I’m the one driving when it rains swerving on the road to miss all of the little frogs that have come out to enjoy the rain.
My better-half is the one who recently used a poplar tree that had fallen in the woods to widdle out a stick and get a metal gig end to fit on it. A gigging pole, as it is called. He is also the one to drag a small boat to a pond and after dusk with flashlight in hand and headlight affixed to his cap he will try to gig or jab the long prongs at the end of that pole into the bodies of large frogs. In his words, HUGE frogs.
He, thank goodness, listened to me when I had stated that I wasn’t going to be seeing any remnants of any deceased carcasses of these frogs laying around and please, please don’t try to show me any remains. I mean, I like steak, but I’m not holding the rope while the cow is slaughtered.
So, thank goodness he did listen and he cleaned his frogs and as I placed a roast on the grill he did the same with his “catch”. He had marinated the legs in a barbecue sauce before putting these on the grill.
He let these sit right by our roast while on low to medium heat on the gas grill. No, the roast didn’t smell or taste like frog legs and NO frog legs do not taste like chicken, they taste like frog legs should taste. Salty and gamy.
He ate, liked and thank goodness, ate them all up so I didn’t have to see these again! And, needless to say, he’s been talking about them ever since and talking how he wants to go frog gigging again. I’ve not been trying to remind of this fact. So, as for me, I did try a small bite of frog leg and no I don’t ever want anymore. I’m sure the better-half is glad, that’s more for him.