Cousin Neddie holds a regular Saturday lunch, where a crew of family, friends and drinking buddies gather to review the events of the past week. At one time it would not be unusual to find more than half the town council there as well as one or two school board members. I dubbed it the Power Lunch then and still do, though few elected officials attend these days. Cousin Jerry closely question me about my game dinner absence at a Saturday lunch just after last year's game dinner. "Why was I shirking my birthright and sacred duty?" Having no reasonable answer, I promised to be there the next year, towel on my shoulder.
The original game dinner was held yearly by the Madison County Fish and Game Association when I was growing up. While I paid my $2 yearly dues, I never did attend that dinner. It was a hardcore game dinner and a regular event on the sportsmans social calendar. Apparently after I moved away, that game dinner tradition died out and Cousin Neddie and his merry band resurrected it in a slightly different form. There is no advertising, no invitations, no charge, no membership required and, of course, no women allowed to attend. This is a guy event. It is held in the train depot that Neddie and a partner bought and renovated. And it is jam-packed with male attendees.
My father's contribution to the menu was his speciality, lard-fried testicles of calves or pigs. My family started to raise livestock in this county nearly 200 years ago and were successful at it. And you can only be successful at that business if you do not waste anything. "Waste not, want not" is not some folk saying, it is the family motto. And that philosophy extends to the parts that you must remove from nearly all male pigs and male calves. We fried them and ate them! It is true that those who married into the family were often less enthusiastic about this. My mother NEVER tried this family delicacy, though my father did slip her sister a nut sandwich once. She thought it was fine until he owned up to what it really was... I'm not sure she has forgiven him yet, though he has been dead for nearly 9 years now.
It can be fairly stated that my father's enthusiasm for this family delicacy increased with the reluctance of the target. And including this on the game dinner menu let him reach a wide audience with his evangelistic message (and sandwich)! The approved method of consuming these is on a bun with butter and a slice of onion. Personally I go with either a plain bun, or no bun at all.
Preparation is fairly simple. You remove the sac that surrounds each one, slice it along the long axis (they are elongated ellipsoids) into halfs and soak them in salt water for a few hours to remove residual blood. You need a large cast iron skillet (to remain stable at the high heat) that is large enough to cover two burners on a gas stove. Melt enough lard so that it measures 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch deep and get it smoking hot. Then you flour the nuts and pop them in the skillet. After the first one goes in you yell loudly "The first one has DROPPED!" Then you have a beer and fill the skillet.
It takes a long time to cook the first batch. Part of that extra time is to get everything good and hot. They must be browned on both sides. They are ready to eat when they become firm. Initially they are quite soft and after about an hour's practice, you can gauge it quite easily with the tongs you use to turn them. Cook gets first dibs, of course. For the first two hours they don't even make it to the buffet table. The true affectionatos get them right out of the skillet. It takes over 3 hours to cook the 3 gallons we had at the dinner.
Once cousin Jerry felt he could trust my judgement, he went into sales mode: "These babies are so fresh they were on the calves last night!" Jerry spent time working the crowd, trying to find new converts. One particularly manly young man had muscles that would not quit, but his stomach did at first thought! And while no females are allowed, there were a few who picked up or delivered menfolk. None of them were interested in trying a sandwich. Interestingly enough, cousin Jerry never gave the sandwich a name... they already KNEW what it was. One of the nice features of a small town is the large amount of shared knowledge. It didn't matter that there were 10 kinds of fish, many different treatments of deer meat and so on and so on. The nut sandwiches are the MAIN EVENT and even those who don't attend, KNOW IT!
I'm really proud of my one aunt who ordered a takeout plate of these delicacies. Way to keep up the family tradition!