By Joel Thurtell
So far, none of my Free Press friends wants to eat rat.
Shoot!
I got back on the rat track last year when I discovered that Freepster Zlati Meyer had borrowed from some of my old Free Press stories about that fine delicacy that used to be fairly common Lenten fare in the Detroit area.
Skittish people call it “marsh hare.”
Muskrat is what it is.
And it’s getting hard to find.
In the 1980s, when I first discovered this culinary delight, you could still order rat at some Downriver restaurants.
Nowadays if you want to sup on rat, best check the calendar for Monroe County fundraising events. I ate rat at an Erie VFW fundraiser in the 1980s. I understand that group still serves rat.
I used to lead contingents of Free Press writers to Kola’s Kitchen when Johnny Kolakowski had his restaurant in a Wyandotte bowling alley. Later, he moved to a former Burger King in Riverview and renamed his restaurant “Kola’s Food Factory.”
In those days, you could get newspaper people to eat rat.
Our modern news hounds have more refined palates.
Or so they believe.
Kola’s closed several years ago.
I was surprised that Zlati’s story didn’t quote Johnny. No wonder. I tried to find him on the Internet. No go.
There are other ways than the Internet of locating people. Old tried and true methods. I tried one of them, placed a call and five minutes later my phone rang.
Johnny.
Yes, he’s still doing rat. Retired, but still takes the occasional wild dinner catering gig.
What about rat?
Well, what about it?
Johnny has an order with his Canadian source. How many did I want?
Let me think.
Now is the time to catch rat. They are healthier, cleaner from frisking and drinking that cold winter water. And it’s Lent, and some Catholics still like to have their swamp fish on Fridays.
They come frozen in packages of five.
Good time to stock up.
Two packs!
Ten rats.
Who’s gonna eat 10 rats?
I emailed a Free Press pal: Wanta eat rat?
“I’m still puking,” she emailed back.
I called another Free Press friend. She might come to my shindig, but not to eat rat.
Sorry. This sit-down is rat only.
“I don’t have room to seat anyone who who can’t abide rat.”
That’s my line. So far, I have one person interested in eating rat. With me, that makes two.
Eight rats to go.
These newspaper types are too narrow-minded.
I need to cast a wider net.
Wrong metaphor. I need to put better bait on my trap.
I’m auditing an anthropology class at the University of Michigan.
Here’s my pitch: Muskrat as cultural anthropology. Rat as remnant of French colonial society, Once a vibrant part of southeastern Michigan, now invisible. A handful of French surnames, and then there’s rat.
A veritable window into the culinary past of a bygone people.
Think it’ll work?
My guide for prepping rat: “Cookin’ Wild With Johnny.”
By who else?
Johnny Kolakowski.
While we’re on the subject of offbeat meals, what’s all this kerfuffle about horse meat in European Burger Kings?
When my wife and I were Peace Corps volunteers in Togo, we traveled to then Upper Volta, now Burkina Faso. In Ouagadougou, I ordered the day’s special at a French Restaurant.
Tranche du cheval.
The waiter said they were sold out.
No more horse.
Darn!
I can’t understand why people are repulsed at eating equine.
The same people, mostly, have no problem swallowing beef or lamb or pork or chicken, turkey, and lots of kinds of fish.
Anyway, I’m still waiting for a taste of Trigger.
Drop me a line at joelthurtell(at)gmail.com
