Hunting stories, when they see nothing to shoot at, are not the most exciting sagas.
"Then we walked up a hill and down a hill and up a hill and down a hill..."
But just for the record I made some beef stew to send along with the STP. (Just saying that makes me feel like such a good hunting wife.) And the STP raved about how good it was.
So it seems I have found my cooking niche: Burly men who have spent the day walking up a hill and down a hill in the wilderness and who arrive back at camp after dark with no other choice but my cooking.
It's nice to be appreciated.
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