Introducing The Tough Guy Hunting, Fishing, Rock ‘N Roll and Soap Club (Free Recipe Included)

Hunting in freezing woods! Fishing in ferocious deep-sea waves! Smoking your hard-won dinner over chunks of wood you cut yourself using power tools most normal people avoid at all costs because they read too many Steven King books! Air guitar and headbanging to bands shrieking and noodling at earsplitting volume with no detectable melody!  How tough guy is all that?  That’s tough guy, I tell you! And us tough guys (this includes girls) need our own club!

I have no idea who these people are. But they look tough.

Wait a minute, I hear you say.  What was that at the end?

Well, soap.  Soap is part of the club. Hunting, Fishing, Rock ‘N Roll and, you know, soap.

Prolonged pause, backed by Sesame Street’s “One Of These Things Is Not Like The Others.”

Oh, so you don’t think making soap is an appropriate tough-guy activity?  Let me fill you in, bub. (Tough guys say “bub” and “pal” a lot.)  First of all, there’s the screaming hot, scary caustic (as in burn your skin off and blind you if you’re stupid) lye solution you get to mix up and then dump into slippery and sometimes viciously expensive oils.  Then you use a wicked sharp stick blender to beat said mix into submission without splattering it all over yourself, add various other (usually expensive) stuff in various exact amounts at exactly the right times, beat it or abuse it some more, and then pour it into a mold without spilling it on everything around you because that countertop will cost a fortune to replace.  Now if that isn’t tough-guy material, I don’t know what is.  What’s more, it’s synergistic with other tough-guy activities!

All right, let me prove it to you.  Deep-sea fishing counts, right?  (It’s right up there in the title.)  Bracing the surging waves, far from shore, fighting a spirited fish with nothing more than a stick and a piece of string!  How, I hear you cry, can soap help us with this mighty battle?  Well, the answer lies in, of all things, a “girly” little plant called anise.

The mighty fisherman’s friend, anise.

Anise has a history as medicine since ancient times.  It’s been used for coughs, epilepsy, digestive difficulties (including flatulence — the Romans seem weirdly focused on this application), and as a tonic for nursing mothers.  But one of the neatest things about anise is that, according to fisherman’s lore, fish love the stuff.  I mean, love it.  Fishermen dip lures and lines into anise oil and wash their gear and themselves with anise soap to both hide their own scent and attract the fish.  (Here’s an example report.)  And think about it — even if you’re not a fisherman, but just like to snorkel or dive, a dose of anise might help you start the party with the finny guys you’re there for.

But where to find this magical elixir?  You can buy anise extract at a grocery store and add some into a carrier oil, like cod liver.  There’s your dip for lures, hooks and lines or snorkel/scuba gear. But what about the soap?  Well, that’s right here:

Fisherman’s Magic Soap. (The shells are soap too.)

Wait, it gets better.  Part of the mojo of this soap is that unlike nearly all other soaps, it’s made of 100% coconut oil — the only soaping oil that will reliably lather in salt water.  No need to waste precious freshwater while you’re out on (or in) the bounding main, waiting for that record marlin to catch a whiff of that sexy, irresistible anise and head straight for your lines (or your camera). I’ll be taking a few of these on the next trip to St. Croix, where an excellent fishing crew, as well as dozens of beautiful snorkeling sites, await.

Fishing isn’t all soap can do for us tough guys.  Hunters have their own problems — what you’re after for dinner can usually smell you a mile away and decide to take their custom elsewhere.  (The more peaceable tough guys like birdwatchers and wildlife photographers have the same problem.) There’s a big business in scent-masking strategies and products:  everything from layering your clothes in baking soda to expensive sprays and washing powders.  But one of the oldest, and simplest, approaches for deodorizing your deadly/voyeuristic presence is —

let’s not see all the same hands —

Hunter’s Dirt Soap.  Yep, soap that smells exactly like dirt and makes you smell exactly like dirt. (Here’s a report on dirt soap.) It’s the good kind of dirt, like a garden you’re just beginning to work, or the smell of a freshly-turned field after a rain.

Hunter’s Dirt Soap.

The soap itself is a pretty simple coconut, olive and castor formula with a dollop of dirt fragrance, enough to stay on the skin and mask the fact that you’re a human with a camera, binoculars, or a pointy-edged (bow) or explosive (rifle) projectile looking for something to eat.  The camo (activated charcoal, black walnut hull powder, and ultramarine green) is just for fun.

So, say there’s some meat in the freezer now, and you need to do something with it.  For example, if you go after a wild hog and get a nice pork shoulder (or even ambush the latter at the local grocery store) smoking it might be the way to go.  There are a zillion different approaches out there for how to smoke a big solid piece of meat, but one of the consistent points of agreement is that it’s great to use a rub of some kind.  The UUH is fanatic about one in particular — a wet rub made from a mustard carrier and herbs.

In the beginning, there is a mustard/herb rubbed pork shoulder.

