Distinctly Montana Magazine

w w w . d i s t i n c t l y m o n t a n a . c o m 83 our civilized handles and taken on caveman names. I was Grag, the fearless warrior-king and fire-wizard, who was sure that one day he would have a hairy chest. I sent Jurc to gather dry moss from the north side of trees, Flook to gather small twigs, and Barbog for bigger twigs. As for Ugg, the beast for- merly known as the boy Herman, I sent him to the creek to wash the egg out of his pockets. After we had a fire, most of the tribe made good on their idea of sticking a stick through the meat and putting it di- rectly in the blaze. Almost immediately, most of their sticks caught fire or broke, sending their steaks tumbling. I watched their revolting progress. The steaks were now blackened, not so much with char as with soil, and Herman/ Ugg's steak seemed to have a little glaze of spiderweb on his as well. Seasoned with boy sweat, bristly with hair and dirt, and now troublingly intermixed there in the ashes, the steaks looked less like beef than dust bunnies. Most of them grabbed a fresh stick, speared their steak, in- spected them, shrugged, and dug in. Not me. I found a flat rock, put it in the fire, and when it was hot enough, I placed my steak on my improvised grill and cooked my meat. I thought myself a rather sophisticated caveman. Ugg, who had finished his, asked for a bite of mine, and I had to bare my teeth and growl, but the rest of them stayed in their place. None of my neanderthal peers (the ones that managed to keep their eggs intact this far, I mean) could hit on a good way to cook eggs. For my part, neither could I. I just cracked them with a rock and tipped them back like oyster shooters (I think that people are much too careful with cooking eggs; I ate them raw and suffered no ill effects at all except for waking up hours later and puking -but I think we can hardly blame that on the eggs, at least not definitely). Finally, I carefully lifted the steak from the hot rock with the blade of my pocket knife, ready to transfer it to a tin plate I had packed for the occasion. At that moment, Ugg slapped the steak out of my hand, and it landed a foot or so away in an anthill. I stared at it in disbelief and then stood up and walked over to Ugg. I called him several unprintable names, punched him in the shoulder, got punched in turn, retreated, rubbed my shoulder while thunder clouds brewed in my head. Dad, meanwhile, drank a beer and watched us with disgust. So anyway, how was my steak? Well, I still love a good steak. Now I put them in my Traeger smoker with some hick- ory pellets until it's a perfect medium-rare, and then I serve it up finished with a little butter and maybe some asparagus or a baked potato on the side. But the secret ingredient? The thing that really makes that steak sing? It's just a little dusting of gravel and ants collect- ed from the end of the driveway. There's nothing quite like that earthy flavor. Hey, at least I'm not a germophobe anymore, right? Stay. Play. Seize the Day. Break away from the pack and rejuvenate among the breathtaking vistas & small-town charms of Livingston, Montana in the quiet heart of Paradise. Explore the year-round gateway to Yellowstone National Park on the Yellowstone River for epic: Endless Outdoor Recreation | Legendary Arts, Culture & History | Rustic & Refined Dining | Unique Shopping & Lodging Winter wonderland tip; enjoy the solitude of Yellowstone Park, soak in Paradise Valley hot springs, ski mountain creekside trails, join local festivals, shop unique boutiques, and relish Livingston's diverse restaurants & breweries. Cheers to winter! www.ExploreLivingstonMT.com

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