Rocky Mountain Oysters

DISCLAIMER:  I DEBATED NOT POSTING THIS SEGMENT ON THE GROUNDS THAT IT MIGHT GROSS EVERYONE OUT (AS WE USED TO SAY) ~ SO I ASKED TEE AND SHE TOLD ME TO GO AHEAD WITH IT.  SHE'S OKAY WITH IT AND THINKS IT IS A FUNNY STORY WORTH SHARING.  SINCE IT IS PRIMARILY ABOUT HER, I'LL GO WITH HER DECISION!!!

For being the only girl in the family, Tee was pretty game to try just about anything her dad concocted.  She was, for example, the only child who would eat pickled pigs’ feet and drink buttermilk with him.  She ate sardines and pork rinds and dill pickles.  She even ate the rattlesnake.  But her most interesting culinary adventure involved what one might delicately call Rocky Mountain Oysters.

During the time I’m thinking of, one of our neighbors had purchased four little pigs, all males.  When they got the pigs home, they called Carmon who had offered to help neuter the pigs.  Unfortunately, the pigs were already several weeks old, much too large to neuter in the simple, relatively painless way he had taken care of our male animals.  Still, the little boars had to be neutered for the same reasons little bulls became steers:  overtly aggressive and potentially dangerous behavior in adulthood.

I won’t go into the details, but ever innovative, Carmon got the job done.  The neighbors were happy (although the pigs weren’t!) and Carmon came home with eight Rocky Mountain Oysters. 

I refused even to be in the kitchen with Carmon’s trophies, and had gone off to the spare bedroom to work on some Christmas gifts I was making.  I planned to stay there through the entire cooking and the eating process as the whole idea of it grossed me out. (See, I told you we used to say that!)  Tee, however, wandered into the kitchen in time to see her dad at the table.  Through the closed door, I could hear the conversation that, if I remember correctly, went something like this:

“What’re you eating, Dad?”

“Rocky Mountain Oysters”

“Can I have some?”

“Do you really want some?"

“Sure, why not?”

“Okay,” and he shared them with her.

Between the two of them, they licked the platter clean.  It was about that time that I walked through the kitchen, just in time to hear the rest of the story:

“Did you like the Rocky Mountain Oysters, Sissy?”

“Yeah.  They were great.  By the way Dad, what are Rocky Mountain Oysters?” 

“Pig testicles.*”

“No, Dad.  Really.  What are they?”

“Pig testicles.”

“Yeah, sure.  Tee said, “Hey, Mom.  I just had some lunch with Dad, and he said the meat we were eating was pig testicles. But he won’t tell me what they really are.  Do you know?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Pig testicles.”

And that is something else that Tee hasn’t eaten since!

*Technically, Rocky Mountain Oysters are beef testicles rather than pork.  Also, most people allow a little time between the "harvest" and the skillet.  But, heh, what was the difference when you lived with Carmon?!

© Gebara Education, 2001. No portion of this book may be copied by any method without the express written permission of the author

Picture of Hormel pigs feet in a jar from multiple sources

Picture of young pig from www.midwesternresearchswine.com

Picture of Rocky Mountain Oysters from multiple sources