IntroductionI believe that every meal tells a story, if you’re willing to look for it. To me, the key to finding those stories is by connecting to my food, and to do that, I rely on the inherent rhythms of nature, the ebbs and flows tied to the year’s changing seasons. I anticipate each season as it comes, knowing I have only a small window of opportunity in which to harvest its offerings myself. These fleeting chances make the food of each season all the more special, something that’s easy to forget when we can find nearly anything we want any time of year at the grocery store.
I’ve spent the past decade seeking out the stories of the foods on my plate and letting what I’ve learned guide me to make more sustainable choices. Over the years, this has evolved into a holistic practice I call eating consciously, which has deepened my understanding of how everything we eat is connected to the world around us—to the soil, the sun, wildlife, plants, even time. Cooking and eating seasonally compels me to stay in tune with the natural world and appreciate the moment in which I’m living, and approaching food with curiosity and thoughtfulness brings me a deep sense of joy and fulfillment.
But every story has a beginning and eating with this mindset is a far cry from how I ate growing up.
I was raised in Texas, in a very small town out in the country. Over the years, we kept a variety of animals—dogs, cats, goats, chickens, ducks, geese, guinea hens, parrots, and even one cow—most of which we considered pets. We also operated a small hobby emu farm, and I was fortunate to learn at such an early age that there are more animals to eat than the ones you find on the menu at McDonald’s. We often had emu burgers and steaks for dinner, and just one emu egg made an omelet that could feed our family of five!
As a little kid, I was enchanted by our life in the country surrounded by animals, but as I got older, things changed. My mom was diagnosed with a debilitating form of blood cancer. With bigger priorities demanding our time, we were forced to simplify our lives. My mom’s illness took a heavy toll, limiting her ability to eat, let alone cook. It was a traumatic time for our family, and while my dad stepped up to the plate, grilling steaks for us or heating up TV dinners, meals were just meant to fill our stomachs. For us, food was about convenience. Cooking wasn’t something I was interested in learning—I didn’t care where the food I was eating came from or if it was healthy. I just wanted something that tasted good and satisfied my hunger. Food was the least important element in my life.
This attitude caught up with me in college, and my health took a hit. I felt sick when I didn’t eat and sick when I did. Looking for a solution, I tried an elimination diet and learned to cook for myself. Preparing food became a form of self-care; the more I cooked, the better I felt, and the more I wanted to learn about cooking. These experiences inform my approach to ingredients in my recipes today— after growing up eating processed and fast foods, cooking and eating real foods feels like a luxury.
Wild game came into the picture in college, when I met my future husband, Travis. On our first date, he took me to a gun range to sight in a rifle; on our second, he cooked me a venison steak dinner. I remember the way he handled the meat with reverence, and as our relationship progressed, I came to understand that reverence. I fell in love with cooking the game Travis brought home—making stock from whitetail deer, searing mallard breasts—and working with ingredients you can’t buy from the grocery store continues to fascinate me.
I eventually took this a step further, learning how to butcher and break down whole animals, but Travis was still the one doing the hunting—I knew how to process an entire deer before I ever squeezed the trigger on anything bigger than a dove. Completing the circle was important to me, but I felt as if I had to earn my way into hunting, that I didn’t deserve to take an animal’s life until I was ready. And eventually, I was. I picked up a shotgun (a very special vintage Browning 20 gauge that had belonged to Travis’s grandfather) and started bird hunting.
The first bird I shot was a pheasant, flushed from the cattails by my golden retriever, Marina. That night, I made pheasant coq au vin. Though I’d cooked pheasant many times before, this meal was different—it was my bird. I savored each bite with an appreciation I had never felt before. In that moment, I understood not only the significance of the bird’s life but also the significance of the habitat that had sustained its life. My memories of that experience—of hunting the bird, breaking it down, preparing it, and sharing it with Travis—are ones I’ll treasure forever. From that meal on, eating was no longer about filling my stomach or exciting my taste buds. Food had meaning, and it became a way to create a life with meaning. I wanted to feel that way every time I sat down to eat.
It was important to me to know that every time I cooked, it was done with full consciousness, so between hunts, I educated myself on the sustainability of our food system. I wanted to understand how the food I was eating affected the natural world, and this inevitably drew me closer to its source. I became fascinated with the idea of living off the land. Eventually, my husband and I made the decision that all protein we cooked at home would come solely from game and fish we hunted ourselves, and we later added a small flock of chickens to provide us with eggs.
Natural periods of scarcity throughout the year inspired a more thoughtful approach to using meat, and I came to appreciate it more as an ingredient, balancing it on the plate with seasonal vegetables and using meatless meals to stretch what we had. Dishes that did include wild game came to feel all the more special. We ate this way for nearly a decade, and it was a deeply rewarding experience. (The dishes I cook still lean heavily on wild game and fish for protein, but these days we’ve started to reintroduce domestic meat into our meals as a way to support farmers who share my goal of protecting and restoring our environment.)
My blog,
Wild + Whole, started as a way to capture this lifestyle and share it with others—a creative outlet where I could explore recipe development and food photography—but it unexpectedly set me on a path that led me to where I am today and, ultimately, to the book you’re reading now. I hope it encourages you to eat consciously, and that doing so brings you the same deep joy it brings me.
Eating was no longer about filling my stomach or exciting my taste buds. Food had meaning, and it became a way to create a life
with meaning. I wanted to feel that way every time I sat down to eat.
Copyright © 2024 by Danielle Prewett. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
