A Story of Hunting, Gratitude and Understanding Where Our Food Comes From

ANIMAL MEAT MEAL

Dec 25, 2025

LOU: I’d been in the woods for forty hours this season, all without a good opportunity on a deer. Opportunities, yes, but not good ones. I bumped a doe climbing out of the tree early on opening night; watched the same doe creep along the wood line with fading light a few days later. I’d been blown at, stared at, and bounded away from - but hadn’t yet had a chance on an animal.

Then, crashing, sprinting, spooking from the swamp I was sitting over came a doe. I watched her as she ran circles, looping, winding closer - until she was there, stopped below me. I watched her panting, broadside - drew back, released. And sent an arrow directly over her back.

I watched her dart away and cursed myself. I had my bow set for the wrong distance - a rookie mistake. But then, somehow, I watched as she walked, so gently, back towards me, put her head down to browse.

I sent another arrow and watched her stagger-step away into the woods; let out a small prayer, a thank you.

Then, ten minutes later, as I was lowering my bow out of the tree - a crash, a stumble. Eight points, hot on her trail. The buck, nose down, traced her path - and before I even realized what was happening, my bow was back up, drawn, and I watched as he kicked and ran and I took another breath, another thank you.

I spent the next several hours tracking, recovering, dragging, dressing, and hanging the two deer. Finally, at midnight, with the deer cold, I seasoned the tenderloins, still warm, and seared them hot and fast on cast iron; I barely let them rest before slicing them and eating them off the cutting board with my hands.

“Being from Spain, I had a very particular idea of what a hunter was - a rich person who grotesquely found excitement in exerting their power over the land and the animals that lived on it. My imagination was full of scenes of proud men holding hunted animals as trophies. But after meeting Lou and hearing his perspective on the matter, I was ready to change my mind.” - Elisabet Juan Roca

ELI: I had left my house agitated for what was awaiting me. As soon as I entered Lou’s driveway, I spotted him. He was standing in front of a tall tent set up against his garage - he would later explain it was refrigerated to keep the hunted deer for a couple of weeks so their meat could mature and tenderize.

Lou greeted me and thanked me for coming to experience something that was well out of my comfort zone. I had never appreciated hunters. Being from Spain, I had a very particular idea of what a hunter was - a rich person who grotesquely found excitement in exerting their power over the land and the animals that lived on it. My imagination was full of scenes of proud men holding hunted animals as trophies. But after meeting Lou and hearing his perspective on the matter, I was ready to change my mind.

The scene didn’t match what I would have expected, either. Everything was spotless. No blood, no mess - only a strong vinegary smell that Lou explained was disinfectant used to keep the butchering surfaces clean.

Inside the tent there was a buck and a doe, hanging from a metal bar. Despite being obviously dead, they were beautiful. I brought my hand with care to the doe’s ear and felt the soft touch of its fur. I noticed green strands coming out of its mouth. “It’s a tradition amongst some hunters to give the deer a last meal as it passes out of this world,” Lou explained. “These are some pine needles I added to thank it for its life.”

Lou then began removing the hide from her body, exposing the deep red muscle. The more the animal was being stripped, the more uncomfortable I was feeling. Limbs severed with a crack, a sharp knife maneuvering the joints. And an urge to protect, to react to the barbarity, to save the animals from any harm.

However, there was no harm being done. Not then and not much altogether. Compared to a farm animal that lives its life in captivity - often with little activity or space to roam - and dies in an assembly line, these deer had had a free and peaceful life until the very end. The disconnection the food system purposely creates between the animal and the meat is what was being challenged at that very moment.

I was seeing the process live. The animal becoming meat. Not manicured and packaged. Not succulent loins, but muscle. Once the hide was off - Lou doing his best to work neatly so as not to waste any meat - the deer was no longer; it was now carcass.

“I brought my hand with care to the doe’s ear and felt the soft touch of its fur. I noticed green strands coming out of its mouth. ‘It’s a tradition amongst some hunters to give the deer a last meal as it passes out of this world,’ Lou explained. ‘These are some pine needles I added to thank it for its life.’” - Elisabet Juan Roca

LOU: Eli arrived sooner than I had anticipated; I didn’t expect to have bloody hands and clothes, unable to hug or even shake her hand before initiating her into the process. But, to her enormous credit, she took it all in stride. She didn’t flinch as I stripped hide from flesh, even volunteered to help me maneuver the carcasses to get better angles. The only time she seemed visibly shaken was when I removed the buck’s head from its neck; the snap, the crack of vertebrae - a visceral separation of animal from meat.

