Food-focused millennials are keeping American hunting alive

At the birthplace of George Washington in Virginia, a homemade goose blind, on the edge of a frozen cornfield near the Potomac River, provides little shelter from the cold.

The early morning January sun gives off considerably less heat than a lightbulb. All we have to eat is a communal bag of venison jerky, a satsuma and, eventually, the hunk of dark chocolate I keep hidden in my pocket until I feel too guilty.

I have a million questions, but you’re not supposed to talk much when you’re waiting for geese. I have a shotgun, but I’ve never killed an animal. It doesn’t matter, because there’s no geese, anyway.

After about five hours, a small flock starts to land in front of us. Someone yells: “Take them!” Everyone except me stands and fires. Two Canada geese fall.

Tug the dog brings them to us, and we pack up and head to the kitchen to cook what Wade Truong, the chef who invited me here to hunt, calls the rib-eye of the sky.

Truong, 33, grew up working in his parents’ Vietnamese restaurant in Harrisonburg, Virginia. He never thought about hunting until he dropped out of the University of Mary Washington and started cooking professionally.

Like many young chefs, Truong decided that he wanted to get as close to his food as possible. So nine years ago, he picked up his first hunting rifle. He took a hunter’s safety class, studied an old army sniper’s manual and headed into the woods, he says, “overgeared and underprepared”.

After several tries, he managed to shoot his first deer. He was determined to field dress it himself. He studied images he pulled from Google, and pried a few tips out of some hunters. None of it prepared him for what the process was really like, especially how shockingly hot the inside of a deer can be.

“It was a lot for a kid who grew up on meat that was on sale,” he says.

His girlfriend, Rachel Owen, 29, didn’t grow up hunting either. But like him, she loved fishing. The two, who got together when they worked at the same restaurant, talked about hunting on their first date.

Now, eight years later, they have 30 guns between them. They keep an empty caviar jar in a drawer near their dining room table to collect any stray shot left in duck breast. They blog.

It’s the kind of modern love story you don’t hear about much. “I can’t imagine us as a couple without hunting,” she says. “It’s foundational.”

They spend as much free time as they can fishing and hunting, with the express goal of trying to eat only protein that they kill. They haven’t bought meat in more than a year, except pork fat and chicken wings. Sausage needs pork fat, Truong says, and “there really isn’t a substitute for chicken wings”.

They are the face – or at least two faces – of a new generation of hunters.

“If the hunting world wants to grow in America, it’s going to be up to the millennials,” Truong says. “It’s not just the blue blood upland hunters or rednecks with mudders and dogs. It’s us.”

The number of hunters in the US has been in a slow fall since 1982, when 16.7 million people had paid hunting licenses. By 2010, that had dropped to 14.4 million, according to United States Fish and Wildlife Service records.

In the past few years, the figure has begun to climb, to 15.6 million in 2018. Still, only about 5 per cent of Americans 16 or older hunt, half of the number who did 50 years ago. Supporters of the sport worry about what might happen if their beloved culture fades away.

Hope, they say, might lie with a health-conscious, outdoors-loving slice of the millennial generation who were raised on grass-fed beef and nose-to-tail eating, but didn’t grow up in hunting families, where taking game is about both tradition and filling the freezer.

“Hipsters want to hunt. But they don’t want to hunt the way a rural farm boy from Illinois wants to hunt,” said Matt Dunfee, director of special programmes at the Wildlife Management Institute, in an Outdoor Life article last year about hunting’s decline.

“They don’t want to dress the same way, they don’t like focusing on antlers, they don’t like taking pictures of their animals,” he told the magazine. “But they want local, sustainable, ecologically conscious meat. And within our efforts, there are few places to realise those values.”

Steven Rinella, the outdoor writer and star of the Netflix series MeatEater, says interest in wild game is rising among people in their twenties and thirties.

The show, his popular podcast and his books, including his newest – The MeatEater Fish and Game Cookbook – are aimed in part at young hunters who want to field dress their own game and move beyond dishes like venison chili and duck-breast poppers stuffed with jalapeño and cream cheese.

“For a long time, there just hasn’t been an intermediate between what a chef knows and what a deer hunter in Wisconsin knows,” he says.

Rinella’s books, along with titles like Duck, Duck, Goose and Buck, Buck, Moose from Hank Shaw, the former restaurant cook and writer who champions wild food in modern cooking, are prominent on the bookshelves in the home that Truong and Owen rent.

“One of the big drives for me is trying to make everything we pursue exceptional,” Truong says. “It shouldn’t be, ‘I ground this up to make a burger with Cajun seasoning all over it’.”

Becoming a hunter had never been on Truong’s radar. His parents grew up in the city then called Saigon. They met in a refugee camp in Indonesia. With the help of a Mennonite family who sponsored them, they settled in Virginia and opened the Saigon Café in Harrisonburg. It was the only Vietnamese restaurant in town.

“I basically grew up there,” Truong says. “You go to an Asian restaurant, and there’s a kid in the back doing his homework. That was me.” (His parents, who have since divorced, sold the restaurant about six years ago.)

