The deer hunt, now in progress, reminded me of a “hunt” I had years ago. What follows is largely a repeat of the column where I reported that “hunt.” And for your information, I still have a fifth of whiskey in the pantry. I think.

Sunday afternoon I was doing what many Sanpete guys do this time of year. No – I wasn’t up in the hills pursuing the elusive mule deer. I haven’t hunted deer for many years.

Even though, after Sunday dinner, I did put on a red shirt and took a hike into the foothills. I saw a couple “head of deer” and a couple “head of hunters.” Both pairs seemed to be unaware of each other. I didn’t feel it was my job to interfere with the situation so I kept my mouth shut and quietly continued my hike.

So, if I wasn’t deer hunting, what was I doing? I’ll tell you. I was manning the barbecue for Sunday dinner. Earlier in the day, my wife had uncharacteristically announced that she wasn’t going to do her normal Sunday cooking. My son took that as a signal to beat a trail to his stash of Franco-American Ravioli. (He’s very particular about the brand on this “personal staff of life” food item.”)

I weighed the option for a moment of having a big bowl of Count Chocula for Sunday dinner. Since it’s the Halloween season, that seemed like the right choice. Cold cereal has the double advantage of being both quick preparation and quick cleanup. I almost did it.

Then I thought to myself, “I want meat.” There are times when a guy just wants a hunk of something off the grill. The “wisdom of the body” theory of eating confirms the concept that there are times when a body demands the thing it needs. (My body is constantly needing Almond Joy, 100 Grand and Hershey’s chocolate candy bars.)

Sunday, my body was yelping for pork spare ribs. Of course my body knew that there were ribs in the freezer from a Sanpete County Fair hog we had helped “boost” at the sale.

I decided that the ribs would need a sauce and the New Orleans Red Sauce described in the Betty Crocker cookbook looked like the way to go. Of course to make it really good I’d have to add honey, brown sugar and a couple other secret ingredients.

The base for the sauce was tomato sauce. I headed for the pantry to grab a can. Fifteen minutes passed and I still didn’t have the tomato sauce. But I found out that we have a lot of stuff in that pantry that I didn’t know about or had forgotten.

I was amazed to find the following items in our food pantry:

1) Five containers of insect repellant. (I know where another five are in the house besides those)

2) A dusty bottle – a fifth of whiskey back in the corner (given to us years ago by a friend to have in our “home preparedness supply” – It’s good for a multitude of purposes, he explained, including barter)

3) And while we’re on the subject, an ancient bottle of champagne was there (a gift that’s getting older and better(?) all the time)

4) Six or eight multi-bag microwave popcorn packages, several open. (why can’t we finish one box before opening another?)

5) A gazillion boxes of cake mixes and cans of frosting. (these are my fault, when they’re on sale, I go nuts)

It was an interesting “hunt” and there were lots of other things in the pantry that I had forgotten about. We keep so much stuff in there that it’s hard to know what we’ve got. The maddening feeling in my mind, which increased as time went on, was that I could not find any tomato sauce, which I was certain we should have. I was getting upset.

My wife came along and wondered what I was digging for. I paused, gathered my composure, and calmly whispered, “Tomato sauce.” She cheerfully responded, “We’ve got a dozen or more cans in plain sight downstairs in the fruit room.”

I didn’t tell her how frustrated I had become in the previous 15 minutes. I just took a long look at the whiskey (wondering what constituted a “home preparedness emergency”) and then went downstairs and got the tomato sauce.

The ribs turned out great. The sauce was fabulous – if I do say so myself. As I licked my fingers, I daydreamed about bottling the stuff and becoming some kind of barbecue celebrity legend.

I would spend every weekend strolling around some Texas or Oklahoma barbecue pit being treated like a king, all expenses paid. It was a nice flight of fantasy.

You deer hunters can continue to tromp through the mountain mud and snow. I’ll stay down in the valley and do my hunting through our pantry, freezer and other nooks and crannies at home. — Merrill