How 'bout a DOG for the holiday?

Happy Labor Day. With so many gathering to barbeque and enjoy the great outdoors on this fine Monday, I thought I’d talk about DOGs (and not the kind you pet or the hotdogs you eat.)

Several years ago, I attended a DOG, a Dutch oven gathering. At the time, I didn't even know they existed, but since I'm a girl scout from way back when, I thought it would be a great article for the magazine I edit for so I contacted the coordinator for the event and my husband and I drove to a small town about an hour from home. It was a blast.

We enjoyed some incredibly good food, all cooked on Dutch ovens. When we arrived, several were situated in the park with their set-ups. I thought it interesting that they stacked the Dutch ovens with coals in between and encircled the tower with a ring of aluminum to contain the heat.

I took my antique oven to share and en route, called my mother-in-law for more info. Turns out my husband's great grandfather was a chuck wagon cook for some of the outfits out of Fort Worth. The Dutch oven we have rode on the wagon train that took him and his family north to Oklahoma in 1905, but with him being a cook prior to this, we're guessing the oven to be something he used as early as 1890's.

The second picture shows the number, 12 in. Besides describing the diameter of the lid, the number also determines the number of coals used on top and underneath the oven. An outdoor cook knows the number on the lid indicates the number of coals to use. The cook places the number plus three coals on top of the lid and the number minus three underneath. This formula equates to about 350 degrees if you were to bake something in an oven. I've enjoyed many tasty biscuits done this way. I also love cornbread baked in a Dutch oven. Afterwards, settlers would scour the insides with dry sand then oil the insides with mineral oil.

Anyway, I thought I'd share since my heroine, Shauna in Once Jilted has to cook with one. Please enjoy an excerpt:


              He peered at the item that looked suspiciously like a pair of gray long johns he owned. His brow furrowed. “Whose intimates be you scrubbing on?”

She rolled her lips between her teeth and tucked her chin. After a brief pause, her nose scrunched. “Yours.”

He stared at the pile of wrung clothes stacked on a mat then shifted his gaze to the few items remaining in the rinse water. Beside the fire, steam rose from a cooling, large black cauldron of soapy water. He grimaced at the strong smell of lye. Her initiative felt like an invasion of privacy, an intimate act shared between husband and wife. Why he should feel this way, he had no clue. Possibly because her quest for a husband remained foremost in his mind. The laundress in Nyesville usually washed his clothes for a small fee. He couldn’t recall feeling this way with someone else scrubbing his dirties.

“You’re not upset with me, are you?” She lifted another item from the water and slipped it between the two rollers. Twisting the crank, she wrung out a shirt and piled it with the others. “I only meant to repay you for your generosity.”

“Mad?” He fumbled for a word that would do his emotions justice and failed. He wasn’t really angry, just... “I don’t know how I feel.”

“You are upset. I’m sorry. It’s just that I had nothing to occupy my free hours this morning, and I saw the pile next to my—your bed, and I thought I’d help you by washing and then...”

He held up a hand. “You’re rambling. It’s fine. Really. Just noot what I expected.”

She released a pent up breath and smiled. “I’ll just finish wringing these few. It won’t take me but a moment to hang them, then I can set out food for the men.”

He considered offering his assistance, but thought better of it and jammed his hands in his pockets. The thought of helping her hang his unmentionables alongside his shirts and pants was just too personal. The moment became awkward as he searched for something more to say.

“My usual day to handle this chore is Friday.” She cranked another article through. “Wednesdays I bake bread.”

His mouth watered at the mention of fresh baked bread. “Do you think you could bake bread here?”

Her gaze shifted to the supply wagon as she rolled the last piece of wet clothing through the wringer. “I’m not sure. Perhaps I can do it in the Dutch oven.” Her lips curved into an engaging grin. “Tomorrow, I’ll give it my best try. Lefty’s been giving me pointers on cooking outside, so I’m sure between the two of us, we can figure it out.”

He nodded and turned to leave.

“Kane? I know you let me sleep in your tent last night, but with all your things still there, it makes more sense to put me somewhere else.”

Somewhere else? Did she think to ingratiate herself with another man by sharing his space? “And where might that be?”

She blinked and cleared her throat. “I’m not sure. I thought maybe there might be an extra tent.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” He knew he was being obstinate. The idea of this cantankerous woman anywhere but in his own tent where he could keep a closer eye on her left him cold inside. Perhaps it was the vulnerability she hid so well behind stubborn pride that made him feel protective. Aye, that had to be it. While he trusted all of the men under his direction with bridge construction, some of them were a mite shady when it came to the treatment of women.

 

 

 

Chuck Wagon Cooking: Sometimes a Wild Ride

The first rays of dawn are peeking over the horizon, and a few moos from the waking cattle herd tell the cowboys it’s time to mount up and tend to business. Life for both man and beast is hard on a cattle drive.
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But one man had been hard at work long before the cowhands awoke--the cook, or Cookie, as he was often called (or cousie, by those who spoke Spanish).