As a teenager more interested in partying than school, he didn’t always get along with his father. But their fishing trips together were a bright spot, and cemented Truong’s love of the outdoors. Unlike many fathers in this part of Virginia, Truong’s never taught him to hunt. He had fought alongside Green Berets during the Vietnam War and had no interest in picking up another gun.

But to the son, hunting seemed like the next logical step – especially as his cooking career took off.

Truong started with deer. Waterfowl came a few years later, after Truong became the executive chef at Kybecca, in Fredericksburg, a city of about 28,000 that serves both as a tourist town for history buffs and a commuter town for people working in Quantico or Arlington.

It was a French-fries-and-bison-sliders kind of place, but Truong slowly started to change the menu, adding Chesapeake Bay oysters and sophisticated entrees that used vegetables from local farms. One of his suppliers was Blenheim Organic Gardens, run by Rebecca and Lawrence Latané, who is a descendant of George Washington’s family. They live on about 200 acres of farmland that has been in the Washington family for centuries.

Geese migrating to and from the Ungava Peninsula in far northern Quebec like to winter over in the Latanés’ grain fields. That makes for good hunting. One day, the couple’s son, Cameron Latané, invited Truong and Owen to join him and his father on a goose hunt. They have been close friends and hunting partners ever since.

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Although Truong says he prefers cooking duck, he has come to see Canada geese as the workhorse of his kitchen. Some goose hunters contend that other, more tender game birds, like the specklebelly goose or the sandhill crane, are the true rib-eyes of the sky. But the dark, rich meat from a migrating Canada goose is reliable and delicious, Truong says. He can thaw frozen breasts as fast as chicken and saute them for an easy weeknight supper.

Truong braises goose legs barbacoa-style for tacos, and simmers carcasses into stock for pho styled after his mother’s, though he tops his with lightly charred goose breast, venison braised in hoisin sauce or thin slices of goose heart.

He has botched some dishes, too. He roasted the ribs from his first deer, and they were terrible. Now he braises venison ribs for hours to get rid of the chalky, sticky taste.

Then there was the time he tried to prepare mergansers. These ducks eat fish, and their flesh can take on a funky, marine flavor. He tried to make a wild-game version of the Vietnamese dish ca kho in which the breasts were braised in a caramelised sauce.

“It tasted like I burned a can of anchovies and added fish sauce,” Truong says.

He has since become a much better game cook. He is close to perfecting beaver-tail lardo, which he sets out in thin slices on a charcuterie board alongside venison pastrami and a few types of sausages, when we get to the Latanés’ farmhouse kitchen after our hunt.

A Peking goose is roasting in the oven. Three days earlier, Truong inflated the skin with an air compressor, stuffed it with paste made from five-spice powder, ginger, garlic and chillies bound with some hoisin sauce, and then glazed it before leaving it to dry in the refrigerator.

On the stove, a pair of goosenecks stuffed with maple-scented venison breakfast sausage fry softly in a cast-iron pan, the heads still attached. “That’s pretty metal,” he says.

As we sit down to eat, Owen talks about the negative response they sometimes get from other millennials who either don’t like hunting or won’t eat game.

“Why is it weird that we eat wild meat?” says Owen, who doesn’t have hunters on either side of her family. “It’s the most human thing to do. I feel like if you’re going to eat meat at all, you have to be comfortable with hunting.”

They also have to deal with reactions from hunters who are older or more conservative than they are. “People make a lot of assumptions about our politics and our value system,” she says.

They drew more than a few odd looks when they went elk hunting in Kentucky last year. Owen had the permit, and Truong went along as a guide.

“We’re an unmarried, interracial couple where the woman had the tag,” she says. “They didn’t know what to make of us.”

As we make our way through the meal, Truong turns philosophical. “Taking an animal you intend to eat has so much more meaning than buying a steak on a plastic tray,” he says. “It should never be a small thing.”

He points to his plate. Everything, from the slices of goose to the wild oyster mushrooms – even the cornbread made from a Native American variety called bloody butcher that the Latanés grow – speaks of wildness and a rhythm of life that the couple is only beginning to understand.

“You make a conscious decision to end a life with the intention of eating it,” Truong says. “That’s actually participating in the food chain. It’s emotional. It’s about as far from Uber Eats as you can get.”

