We Do Kudu. Now We Do, Anyway.

We're trying to eat local.  It's cheaper, anyway.  And even if it means I don't always have access to my beloved cucumbers, it really is more healthy for us.

But there is local, and then there is local.   Two days ago our driver surprised us with some kudu meat he had gotten from a friend in a local village.

"Kudu?"  I thought.  "I know this word from somewhere..."  That somewhere being, in my American existence, the episodes of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom our family used to watch.  But the thought of eating kudu never crossed my mind.

Rather majestic, no?  Very Meleficent-ish.

But such a gift from our driver is very dear and not to be wasted, so I immediately set about trying to figure out how to cook such a thing.  As it turns out, I'm not well prepared to make Kudu Stew, as we don't have one of the traditional South African cooking pots called a roemertopf.

  I decided to make do, just this once, with a metal pot.  And YES, I understand the blasphemy involved.  I cook using clay when I'm in our own house all the time, and it makes things delicious and savory and wonderful.  But desperate times call for desperate measures, and this kudu was being cooked in a metal pot.

According to the recipes I found, kudu is a low-fat meat that gets stringy and tough very easily.  It is indeed low on fat, as I found out when I started cutting it up.  I expected something like venison, but it's  not really.

You see?  Different. But not.  And very easy to cut, which I really appreciated.  

Anyway, the instructions said that kudu should never  be cooked more than medium-rare.  Now, medium-rare is my normal preference; but then again, I have no idea where this kudu really came from and I can pretty much guarantee that it did not come from somewhere that I, a spoiled Westerner, would have willingly shopped.  I kept reminding myself that (a) such a gift from our driver was VERY dear, and I needed to suck this up and drive on, and (b) how often do we get the chance to try kudu meat in the US?  Ever?  No.  I resisted my urge to fry the ever-loving hell out of the meat.  I figure that I've been told I'll need a twice-yearly deworming while living here, anyway.  

So, onward...  

One other thing to get used to here is bacon.  I love bacon.  I love bacon ridiculously and fully.  Bacon is wonderful.

Zambian bacon is not the same bacon I'm used to.  

However, I'm not used to kudu, either.  And I figure that a recipe for African kudu that calls for bacon is probably calling for African bacon.  So I dutifully cut up the bacon and fried it with some onions and got a most delicious smelling mix.

Now we start frying the kudu to add to the stew (when we get the stew going, that is.  This was a rather drawn out process).

I fried up all the meat this way, and gave in to the temptation to try just a bite of one of the more well done pieces.

Kudu meat is delicious.  Gamy and not gamy at the same time, and I think I like it better than venison.  This is quite an admission on my part.  Deer in the midwest are rejoicing right now - and pointing and laughing at the buffalo I still love to eat.  

So, onward...  The rest of the recipe called for beef stock (of which there was none available at the store).  I had to settle on using a powdered Oxtail Soup base, and it all seemed to work fine.  I'm sure that even though this tasted quite good, when I try the actual recipe without all my substitutions, metal pots, and jury rigging, I'll be amazed.  

The rest of the stew was what I've always used in beef stew - carrots, potatoes; what is specified in the recipe as "hearty vegetables."  There was one exception...  garlic.  The recipe specifically mentioned that one should be careful not to overpower the taste of the kudu and should minimize the use of garlic.

Minimize garlic?  Utter blasphemy!  Barbarity!  You must be joking!

But again, this is not my ethnic cuisine, and so I can't dictate my preferences upon it.  Right?  Whatever.  I cut the amount of garlic to what seemed a weak and pitiful amount - to me, anyway.  

Amid mutterings from the husband about nothing good coming from lack of garlic, I soldiered on in the kitchen over my makeshift kudu stew.  

After simmering for hours (the stove here isn't particularly obedient), we had success.  My husband tried it and pronounced it, "Different, but very good."

Success!  

I doubt that it will become a regular table occurrence for us,  but we've tried it.  And even my picky eater, the one who refuses to eat "cow", tried it and pronounced it as something acceptable. 

I have to admit that we draw the eating locally line somewhere, though.  Our game drive guide yesterday informed us that flying termites come out during rainy season, and that they are a traditional snack for Zambians.  

That I think we'll pass.