Giving credit where credit is due,  the original formulation of this rub comes from the Weber grill company, where they suggest using it on a beef prime rib and cooking it at a fairly high temperature on a grill.  Let me tell you, it works on pork shoulder even better than prime rib (although the prime rib is stupendous as originally written) and like a charm in a smoker as opposed to on a grill.  You won’t taste the mustard flavor after it’s done. The mustard holds the herbs and other ingredients together and forms a “bark” on the meat — the addictive flavor-bomb crunchy covering of the meltingly tender, obscenely rich roast beneath.  I’ve also found that fresh herbs, while nice, aren’t really any better flavor-wise than dried herbs as long as you’re generous, and you should use the herbs that you really like.  For example, this time  I swapped out the rosemary in the original recipe for a healthy dose of English thyme, and it worked beautifully.  So here’s my estimate on how I worked a mustard rub for a 7-8 pound pork shoulder:

  • 1/2 cup (or more, as much as you need to cover) ordinary yellow mustard
  • 1/4 cup (maybe a little less) each marjoram, basil, oregano and thyme
  • A couple tablespoons A1 Steak Sauce
  • A generous dribble of Sriracha Hot Pepper Sauce
  • Dehydrated garlic powder, onion powder, salt and pepper to taste

Rubs are really personal and amounts can be adjusted up, down, sideways, or abandoned altogether.  This rub is really thick with herbs, as you can see from the photo; I find that the long smoking I do mellows and evens them out.  For a roast this size,  I smoked for 10 hours at between 225-250F over peachwood until the center of the roast hit 180F.  Waiting a little longer, until the roast hits 190F or above, can make it even tenderer and absolutely perfect for pulled pork recipes.  The best thing to do, as an alchemist, is to EXPERIMENT.

It’s done — time to eat! (UUH has gnawed off one end.)

Okay, you say.  I’m partially convinced.  But you forgot one thing.

Oh, come on, nobody forgets rock and roll!

Now I’ve made a couple soaps with certain people or events in mind already.

Tracy’s Rose

 

 

There was Tracy’s Rose, a shea butter formula with a rose absolute and vetiver fragrance.

 

 

 

Monsoon Wedding

 

Then there was Monsoon Wedding, made for some friends getting married in India.  It was twice-milled for the right consistency, and needed a complex layering of scents. Everyone in my family get hunted expressions as I pursued them with my latest attempt at the “right” fragrance combination.

This last soap arises from different, and more worrying, circumstances.  A friend became very, very sick recently, and remains in the hospital.  He was one of my first soap testers and gave me terrific feedback every time I fired a new soap in his direction.  From here in California, I can’t do much for him — except make and dedicate a soap to show my thoughts and gratitude.  Now this guy has made a movie, is a hellacious rock and roll singer, and has a heart and personality as big as the universe, so I had to make something as over-the-top as he is.  And there was no holding back on the photo. The photo had to show it all.

So I’d like to introduce “Tommy’s Heavy Metal THUNDERR!” soap — hide your wives and children!

Tommy’s Heavy Metal THUNDERR!
My eyes! Good Lord, woman, what have you done?!

Because they don’t make a “cocaine, beer, cheap perfume and eau de tour bus” fragrance yet, I had to go with a really nice sandalwood.  I was worried it would detract too much from the effect — but looking at this puppy, somehow I don’t think it will.

Signing out for the night, the Tough Guy Hunting, Fishing, Rock ‘N Roll and Soap Club.

Dinner May Be Alchemy, But Fishing It Up Is Magic

Frigate bird over St. Croix seas The bellwether.

That’s a Magnificent Frigate Bird, commonly seen soaring effortlessly over the seas and reefs surrounding St. Croix, and it’s magnificent for more than one reason.  Its enormous, tilted wingspan (over 6 feet in most instances) allows it to soar for hours, even days, without touching land.  (The only other bird known to do this is the Common Swift). Frigate birds snatch flying fish as they jump — a stunt I’d pay good cash to see, considering how wicked fast those slippery little freaks zip inches over the waves  — and pick off smaller fish that come close to the surface without even wetting their feathers.  They’re also thugs to other birds, harassing them until the victim drops their dinner. Yes, even birds push each other around for their lunch money.

But aside from their superb aerialism and obvious antisocial personality disorder, frigate birds are also incredibly useful.  I’ve learned that when an offshore fisherman sees one or two of these guys circling an area, that means that there’s almost certainly some serious sportfishing action going on right there, right now.

Unbelievably Useful Husband (hereafter, “UUH”) and I found this out when we booked a fishing charter for our next-to-last day in the little house on the island.  We’ve gone sportfishing before in Hawaii, where UUH solidified his reputation as “Tailfisher.”  For some unknown reason, every time he actually caught a fish, it wasn’t in the standard operational mode.  You know, fish bites hook, hook gets stuck in fish’s mouth, guy reels fish in face-first.  Nope, not nearly interesting enough for UUH.