Goose pho

Total time: 2 hours, plus at least 5 hours’ simmering

Serves 6, plus extra broth to freeze

6 to 8 goose, duck or chicken feet (about 250g)
4 raw goose carcasses or 8 raw duck carcasses (about 2.75kg total), or 2 raw chicken carcasses plus 1.8kg beef soup bones
1 large yellow onion, halved (skin on)
2-inch piece unpeeled ginger, halved lengthwise
3 egg whites (optional)
½ cup coriander seeds
3 cinnamon sticks, preferably Saigon cinnamon
8 star anise pods
24 green cardamom pods
6 black cardamom pods
12 whole cloves
2 tbsp fennel seeds
¼ to ½ cup granulated sugar
2 to 4 tbsp fish sauce
1 to 3 tbsp monosodium glutamate (MSG), optional
Kosher salt, to taste
1 package dried flat rice noodles (about 500g)
Very thinly sliced braised or confit goose, duck or venison, or rare duck breast (optional)
Various pho toppings and garnishes, such as Thai basil, cilantro, thinly sliced onion, lime wedges, chopped scallions, mung bean sprouts, mint, sliced jalapeño, hoisin sauce or Sriracha

Heat oven to 190C/gas 5. Using a heavy cleaver or large chef’s knife, whack the feet into a few pieces, which will help the collagen to render while cooking. Place the feet, carcasses and bones, if using them, on a baking sheet or in a large roasting pan. If necessary, cut carcasses into smaller pieces so everything fits in the pan. Roast, turning the bones after about 30 minutes, until dark brown, at least 45 minutes or up to 1½ hours. Do not allow the bones to burn. Transfer the bones to a large stockpot and discard the rendered fat and juices.

Heat a large heavy skillet over high. Cook the onion and ginger, cut-side down, in the dry skillet until charred and dark brown, 6 to 8 minutes. Transfer to the stockpot.

Fill the pot with water, leaving about 2 inches of space at the top. Bring it to a steady simmer over medium-high, then reduce the heat so that only one or two bubbles come to the surface every second or so. Let simmer very gently, occasionally skimming foam from the top, for at least 4 hours and up to 12 hours. The longer you let it go, the more flavour will be extracted.

Strain the broth through a fine-mesh chinois into another large pot and discard the solids. Allow the broth to settle for a few minutes, then skim the fat and scum from the top. Wipe out the stockpot, then return the broth to the stockpot and bring it to a steady simmer over medium-low, continuing to skim the top of the broth until it has reached the desired clarity, about 10 or 15 minutes.

For a clearer broth, in a small bowl, whisk the egg whites together until foamy. While the broth is at a very slow simmer, gently pour the whites into the broth and allow the mixture to cook, undisturbed. Small particles will stick to the whites as they cook, and the egg whites will form a raft that can be skimmed out once firm, about 10 minutes. If there are small pieces of egg white left behind, strain the broth again through the chinois.

Add the spices to the stockpot with the broth. You can wrap them together in a piece of cheesecloth and tie tightly with kitchen string, or simply toss them directly into the pot. Simmer until the broth is fragrant, about 1 hour. (Leaving the spices in for an extended period can overwhelm the broth.) Remove spice bag or strain the broth again through the chinois, discarding the spices.

Add the sugar, fish sauce and MSG, if using, to the broth to taste, and season with salt.

Prepare the rice noodles according to package instructions. To serve, divide noodles among 6 large bowls. Top with sliced meat, if using, and pour the hot broth over the meat. Serve with a platter of toppings and garnishes to pass at the table.

Goose barbacoa

Total time: 45 minutes, plus 2 to 4 hours’ simmering

Serves 4 to 6

1 large red onion, roughly chopped
½ cup fresh lime juice (from about 4 limes)
½ cup apple cider vinegar
6 garlic cloves
4 to 6 canned chipotle chillies in adobo or 3 tbsp adobo sauce
1 tsp ground chipotle or smoked paprika
2 dried bay leaves
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground cloves
1 tbsp kosher salt, plus more for seasoning
2 tbsp neutral oil, such as vegetable or canola oil
6 to 8 bone-in goose legs or 12 bone-in duck leg and thigh sections (about 2.25kg), skin removed
Freshly ground black pepper
Just over 1l goose, beef or chicken stock
60ml goose fat, duck fat or lard, melted
Tortillas, rice, beans, avocado, sour cream, salsa, lettuce, queso and tomatoes, for serving

Combine the onion, lime juice, vinegar, garlic, canned chipotle, ground chipotle, bay leaves, cumin, cloves and 1 tablespoon salt in a blender and puree until smooth.

Heat the oil in a large Dutch oven or stockpot over medium-high. Season both sides of the goose legs with salt and pepper. Working in batches to avoid overcrowding, cook the goose legs until browned, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Transfer the legs to a large bowl after each batch, covering with cling film, and discard excess fat from the pot after browning all the legs.

Transfer the legs and any accumulated juices back to the pot. Add the stock and the chilli purée and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Cover and cook on low for 2 to 4 hours, checking every 30 minutes after the second hour for tenderness. Remove from heat when the meat is easy to pull off the bone.

Remove the legs from the pot, transfer to a large bowl and let sit until cool enough to handle. Pull meat from bones into bite-size pieces, discarding the bones and returning the meat to the pot. Stir in the melted fat. Transfer the meat to a serving bowl and add some of the braising liquid, to taste. Season to taste.

Serve with the extra braising liquid, and any combination of tortillas, rice and beans, and bowls of avocado, sour cream, salsa, lettuce, queso and tomatoes on the side.

© New York Times