetables, if he was known to raise these commodities. The granger was glad to get the meat to help the family larder. Even if he raised beef himself his herd was small and he disliked killing his own.

When beef was killed, especially if it be a calf, the tongue, liver, heart, sweetbreads, marrow gut and brains were placed in vessels and carried to the cook, and he knew what was expected of him. These were the chief ingredients of a famous stew of which we will tell you later.

As the various ingredients were added, the contents were given a stir.

Broiled steaks, a favorite with the town man, were not considered good by the cowboy because the juices and flavor were lost. No cowboy worthy of the calling wanted his steaks any way but fried. He never seemed to tire of them. Even when he went to market with a load of cattle he would wander into some city cafe, look over a menu full of names he did not "savvy" and order a fried steak. He wanted his steaks done through. Some outdoor men like rare steaks, but not the cowboy. There's an old, old story about the cowhand who went into a Kansas City restaurant and ordered a steak. When the waitress brought it to him rare he ordered her to take it back and have it cooked done, with the remark, "I've seen cows git well that was hurt worse'n that."

When a cowboy bought a steak in a city restaurant he wanted a "full grown" one, not some little filet mignon. Once when a cowboy ordered a steak from a city menu they brought him one "that wouldn't make a meal for a yearlin' tomcat." Later the head waiter came around and politely asked, "How did you find your steak?"

"Well," answered the cowboy, "I jes' lifted up that little piece o' lettuce, an' there she was, cozy as a toad under a cabbage."

On another occasion a hungry cowboy went into a city restaurant, his mind filled with the prospects of a big steak. When the waitress brought it he looked it over critically. "It seems to be cooked done 'nough," he said, "but I was figgerin' on a steak 'bout the size of a mule's lip from the ears down. This'n's kinda puny." "It might be small but don't worry about its size," she answered. "It'll take you a long time to eat it." When the cook started to prepare his meat for the meal he sliced off a sufficient number of medium thick steaks to feed the men and cut them into generous slabs. These he tenderized by pounding with a hammer or hacking with a heavy butcher knife or cleaver. He cut a quantity of the suet into small pieces and put a generous handful into the several Dutch ovens he had heating on the coals. Steak was not so good fried in lard or bacon grease as it was fried in the fat suet of the beef itself. When this had melted and the oven was filled to a depth of an inch or so in grease, he fished out the cracklings which were left. The answered. "It'll take you a long time to eat it." When the cook started to prepare his meat for the meal he sliced off a sufficient number of medium thick steaks to feed the men and cut them into generous slabs. These he tenderized by pounding with a hammer or hacking with a heavy butcher knife or cleaver. He cut a quantity of the suet into small pieces and put a generous handful into the several Dutch ovens he had heating on the coals. Steak was not so good fried in lard or bacon grease as it was fried in the fat suet of the beef itself. When this had melted and the oven was filled to a depth of an inch or so in grease, he fished out the cracklings which were left. The slabs of steak were salted, covered with flour and dropped into the sizzling fat and the lid put on. If steaks were fried without being floured it was better to sear quickly on each side to hold the juices in, then salt just before the meat was done. Otherwise, salt would shrink the fibres and cause the meat to become tough. When he lifted the lid to turn the steaks the odors escaping would whet the appetite of a dying man. If he wanted to make pan gravy he stirred a little water into the fat, making a "sop" for the boys. Others put a little flour into the hot grease, stirred until brown, then added water and cooked until it thickened. This made a better gravy. In some sections gravy was called by titles which would not look good in print.

If the cook thought the boys were getting tired of fried steaks-which they never did-and he wanted to give them a change, he might make a pot roast by taking a good sized chunk of beef, salting it, covering it with flour, then putting it into the Dutch oven to bake slowly for four or five hours. If he had any potatoes and onions on hand, these were peeled and added when the meat was nearly done.

Some cooks made another beef dish which was delicious. Selecting pieces of fat beef, they put these into a pot to simmer over a slow fire until cooked tender. Some biscuit dough, which had been set aside to rise, was then pinched off in small pieces and dropped in with the beef. As they cooked they became light and puffy. A flour gravy was then made of the juices and the whole became a toothsome dish.

