Last Tuesday, Archie Johnson come into the A&P, per usual. He’s what we affectionately refer to in Mahoosuc Mills as a “mangy, old fart.” Lives in a rundown trailer on the edge of town: tires piled in the yard, blue tarps, broken cars on cinder blocks, you name it. I know, sounds like a cliché. But cliché’s come from somewhere. Archie is living proof.
Archie generally keeps himself to himself. “Lives off the land,” would be a nice way to put it. Comes into town once a week for “supplies.” Though his looks and odor can be a little off putting (Archie would never get a gold star for personal hygiene), he’s harmless enough.
So I’m ringing Archie out, and I notice that along with the usual: couple cases of Miller Lite, cans of Vienna sausage, Spam, Marshmallow Fluff, Skippy, Wonder Bread and a few Snickers bars, he has about a dozen bottles of ketchup.
“How you doing, Archie?”
“Getting’ by.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Archie’s not much for small talk, so that’s usually the extent of our conversation. I was kind of surprised when he continued.
“Sawed a moose last night, Ida.”
“You did? Where’d you see it?”
“I didn’t. That’s why I hit it.”
“Goodness, Archie! Are you all right?”
“No worse for wear.”
“And Ethyl?” (That’s what Archie calls his ’65 Chevy half ton.)
“Hood’s a little stove-in, is all: cosmetic.”
“How about the moose?”
“D.O.A. Fella didn’t stand a chance.”
Right then, a whiff of Archie’s aroma wafted my way. “I’ll bet he didn’t. What’d you do?”
“I sawed it.”
“I thought you said you didn’t see it.”
“I didn’t, Ida. I got out my saw and cut him up. Put the pieces in the back of the truck and drove home. Them’s good eatin’.”
“You don’t find Moose too gamey, Archie?”
“Nope. You fry it up, douse it with ketchup, and it’s just like fillet mignon.”
“If you say so. Jeez, that’s a lot of meat for one man.”
“Oh, I took what I needed. Brought the rest to the Food Pantry this morning. Share the wealth, right?”
“That was very thoughtful of you, Archie.”
“Didn’t want it to spoil. That’d be a waste. They’ll make a stew out of it.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yup. Too bad, makin’ a stew out of a good cut of meat like that, but I guess they can feed more people that way.”
“I like a nice stew every once and awhile.”
“Oh, I got nothing against stew. Good for meat that’s too tough or stringy. You know, I make a squirrel stew that’ll knock your socks off.”
“I bet it would. Tastes like chicken, right?”
“No, tastes a little like possum. But mostly, it tastes like squirrel.”
Oh, mister man! Who needs the Emeril, when you got Archie Johnson.
That’s if for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Archie Johnson: Maine Made Gourmet