A little dab with do ya
Bear grease is exactly what you'd expect it to be: The rendered fat of a bear.
In this case, the American black bear, ursis americanus.
I'm lousy with it.
I've got a whole quart Mason jar of it, right now, in my fridge.
First question is, "How did he end up with a quart of bear grease?"
Second question is, "What the hell is he going to do with a quart of bear grease?"
(I've also got a two-and-a-half-foot-long section of bear sausage, like summer sausage from the Swiss Colony, but that's a whole 'nother story because it is bear sausage and frankly, it scares me.)
I went to see a man about a bear. One that he shot with a bow and arrow. A possible world-record black bear that weighed 420 pounds. He gave me the grease (and the sausage) as lovely parting gifts.
As a reporter, I can't take gifts; things I get, T-shirts and caps and such, end up in a company auction for literacy programs. As much as I tried not to, I was leaving with bear grease (and sausage).
"Fuck, man, I've 15 gallons of the shit," he said about he grease. "Fuck, it's great for waterproofing your boots, 'cause it doesn't fucking smell or shit, or fuck, I cook with that shit, especially when I'm frying up some fucking venison, that shit is good."
(It was an interesting interview, as he's a rough-and-tumble backwoods guy who felt comfortable enough with me right off, so every third word or so was either fuck or shit.)
I've made it my mission to give away the sausage (it is Northern California and yes, there will be someone who will love it), but I'm keeping the grease. I just don't think it'll hold up in the auction box.
I am going to waterproof a pair of boots. Just to try it.
But it turns out that bear grease has some magical properties; it's like Rogaine of the natural world. It was popular in the 1800s as a hair pomade. Cooks swear by it for making the best pastries and pie crusts.
I'm thinking of going a different route.
I make my own soap from time to time (that whole "Fight Club" thing).
I'm going to make bear grease soap.
Now, that's a man's soap.
In this case, the American black bear, ursis americanus.
I'm lousy with it.
I've got a whole quart Mason jar of it, right now, in my fridge.
First question is, "How did he end up with a quart of bear grease?"
Second question is, "What the hell is he going to do with a quart of bear grease?"
(I've also got a two-and-a-half-foot-long section of bear sausage, like summer sausage from the Swiss Colony, but that's a whole 'nother story because it is bear sausage and frankly, it scares me.)
I went to see a man about a bear. One that he shot with a bow and arrow. A possible world-record black bear that weighed 420 pounds. He gave me the grease (and the sausage) as lovely parting gifts.
As a reporter, I can't take gifts; things I get, T-shirts and caps and such, end up in a company auction for literacy programs. As much as I tried not to, I was leaving with bear grease (and sausage).
"Fuck, man, I've 15 gallons of the shit," he said about he grease. "Fuck, it's great for waterproofing your boots, 'cause it doesn't fucking smell or shit, or fuck, I cook with that shit, especially when I'm frying up some fucking venison, that shit is good."
(It was an interesting interview, as he's a rough-and-tumble backwoods guy who felt comfortable enough with me right off, so every third word or so was either fuck or shit.)
I've made it my mission to give away the sausage (it is Northern California and yes, there will be someone who will love it), but I'm keeping the grease. I just don't think it'll hold up in the auction box.
I am going to waterproof a pair of boots. Just to try it.
But it turns out that bear grease has some magical properties; it's like Rogaine of the natural world. It was popular in the 1800s as a hair pomade. Cooks swear by it for making the best pastries and pie crusts.
I'm thinking of going a different route.
I make my own soap from time to time (that whole "Fight Club" thing).
I'm going to make bear grease soap.
Now, that's a man's soap.
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