Rare indeed would be the occasion when the old-time cowman condescended to eat mutton. He called a lamb chop "wool with the handle on" and one old cowman said the only time he ever had indigestion was when he ate sheep meat. "Cookin' mutton" to the cowhand meant setting some sheep range afire to destroy sheep, as was sometimes done in the range wars between sheepmen and cowmen.

Sonofabitch stew is the cowboy's own dish. No one knows who originated this widely known, yet mysterious concoction. Perhaps some economy minded cook, trying to salvage the parts of the beef usually thrown away, made the first one, by adding first one thing and then another, tasting each as he experimented until at last he declared it good. It has been said that to make this stew everythingwas throwo into the pot except the horns, hoofs and hide. Some claim that the first cook to make such a stew got his idea from the Indians who ate with relish all the discarded parts of the beef when slaughtering was done in their presence. The origin of the name is as mysterious and uncertain as the genesis of the concoction itself. Its nyystery has become legendary. Possibly the first cowboy who tasted it exclaimed, "Sonofabitch, but that's good!" and the name stuck. Perhaps no two cooks will make it exactly the same way, yet each may claim his to be the best. This enigma of its making, and of its name, has, as the years have gone by, created for the cowboy an opportunity to satisfy his love of a joke. He never lets one die if possible. It is in the presence of the tenderfoot that he goes the limit in having his fun with this dish. When he sees some greener picking sround in a plate of this mysterious looking stew as if trying to discover its ingredients, he will remark that a stew was no good without plenty of guts in it. If he sees the tenderfoot grow pale and push the dish aside, his reward is ample. It became the custom to name this dish after some enemy for whom one held a special grudge. It was like a toast or a pledge to this enemy's downfall, a subtle way of calling him names which one did not dare do to his face. Of course if delicate cars were present as when a lady, or group of them, visited the wagon, this dish was spoken of as a "sonofagun" instead of its fighting name. But the experienced ranch woman knew this was merely an attempe to be polite. One old story, told with many variations, is about two cowhands riding up to the chuck wagon when the cook was preparing dinner. Sniffing the odors thrown up by the various pors and keties, one of the visicors said, "I see y'u're

goin' to have a sonofabitch for dinner." The cook, already mad because other visitors had arrived earlier, gave the new arrivals a withering lock and answered, "Yeah, a few more drop in an' we'll have a crowd of 'em." Alexander Melton, an old-time cowboy of the Texas Panhandle, told me of a town barber visiting the chuck wae on. It seems this barber had tired of his profession and decided he wanted to be a cowboy. When he arrived at the wagon to seek a job the cook was cooking a stew. "What's that cookin'?" he asked. "That's a sonofabitch. Did y'u ever eat one?" answered the cook. "No," replied the barber. "I never et one but I've shaved a helluva lot of 'em." This stew was called by many other names, according to the locale, or enemies of the group, but always its implication was obvions. When the law began its westward march and started to clamp down on the government of the cowman's happy, carefree days, the blame for this cramping of liberties was placed upon lawyers. This caused the offended cowmen to feel resentful toward the law and they soon began calling this dish "district actomey" as an oudet to their indignation. Some cowband at the wagon might have become offended at the Congressman of his district over some action, or lack of it. When he said, "I believe I'll have another dish of Congressman Blank," others nodded approval and this stow was called by that name for a few weeks or for the season. It has been called "Cleveland" because this President ran the cattlemen out of the Cherokee Strip, and, in later years, "Hoover" on account of the depression. The fending of rival towns also furnished names at various times. A man from a nearby envious town might goin' to have a sonofabitch for dinner." The cook, already mad because other visitors had arrived earlier, gave the new arrivals a withering lock and answered, "Yeah, a few more drop in an' we'll have a crowd of 'em." Alexander Melton, an old-time cowboy of the Texas Panhandle, told me of a town barber visiting the chuck wagon. It seems this barber had tired of his profession and decided he wanted to be a cowboy. When he arrived at the wagon to seek a job the cook was cooking a stew. "What's that cookin'?" he asked. "That's a sonofabitch. Did y'u ever eat one?" answered the cook. "No," replied the barber. "I never et one but I've shaved a helluva lot of 'em." This stew was called by many other names, according to the locale, or enemies of the group, but always its implication was obvious. When the law began its westward march and started to clamp down on the government of the cowman's happy, carefree days, the blame for this cramping of liberties was placed upon lawyers. This caused the offended cowmen to feel resentful toward the law and they soon began calling this dish "district attorney" as an outlet to their indignation. Some cowhand at the wagon might have become offended at the Congressman of his district over some action, or lack of it. When he said, "I believe I'll have another dish of Congressman Blank," others nodded approval and this stew was called by that name for a few weeks or for the season. It has been called "Cleveland" because this President ran the cattlemen out of the Cherokee Strip, and, in later years, "Hoover" on account of the depression. The fending of rival towns also furnished names at various times. A man from a nearby envious town might call it "The Gentleman from Odessa," "The Georieman from Cheyenne," "The Gentleman from Roswell," or any other. In some sections it frequently went by the name of "Rascal"; others called it by the abbreviated SOB.

