The Lake Campbell Sportsmen’s Club Oyster Feed of 2012
I am a new member of the Lake Campbell Sportsmen’s Club. The Club house is on the shores of the Lake and the organization has been around for 55 years. During one of the first Club meetings that I attended, I heard them planning an oyster feed. Well, I felt quite at home. Being from Maryland, I know about Chesapeake Bay oysters and I began to regale the group at the meeting with stories about the wonderful oyster fritter sandwiches at the Hebron fireman’s carnival back in Maryland. I even said that I had an oyster shucking knife and might be able to shuck some without harming myself too badly.
Well, to my great embarrassment, what the Club was planning to serve were not mollusks at all. They were planning to serve South Dakota oysters that came from, well, livestock found down on the farm. Now there is really no way to write the remainder of this note with any tact at all. You’ll see that I’ve tried to use a range of terms from proper prose to deer-blind slang, but there is just no way that this subject doesn’t violate at some level certain anatomical and culinary sensitivities. So I’m just going to plunge into the subject by telling you that there is a tradition here on the great plains of eating testicles that are chopped from pigs, cows and sheep. I’m not familiar enough with this ranching practice to write knowledgably about it but I think it has to do with controlling the number of raging bulls in the herd.
The Club members also called the event a “nut feed” and I knew by then that they were not talking about mixed salted nuts. I tried to introduce a term that was more high brow, so I made a motion that that we call the event a Testicle Festival, but the term “oyster feed” won the vote. There are Rocky Mountain oysters – from beef, and prairie oysters – from sheep, but the group was planning to break with tradition and offer a new type of oyster.
It turns out that one of the Club members had a buddy working at the new turkey processing plant, and guess what - turkeys have oysters too! But, “How should they be cooked?” and “What do they taste like?” were the two main questions at the planning meeting. One old guy, a traditionalist, said “Do what you want, but I’m eating beef!” Fortunately we had some beef in the freezer; no not roast beef – beef oysters, I mean Rocky Mountain oysters.
I got my first look at beef oysters when the Club President lifted from the freezer a suitcase size block of ice. I was such a rookie I didn’t dare ask what was inside the block, but it looked like – again, I’ll just plow forth – a frozen mass of dozens of hairy scrotum. My tentative identification was confirmed when the members began discussion the merits of calf vs. bull, and they were overjoyed that in the block of ice was 40 pounds of calf junk. At a well-remembered past event they had purchased full-grown bull oysters from the big slaughter house in Sioux Falls and the bull parts were described in terms of footballs in size. The balls had to be sliced and diced into bite sized chunks and even then there were pretty tough - kinda like chewing, well, a football. But oysters from calves were only goose egg sized and thought to be “oh so tender.”
As the discussion returned to the turkeys; there was some general debate about turkey anatomy, which no one really seemed to know very well, but there was a consensus that turkey oysters were “inside.” This was good as one member opined because “The lack of sacs will speed preparation.” Because of our ignorance we agreed to do some testing before advertizing that the next event would feature a new unnamed “deep fried treat.” We needed to test techniques for the cleaning, the slicing, the battering, and the frying. And of course, we had to test the taste and texture.
The photo shows me with a tray of turkey oysters. I know I don’t look like myself with my nose turned up a little, but the photo also seems to show my receding hair line. Oh well, maybe a good dose of turkey oysters will revive me – there has to be a little hormone left in the oyster somewhere. Although maybe I ought to try beef so I’ll regrow hair rather than feathers.
I confided in a person at church that I was going to be involved with the preparation, cooking and eating of oysters and I asked for any advice. They replied “beer at each stage.” I asked if a nice Chardonnay would do and they said, “Don’t bring it up unless you want them to take away your man card.”
On the night of the taste testing meeting, I wondered what the preparation entailed because some of the guys showed up with large sharp hunting knives, knife sharpeners, and other butchery equipment. Evidently they remembered preparing the football-sized bull-junk from the slaughter house. However a turkey’s junk is much smaller and more delicate. Most were the size of a strawberry. One guy found a chicken-egg sized gonad (nad) and we all agreed that it must have come from a real mean turkey, the boss of the turkey pen. And the preparation of the turkey nads went quickly – no sacs. At the taste test, I noted that traditional garnishes included copious amounts of horseradish and ketchup. We decided to name our new deep-fired treat “Dakota Oysters.”
The turkey oysters were a success. “Tender and tasty,” said most tasters; “I still prefer beef,” said the traditionalist.
Oh well, you are probably becoming disgusted with my long discourse on oyster feeds. However, I will report that the feed was well attended and we sold 80 pounds of turkey and 40 pounds of beef. Everyone liked the turkey oysters. I tried both and found the beef somewhat structurally challenging (chewy) yet tasty, especially the batter, and the turkey much more tender with just a hint of testicular flavor that lingered on the pallet with the pleasing herbal overtones of the batter. Followed by a swig of beer, I’d say they were an entirely acceptable addition to the sumptuous cuisine of the Club’s traditional oyster feed.
I am glad the food inspector didn’t show up because our culinary art was somewhat unorthodox. We set up the fryers outside of the club house to avoid the smoke, grease, oil and odor that accompany the frying of 100+ pounds of oysters. The photo shows our plen air plywood kitchen that we hastily erected to protect the cookers and the cooks – I mean chefs, from the north wind that was whipping the lake to froth. Pretty swanky, huh? When a semi-truck stopped, one of the chefs said excitedly, “We’re pulling them off the interstate.”
As I faced one of the new deep fryers and 4 gallons of hot bubbling oil, I was unsettled about the exact cooking protocol. I had found recipes in the back of the manual that came with the cooker, but sadly, there were none for nuts. Most recipes said “Cook till done.” With this general guideline in mind I carefully placed my first basket of oysters into the cooker and as the oysters sputtered I felt the sting of spitting and popping oil. I asked a more experienced oyster chef about the optimum frying time and he said “Cook till done and then give them one more minute.” (I am not making this up).
Over all, you must admit that the photo of our outdoor kitchen adds to the curb appeal of the Clubhouse during the nut feed. It probably gave arriving customers a lot of confidence in our hygiene as we passed the cooked Dakota Oysters through the kitchen window and received plates of raw oysters and beer in return. Inside the crowded kitchen, the batter-covered gonad preparation staff passed the steaming trays to servers who conveyed the oysters to the buffet table for presentation on a thick bed of white paper towels. Large white porcelain roasters filled with beans and potatoes were complimented nicely by white plastic dinnerware, white paper plates, and a stack of dinner rolls of the whitest flour. How pleasing to the eyes of the guests eagerly awaiting seconds and thirds.
The smartly attired serving staff, the ambiance of the line of tables seating 30 on each side, the attractive arrangement of condiments on uncovered tables, and the clank of brown folding chairs added to the charm of this humble alcove of dining excellence. The oyster feed is very much a social gathering and guests stayed and talked through the night.
Since I was the newbie, I did much of the clean up while the long-time lake residents swapped tales of oyster feeds past. “Sheep’s good, but I prefer beef.” “Have you ever had hog; my Dad could cut a hog.” “How about that nut feed over at Oldhamtown – we should get their batter recipe.” And so on through the night.
I didn’t get involved in such events while living In Brookings. I don’t think I ever saw an announcement from the SDSU President for a “Faculty Oyster Feed,” nor have oysters ever been served at the “Taste of Brookings” event on Main Street. But hey, we live in the country now and somebody has to do it.
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