Archivo del Autor: LOBACO

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PRIMITIVE, ATAVISTIC AND AUTHENTIC. They could say without error and surely they will say that I am a too unsociable guy, that I do not know the name of most of my neighborhood, their kinships, homes, cars, sorrows, glories, miseries and I do not even have to. Beyond the obligatory courtesy I have very little dealings with the people around me and almost no participation in the events and parties of the town where I live most of the year. I am that meditative guy who comes and goes with his dog, his car or his junk whose life is rich enough not to need to stick his nose in the others'. I am not angry with the world, nor with anyone in particular, I will lend my help if I see that they need it and ask for it with education, but do not expect me to lose three minutes talking about the bloody football or the famous, because neither I do not even care, much less to stop thinking "in mine". The wheater and politics we all know how they are, fucked. No one could suspect that under that unsociable and sullen face hides a mind unadapted to urban bustle, a gray and somber life accompanied by solitude. Owner of a nose that the offensive smells of artificial perfumes are expensive or cheap, smokes, asphalt and eyes tired of looking to discover no other color than the dirty smoky of the sky or the gray of the cracked cement. An impassive and sullen look with those who try to snoop in their life united to a “montain heart” that beats to run out of there to get lost in the immensity of the mountain and never return. To ambush among rockrose, rocks, pilgrims, ponds, holm oaks and cliffs, hidden in a planting, on the banks of the river or on the edge of the mountain between two lights. Live according to the hard but beautiful and ancient laws that govern life since a monkey walked on two legs with the intention of conquering the world. With no other gods than the Sun, earth, water, fire, wind, following unwritten rules of hunting without harming and taking advantage of everything that abounds, to return to be free again. Hunter forever, when he was a child trying to catch sparrows with his hands, he chased chickens in the town or pulled the Little rabbits out of his cage to fill me with fleas and caress them. From "even when I did not know" but I lost my eyes on the horizon after the bluish flight of the then unreachable pigeons. Far from collecting trophies and memorable photographs I hunt for food, to live intensely the haul, to look for the rooting to the earth that connects you with the very essence of the primitive human being, that in which you recognize yourself as soon as you live it. Alone, self-taught as well as I have only learned almost all the things I know in this life, I rarely go with my offspring and when he learns he will also hunt on his own. My evolution has always been guided by the respect towards my prey, to make things difficult for me to give them a greater opportunity to escape or to redouble the triumph in case of catching them. The bourgeois and expensive semiautomatic shotgun gave way to the slightest and humble slider but equally effective if you know how to "make it work". The beautiful and precise rifle of forceful caliber sometimes supplants the compound bow and this will supplant a traditional one with time, one that I have surely done with my hands. The sixty meters that separated me from the wild boar have remained in just twenty when not less with the danger, the adrenaline and the glory that it supposes. Today, the lived experience, the flesh, the memory of the haul, furs and fangs make up my "gallery" of trophies, to my vanity I am content to write a simple story of those I learned to write on my own. But not only live hunting the field, asparagus, mushrooms, some berries and weeds along with the meat of "my corral" complete my diet and that of my small great family where dogs have been part of always, sharing our lives as members to full rigths. I never "used" them to hunt, my friends never "use" them, we just hunt together. In my eagerness to build everything that my mind and hands reach, to always say what I think, to be an ax woodcutter, to sleep on the ground wrapped by my dogs, thin or delicate, to despise fascism, to go out to the mountain in any circumstance, risk my physical integrity, being non-conformist, foul-mouthed, having an excessively acid humor, not prostrating myself before hypocritical political, social or religious conventions and my fondness for high-spirited spirits I have often won among those closest to me the nickname of " Prehistoric". The most foolish who are the majority will never know the favor they give me by considering me a feral being without taming, their lack of understanding does not give them anything more than to stay in the shell. For those who are docile, fearful or conformist suppose a virtue I have nothing to offer but my sincere condolences for his sleepy spirit, some saved by his submissive nature and a requiem very fat for his broken pitcher soul. Despite preferring raw things, embers for raw meat, trunks for my ax and live animals to a butcher shop I am a child of my time and use "the modernities" that I have within my reach. The car, the "smart" phone or the computer, the power tools and the manuals, many of them also made by me. Active in social networks in which I share my limited knowledge or reflections and from now on I will also divulge this blog and its contents. From the internet forums I'm back, tired of enduring falsehoods, tendentious news, rancid conservatism, rampage, interests, cronies, and “Singermornings”. They are like bad politicians, no matter how much they disguise they always finish portraying themselves, and what they do not know they invent it. From here I send a greeting to the few cabal people that endured and endure until the end. But it would not be fair to admit that I also found in the forums a few good friends that after the purge of the "maestrillo without a fucking booklet" that served as "old woman of the curtain" remained in the real ones. In them I trust and for more than one I would put my hand on the fire without risk to burn myself. And little more to add, except offer my hand to all that person of any sex, gender, creed, nationality, race, age or condition that wants to accompany me in my journey by Mother Nature. To love her and understand her in all her beauty, hardness and reality, fleeing from false modern beliefs and prejudices that lead them to despise what they do not even know. >> It may be that the road becomes hard, that the merciless needles grip the cold hands and legs or that they can hardly breathe because stunned palpiten the temples of pure effort and heat. That the thirst open up to the soul or that we have to hold on candle all night to not see a single prey and be satisfied with the great miracle of the Sunrise. May we be surprised by a storm in the countryside and it overwhelms us to the bone, stripping us of our human and useless pride, making us so insignificant in the face of their tremendous fury as in reality we are without knowing it. Let us walk from Sun to Sun with hardly any rest, raising our toenails again to finish tired but happy drinking wine and peeling birds by the fire . <> But one thing if you can be safe or secure, you will sleep with the satisfaction of having been part of a life that remained hidden and visible only to those who dare to seek freedom through learning to direct their steps. You will feel that unknown sensations that have remained hidden under the weight of a monotonous and ordinary life of the city are reborn in you. As soon as you tear the bark of your spirit with the reality of death, fatigue, pain, Life after all, your primitive Being will emerge to look for that site that was yours forever and you intuited that it existed somewhere of the world. <> Where you always wanted to find yourself, where you should never have left. Then you can heal your wounds or maybe they do not even hurt you and you end up leaving them to heal on their own drawing a beautiful and dignified scar that will adorn your skin better than the most expensive and florid of tattoos. << It is up to you to decide, dear reader, this is over and there is no other way but to take one of the two paths. Those who leave have my respect and gratitude for having read these lines and who knows if one day we will meet again. For who accompanies me I keep the best drink of my “boot of wine”, the pieces of dried ham and bread from the bottom of my backpack and the shade of an oak to share a sunset while we wait for the Boar or the owl begins its beautiful song to demand the attention of his partner. A BIG HUGG OF LOBACO

