Elephant Pudding

I eat what I hunt. People complain, but where does their food come from? Animals! Except for those crazy people who only eat plants.

They say to me, “Bertram, why do you kill animals?”

“To eat and to live,” I answer. “That is the way a real man lives.”

I’m old but maybe not old enough. I’ve missed a lot of great hunts. I missed the Great Auk though I once confiscated one from a museum, but it tasted like formaldehyde. Plus I didn’t get to shoot it myself.

They call me a poacher, but who has the right to tell me what I can and cannot hunt? In Nature, that’s what we did. That’s the law of Nature. These pampered babies who make the rules are green and ignorant.

So, I persevere. I’ve been to Africa, Australia, South America. I like big game and small. Doesn’t matter. I’d be happy to try Antarctica even if I can’t find anything juicier than grubs there. It’s the hunt, the chase, the challenge, the communing with Nature and the independence.

People think I don’t like animals but they’re wrong. I love animals, trees, wind. I love dogs and I hunt with them. But it’s a tough love. The world is as it is and sentiment is sometimes overruled by nature, instinct and necessity.

I cook. I invent new dishes. Since I hunt and eat what others do not, I create original recipes. My favorite dessert is elephant pudding. I cut off and hollow out the feet. I cook up a soupy mixture of elephant fat, gelatin, berries and cane sugar. I pour the mixture into to the feet and let it cool, then refrigerate. I top them with freshly grated nutmeg. Ready to serve.

In my will, I left a recipe for my son to cook and eat me. I want to be useful. Waste not, want not.