Outside magazine, June 1995
"You can pan-fry it, grill it, or put it in chili," reports Elizabeth Hatch of West Danville, Vermont. "And it makes the best lasagne you ever ate." At the Elks Lodge in Montpelier, chef Norm Champagne prepares it au poivre, deglazing the pan with brandy. "Folks who think it's weird don't bother to come around," he says.
Clear your plate for a helping of roadkill. Partly in response to a shorter moose-hunting season, Vermonters have found a way to get their fill of the knob-kneed beast: Follow the squealing tires. Under a program sanctioned by the state, a game warden will be dispatched any time a moose is reported killed by a passing vehicle. The carcass is winched onto a truck, driven to a butcher, and packaged into five-pound parcels. The meat then makes its way to dining-room tables according to a lengthy waiting list. The price per pound: $1.25. "It's the only way to get the stuff anymore," says game warden Evan Eastman. Regarding splattered moose's effect on the palate, opinions vary. "A leaner rendering of beef," says one fan. "A less stringy version of horse meat," claims another. A more reluctant connoisseur puts it this way: "Needs garlic."