For him the fish would evade the hook, but somehow would get the line wrapped around its tail, so UUH would drag it in backwards in a comic reversal of the usual process.  How he managed this multiple times was one of those mysteries that deserved further investigation, and we were eager to see if he could replicate it in the Caribbean. So friends of ours found the Island Girl II of St. Croix Deep Blue Charters, a superb custom 45-foot Hatteras that works off the Christiansted area of St. Croix, and we began the experiment.

The Island Girl II is run by a husband and wife team  — Ben, the Captain, and Megan, the First Mate. (Island Girl I, we discovered, was crushed and sunk by a yacht during Hurricane Hugo.)  After the usual confused period where the charterees load on about six times more beer and food than they need, which turns out to be exactly the right amount, we were off into the Caribbean Sea.

The Island Girl II in full display is an impressive sight. The multiple rods and lines are spread out in perfect geometries, interconnected in complex but aesthetically beautiful ways with connectors and hooks and even rubber bands.  The reels are polished, golden, wickedly functional works of art in themselves.  As the boat moves farther out, the baited lines take flight, extending and then disappearing into the vanishing point as the wake surges behind.  We had a pretty calm sea that day, with a warm sun and few clouds, so it was tough not to doze off.

One thing I did notice in my sun-induced stupor, though, was the constant communication between the captain and first mate.  They were constantly scanning the skies — looking for frigate birds like our lead player.  Frigate birds are great bellwethers; they’re the pathfinders to what you want.  Fishermen know that they tend to circle over groups of small fish hovering near the surface, hoping to evade larger fish hunting them.  When you see a few frigate birds in one place, you know that the party’s on down there.  First Mate Megan carefully tracked and circled the boat right at the birds that were spotted, as Captain Ben ensured that the bait was correct for what we were after.

It didn’t take long after that before there was a loud BZING!, one of the reels began buzzing frantically, suddenly there was great deal of frenzied activity, and apparently the fight was on.  UUH was in the chair.  There appears to be a great deal of physical work involved, and as I try to avoid that as much as possible, I was quite happy to simply observe the process. There’s a constant chatter of “ease up,” “let him out a bit,” “pull him in,” “he’s running, he’s running,” and the whole event has the adrenaline of a Top Gun dogfight.  This fish didn’t breach the water much, but as the churning water kept coming closer and closer to the boat the tension became so excruciating everybody watching had to have another beer.

 

 

One brief but brutal side-of-the-boat struggle later (a word of advice — don’t get into a fight with Captain Ben, especially if he has a big stick) the fish was eventually brought aboard.  It was a mahi-mahi, which folks also call a dolphin. They’d been hunting the little fish that the frigate birds had spotted.  In the water, they are even more gloriously incandescent than they are on land, though considerably less delicious.

The end of an era.

It was a victory for us, but sadly, UUH’s unbroken record as “Tailfisher” has now been broken. It cannot be disputed that the hook is actually in the fish’s mouth.

It didn’t take long before there was another BZING, another challenge accepted, and our friend Denise was fighting a fish to the boat.  These guys are no slouches and it takes a while, but eventually we had another dolphin on board. Two big, beautiful mahis later, we returned to dock.  If you’ve caught fish, tradition demands that you put a flag up indicating what you’re bringing home.

Dolphin flag — a successful mission!

 

Captain Ben was kind enough to fillet them for us so we’d have dinner that night.  The scraps he produced during the precise, exacting filleting process (this guy could teach knife technique to surgeons) he threw to a group of tarpon fish loitering near the boat.  They obviously knew the routine:  fishing boat coming in = dinnertime.  Tarpons are pretty much useless except for entertainment; they’re big but bony and unpleasant-tasting, so no one eats them, but my God can they put on a floor show.  Several bars on the Christiansted harbor boardwalk have tarpon gangs in the water that hang out waiting for scraps, and it’s nearly irresistible not to feed them something simply for the amusement value. Kids are transfixed. Hell, I was transfixed. We took about fifty pictures of the tarpons just fighting over mahi scraps because . . . because . . . well, because. It was the sun, or the beer, or something.  Anyhow, look at these fish! The expedition was fantastic, and the dinner was even better. The expertly filleted steaks were probably the best meal we had on the island. A few days before while grocery shopping, I’d found irresistible a bottle of Tamarindo Bay Caribbean steak sauce and bought it on the spot without knowing exactly what I’d do with it. The answer was obvious the minute we got home with two chunky, perfect mahi steaks.  A few minutes marinading in the sweet but tangy, unmistakeably Caribbean sauce — this stuff would be great on anything up to and including truck tires — and they were ready for the grill.

On the advice of a brief website search (how on earth did I ever do anything before the Interwebs?), I put the steaks on a piece of foil and then directly on the little house’s big Weber grill on the porch.  The foil makes it easier to flip the steaks without sticking and breaking.  About three minutes a side and they were ready. A simple side salad was all that was needed.

It was the perfect farewell meal to St. Croix.  Our thanks to Captain Ben and First Mate Megan of the Island Girl II, our friends Keith and Denise Murphy, the mahis that graciously provided our dinner, and especially to our bellwethers, the Magnificent Frigate Birds that helped it all happen.