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How much food could a woodchuck make?

Piquant ponderings on Groundhog Day
food_glenda1

Punxsutawney Phil, don't stand down now.

Or, given today is Groundhog Day and this is a Canadian newsmagazine, maybe that caution should go out to Wiarton Willie, of Wiarton, Ontario; Shubenacadie Sam of Shubenacadie, Nova Scotia; Brandon Bob in Manitoba, and the other groundhogs we seldom hear about that are popping up like whack-a-moles.

All these folksily named critters are groundhogs or, more accurately, marmota monax, also known as woodchucks.

And every February 2, when we're pretty much bored out of our gourds with winter and need cheering up — and tourism dollars, cynics might add — they're the main attraction as we wonder, will he or won't he see his shadow? (Note that they're always male, these groundhog stars.)

If it's sunny and Mr. Groundhog's shadow appears, we're in for more cold, wintery weather. Six weeks of it, to be precise, according to the old Pennsylvania German custom that revolves around Phil's hometown of Punxsutawney, Ground Zero for Groundhog Day, where tens of thousands of people gather each year to mark the event.

No shadows seen? Then the weather is mild, signaling spring is on its welcome way. And Phil or Willie pops back into his hole, regardless, but just to quickly clean up the breakfast dishes or something.

It struck me when I saw a photo of a nice big marmota monax that they look pretty tasty.

I mean, they eat a better diet than most animals that turn into production meat and end up on dinner plates. According to Walker's Mammals of the World, one of the finest guides to our fellow animals I've seen, they live on lots of green vegetation, especially grasses, rounded out with fruits, grains, legumes and the occasional insect.

With mature animals weighing in around 3 to 7.5 kilos, or 7 to 16 pounds, that puts them right in there with a plump roasting chicken or, at the high end, a decent-sized turkey. And if you caught a Shubenacadie Sam or Brandon Bob in the fall, right before hibernation, he, or she, would be about 20 per cent fat, making for some good eating.

When I first started poking around to see if people actually ate groundhogs, a.k.a. woodchucks a.k.a. marmots, the line drawn was between two camps: those who thought it was pretty outrageous or weirdly funny, as in, "no way, you'd eat those things?" And those who thought, "why not, they look fairly easy to catch and pretty tasty."

The borders were roughly drawn between die-hard urbanites and those who might hang out in nature a bit more, or at least people who've had some exposure to history and/or sourcing food from places other than a grocery store. Open minds also characterized the latter category — the kind of people I'd prefer to be stranded with on a desert island.

As it turns out, woodchucks are pretty edible, provided you know what to do with them. And from the looks of woodchuck recipes in The Gourmet Cookbook, we're talking about some decent dining here.

We have woodchuck pot roast: split the woodchuck or groundhog into serving sized pieces. Dredge in flour, season, then brown the pieces in a pot in three tablespoons of fat with a garlic clove. Add one cup water, a bouquet garni, cover the pot tightly and let the meat simmer for two hours or until it's tender. Just before serving, stir in two tablespoons of butter and one teaspoon Worcestershire sauce, et voilà.

And roast woodchuck, made with a whole animal and a stuffing composed of finely chopped onion, bread crumbs, chopped celery, diced cooked prunes, and tart apples.

Woodchuck stew starts with an eight-to-10-pound rodent, while creamed woodchuck can be made from a smaller one, about six to eight pounds. Gourmet recommends serving the latter with hot biscuits and puréed yams flavoured with cognac.

It also recommends taking the animal in the autumn, when it's well fattened.

In short, think of cooking a woodchuck or groundhog much as you would a rabbit, with this caveat: prepare it properly. Under the front legs and in the small of the back are seven to nine white, muscle-like sacs, or kernels. These must be cut out carefully and removed or the meat will be strong.

Also, soak the meat overnight in salted water before cooking, and start your cooking by simmering the meat for about half an hour in enough water to barely cover it to which you've added a tablespoon each of soda and wine vinegar.

Now that's the kind of useful information we're fast losing but comes in handy if you ever find yourself in a post-apocalyptic scenario like Cormac McCarthy's The Road.

But before you Sea to Sky people drag out your marmot traps or bows and arrows (don't laugh, my cousins hunt moose with bows and arrows), stand down.

The "whistling" marmot for which Whistler Mountain was named after someone figured out that the original name, London Mountain (for all the rain and fog) wasn't great for a tourist destination, is not a Marmota monax.

Nope. Whistler is home to a cousin, the hoary marmot, Marmota caligata, also known as a rock chuck as opposed to a woodchuck, given its preferred habitat.

"Apparently they're quite tough and take a lot of cooking. Native people used to boil them, but it sounds like marmots were maybe more valued as a source of fat," says Bob Brett, founder of Whistler Naturalists.

"The fat was used as a sort of lanolin and believed to be a strong medicine due to all the greens that comprise a marmot's diet. But there's no doubt grizzlies, golden eagles, coyotes, etc. think they're quite tasty."

So don't stand down yet, Phil and Willie. You're still on the line.

As for Whistler getting its own Whistler Wilhelmina (hey, one of them has to be a girl), forget it. Our little mountain marmots are fast asleep on February 2, peacefully hibernating until it's safely spring.

Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning freelance writer who figures squirrels deserve a second look.