Occasionally the wagon cook named his first stew of the season after someone against whom he had a pet peeve and it retained that name for the rest of the roundup. Cooks have been fired for calling this dish by the boss's name.

Many arguments have developed as to the proper way to make this famous stew. Each cook might make some changes and think his way the best. Some made it the easier, safer way by cooking in water, while others claimed by using only the juices of the meat a finer flavor would be obtamed. Some might add an onion to the mixture; others claimed this merely made a hash out of it; some wanted to use chili powder, this ruined it for others. But all agreed that no vegetables, such as corn, peas or tomatoes were to spoil the dish. Some liked it thick, some thin, but of whatever consistency it must be served hot. Also some claimed it was only good when served fresh, others that a warmingup the next day made it better, but rarely was there any left to prove this theory.

Aside from the mystery of the title itself, the one thing which gave this stew a bad name among the uninitiated was the word "marrow gut." Yet, as all cowmen know, this marrow gut was a most necessary ingredient, though only a small portion was used as compared to the other solids. It gave the stew its distinctive flavor. Another ingredient or two might be omitted, but as one cowman said, "A sonofabitch might not have any brains and no heart, but if he don't have guts he's not a sonofabitch." Marrow gut is not like the larger intestines, but is part of a small intestine which contains a predigested creatny nutrient.

To make this stew a fat calf was killed. While the meat was still warm, the heart, liver, tongue, marrow gut, some pieces of tenderloin, sweetbreads and the brains were taken to be prepared. First the cook cut the fat into small pieces and put these into a pot. While this was being rendered he cut the heart into small cubes, adding this first because it was tougher. The tongue was skinned and cubed likewise, then added. This gave the two tougher ingredients longer cooking time. While these were cooking he proceeded to cut the tenderloin, sweetbreads, marrow gut and liver into similar pieces. The liver was used sparingly or the stew would become bitter. The marrow gut was cut into small rings and added to the whole. When using water it should be warm, the ingredients well covered with it, and more added from time to time. The various ingredients were added a handful at a time, the contents being given a stir each time. Salt and pepper were then added and some cooks put in an onion. The whole was cooked until tender.

The cook proceeded berween stirrings to clean the brains of blood and membrane. The brains were stewed separately, some adding a little flour to make them thick. When cooked until they became beady these were added to the stew. This was the last ingredient added and it gave the stew a inedium of thickening.

It took several hours to cook the stew and about the only way you could ruin a good one was to let it scorch. If a cook committed this blunder he had better be prepared to receive some titles less complimentary complimentary than the one given the stew. When done you had something sweet and delicions.

While rangemen have seemed to keep this dish myste. zions to the outlander, to an old cowman the only mystery about it was whose calf went into its making.