We went to our friends' house for dinner recently. As we were hanging out after the meal my friend asked me if we wanted any elk meat from his successful hunt in the backyard mountain range. I said yes and asked if he wanted some salmon from a summer sailing trip in return. He said yes.
I did a little research and found a resource for preparing our gifted elk roast in the slow cooker. I sprinkled on the spices and chopped the onions, potatoes and carrots, and went about the day. We went out for a while and were welcomed home by an intoxicating aroma. I was impressed that our prone-to-counter-surfing dog hadn't pulled the whole business down and devoured it, crockery shards and all.
As dinner time approached, I told my son we would soon be eating part of an elk (an animal he recently discovered thanks to pre-school) that was shot by his friend's dad with a bow and arrow. His jaw dropped. My son thinks weapons are wonderful, but has me for a dad (I know nothing about weaponry and am mostly terrified by it). He made some intense shooting sounds, then quickly shifted into talking about how much he likes sharing. He's complicated like that.
I made some elk broth gravy to drip over the smashed potatoes, carrots and wonderfully tender meat. We ate with oohs and ahhs and tales of hunting and bravery and more sound effects. I did my best to sound like I knew what I was making noise about, and was grateful for our friend who made the moment possible.