About Chuck Wagon Cooks

Before we get into Cookie's day, let's take a look at who he was. Most chuck wagon cooks were ex-cowboys who were either too old (meaning in their 30s and sometimes 40s) for cowpunching or were injured. Either way, he was experienced in all aspects of the cattle drive and no one, not even the trail boss, questioned his authority around the campfire if they knew what was good for them.
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Most cooks were considered surly old coots. Of course, with the terrible working conditions, the injuries, the heavy lifting, the rigid schedule of long working hours and short nights, it would be hard for nearly anyone to maintain a sunny disposition. In return for their efforts, cooks made nearly as much money as the trail boss and double that of the average cowhand, but they earned every penny of it.
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Food was (and always will be) important to young men, and most cowhands were 14 to 25 years old, so hiring the best cook helped the trail boss recruit the most accomplished cowhands. That's another reason why trail bosses didn't give a good cook any guff, or let the young men get out of line. Once he lured a good cook onto his crew, he did his best to keep him.

About Chuck Wagons

Chuck is defined by Etymology Online as a "piece of wood or meat," 1670s, probably a variant of chock "block." The "meat" sense is the source of American English chuck wagon, from approximately 1880. The date is, of course, wrong, since Charles Goodnight is credited for inventing the chuck wagon in 1866, and it was called a chuck wagon, so the correct date should be 1866 or before.
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While companies did make chuck wagons (Studebaker, for one), most were converted farm wagons with a chuck box on the back. A hinged lid with folding legs on the chuck box served as a fold-out work bench, and there were generally hooks for a canvas at the top of the wagon to use as a sun shade. Underneath the chuck box was the boot, where they carried the Dutch ovens, tin plates, forks, knives, spoons, and cups, and whatever else they could get in there. Various hooks and fasteners on the sides of the wagon held the water barrel, large pots and tubs, axes, the coffee pot, and the like.
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Underneath the wagon was another canvas or cowhide called the possum belly. Sometimes two or three. This is where they kept the firewood (or buffalo or cow chips) collected along the way for the evening fire. They also kept the kerosene for the lanterns here, usually in a separate boot. Inside the wagon, they hauled the flour, beans, coffee, dried fruit, canned goods, and other foodstuffs to last 30 days, as well as cowhands' bedrolls and personal effects, and whatever else was needed on the trail drive.

A Day in the Life of a Chuck Wagon Cook

Three in the morning comes pretty early when you put in an eighteen-hour day before, and before that, and before that... But while the cook got away with a considerable amount of crankiness and general orneriness, one thing that the cowhands wouldn't put up with was late meals. First order of the day is to build the fire and put the coffee on to boil. Then he'd "build the biscuits," meaning he'd mix up the biscuit dough and set it to rise. Those two things were the mainstays no matter whether he was cooking for a cattle drive or a roundup. After that, he'd fry some sowbelly (bacon) and maybe a few potatoes if he had them, or maybe sourdough flapjacks. It took a good two hours to get breakfast ready.
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After the cowhands ate, they tossed their dishes in the wreck pan and off they went to the herd. But the cook's job has just begun, and he didn't get to sit on a horse all day to do it, either. He had to clean up the dishes and pots, pack everything away, hitch up the team (usually four mules), and head to the noon destination hell-bent for election, because he had to have dinner (served midday) ready before the herd got there. The business of the chuck wagon moseying along with the herd just wasn't true. In reality, he started an hour later, but had to be there two hours earlier than the herd, so it was sometimes a wild ride accompanied by a lot of cussing and hollering.
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Finally at the destination, he unpacked everything, started the fire and put on the coffee. He made coffee by boiling the water and then tossed a couple handfuls of ground coffee in (Grandpa threw in some egg shells and salt, too) and let it simmer. It's said that if you dropped a horseshoe in the pot and it sank, the coffee hadn't boiled enough yet. This meal usually consisted of warming up whatever was left over--just enough food to keep the hunger at bay. Maybe some son-of-a-bitch stew or the some other kettle food.
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After he did the dishes and disposed of the food scraps, he packed everything up again and raced the team to the evening camp, collecting firewood and other materials to use for camp fire fuel along the way.
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When he got there, you guessed it, he unhitched the team, unpacked everything all over again, started the campfire, put on the coffee, built the biscuits, slapped some steaks on the grill (for roundup, usually didn't have steak on a cattle drive), and, if the cowhands were lucky, maybe he'd make a vinegar pie or a tasty dessert out of dried fruit.
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While the cowhands were sitting around the campfire drinking coffee and shooting the breeze, the cook was cleaning up, feeding his sourdough starter, and getting ready for the next day--more of the same.

But the cook didn't just cook. He was also the doctor, banker, referee, often the letter writer, and father figure.
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Once the fire was out, the cowhands were bedded down, the cook could go to bed, too. He got the prime sleeping spot--under the chuck wagon, but in just a few hours, another grueling day would begin.

Cow Camp Etiquette

• Riders always stayed downwind of the chuck wagon so as not to kick up dirt in the food.
• Horses were not to be tied to the chuck wagon.
• There was no using the worktable as the dining table.
• Cowboys were very careful not to let the pot lid touch the dirt while serving themselves from the pot.
• Never take the last of anything unless everyone had been served.
• Always scrape your plate clean and stack it in the wreck pan to be cleaned (when water was scarce, they were cleaned with sand.)

Sources

Carter Museum
Lone Hand Western: Reliving History
Phudpucker
Muller's Lane Farm
My Wooden Spoon
Friona Star


May your saddle never slip!

Jacquie

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