Caza Mayor “Al pincho”


“Al pincho” así es como he bautizado a otro de mis experimentos culinarios que ya ni me acuerdo de cuantos llevo. Sin mucho alarde me gusta investigar, aprender y mejorar para llevar a mi mesa la carne de caza bien cocinada.

Comencemos por el principio.

 

 

 

 

 

Una buena materia prima es esencial para cualquier plato a elaborar y a mi siempre me ha gustado la mejor. “La cabra y el cerdo salvajes” son a mi entender dos animales de sabor recio muy rico en matices montunos.

Higienizarlos y despiezarlos cosa fácil si contamos con buenas herramientas y algo de tino. Sin dejar pasar por alto que la en correcta manipulación de la carne reside su calidad final.

 

Al lio.

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Deshuesando pierna de jabalí

 

Una vez deshuesada la pierna la deshacemos en sus diferentes piezas y eliminamos las venas y telas más duras.

 

 

Jabalí "Al pincho" 2

 

 

Limpia la carne se marina durante dos o tres días en el frigorífico en un baño de sal, pimentón, pimienta, tomillo, comino y vino blanco. A toda esa mezcla le añadiremos una pizca de azúcar para equilibrar los sabores. Tampoco pueden faltar varios dientes de ajo troceados sin llegar a picarlos, volteando la mezcla al menos dos veces por día.

 

 

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Llegó el turno de la parte vegetal que viene bien de vez en cuando, esta vez los acompañantes serán los pimientos y la cebolla.

 

 

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Al  pincho.

 

Mucho secreto no tiene el pinchar carne en un palillo intercalando verduras entre los generosos y magros pedazos.

 

 

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Tampoco se estudia el asarlos con brasas vivas y dejarlos “bocato di  cardenale”. Pero aún hay más que nos queda lo mejor para el final.

 

 

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La cabra.

 

Animal noble, rudo y bello donde lo haya de carne oscura y aromática. Elegiremos esta vez la paletilla para nuestra carne de caza “Al pincho”.

 

 

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El proceso de marinado y montaje de los pinchos es el mismo en este caso. Esta vez los traje de casa para poder entrenar más rato con mi arco.

 

 

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El fuego siempre me gusta hacerlo bien alegre para disfrutar su vista y su atávico encanto. Esta vez el “sustento” a la hora del asado de nuestra carne “Al pincho” será otro.

 

 

 

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Planchando Caza Mayor.

 

Este titulo lo coloqué por llevar la contraria a tanta gente que erróneamente piensa que la carne de monte no se puede asar. La carne se puede enternecer de diferentes formas y sabiendo dominar el fuego se guardan parte de los jugos.

 

 

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Durante el asado añadiremos un poco de sal para sazonar las verduras y la carne al tiempo. Para no pasarnos o quedarnos cortos lo mejor como siempre es probarlos.

 

 

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El resultado será una carne consistente sin llegar a ser correosa con los matices dulces de las verduras y el sabor del monte. Las partes algo quemadas las podemos retirar o disfrutar del toque amargo que le dan a la carne.

 

“Al pincho” la película.

Con tod@s ustedes, un servidor asando carne de caza.

 

 

 

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