“You need to make it a point to experience it yourself. That’s how you eat with your eyes wide open.” - Lou Tamposi

But still, there’s something to be said about being connected to your food. It’s easy to repeat the right phrases: “shake your farmer’s hand,” “know where your food comes from,” “be connected to the food chain” - but it’s something else entirely to take yourself out of your comfort zone and literally and physically be part of that process. Life is not clean and packaged: it’s real, raw, messy. Tendons leak when you sever them, bones crack when they break. To be able to see that, accept that, understand that, and live that – that’s something you can’t do purely with words. You need to make it a point to experience it yourself. That’s how you eat with your eyes wide open.

I’m fortunate to not only have this connection to my food, but also connection to community and friends to ease the burden of processing - literal and metaphorical. Eli, who came and documented - capturing the emotion and spirit of this transformation from animal to meat. And, Chef Chris, whose skill and expertise made the actual task of processing - conjuring cuts from carcass - far easier and faster than I could have possibly done on my own.

Master Butcher Chris Walker @chefchristopherwalker | Elisabet Roca

ELI: After Lou finished skinning the buck, I needed to take a moment to collect myself. While he worked on the doe, I sat at a local cafe for a smoothie and some time. When I returned, Master butcher Chris Walker had arrived to help transform the two animals into recognizable cuts. He arrived at the perfect time, to remove the heads and begin the detailed butchering. Cutting the animal from the shoulders, the rib cage, the legs…

My discomfort began to dissipate the more obvious the cuts were: loin, chop, steak… The more meat I saw, the less dissociated I felt. The processing of the animal was not only literal but also figurative. Lou mentioned an overwhelming feeling every time he hunts, dresses and butchers a deer. I had witnessed only part of the process, yet I already had so much to take in.

I left Lou’s with a package of venison loin to cook at home. I immediately froze it and didn’t touch it for more than a week, not ready to confront the final step.

“I seared the loin and served it with roasted vegetables. It was tender and flavorful. Truly delicious. Closing my eyes, I could have been in a fantastic steak restaurant. But the pink center of the meat brought back flashbacks of what it had been. With acute awareness, I muttered thank you.” - Elisabet Juan Roca

“You may not be able to eat meat again,” Lou had said, half-jokingly. I felt that if I wanted to continue eating meat honestly, I had to face cooking and eating that loin too.

I had seen it being part of the animal, beneath the rib cage. I had seen it being muscle before it became loin. For once, I had witnessed what happens before the food: a deer that became venison - a softer word, to make the eating easier, less nuanced. Although for me, it still very much was.

It was now in my hands to honor the animal, so I decided to cook the loin with minimal intervention. No sauces, no elaborate preparations. I wanted to taste the meat - to fully confront what it represented.

I seared the loin and served it with roasted vegetables. It was tender and flavorful. Truly delicious. Closing my eyes, I could have been in a fantastic steak restaurant. But the pink center of the meat brought back flashbacks of what it had been. With acute awareness, I muttered thank you.

I had that meal at home, shared with my husband - who also thought it was delicious. But I felt Lou present. The animal that had become meat and finally a meal connected us both. A connection that went beyond the plate. A connection rooted in understanding, awareness, and gratitude.

My idea of the hunter had also been challenged. Despite still deploring trophy hunters, I have a new appreciation and respect for food hunters - for those, like Lou, who do it ethically and for the right reasons. People who, instead of outsourcing the uncomfortable parts, truly experience what it means to eat meat.

ELISABET JUAN ROCA is a food writer and photographer that focuses on the stories behind the dishes we eat, their ingredients and the actors that make them. You can see her photography and writing work at elisabetjuanroca.com. Subscribe to her weekly newsletter My Cup of Tea for recipes of her Catalan heritage, essays on New England food and photography tips.

LOU TAMPOSI is a writer and outdoorsman who lives in New England with his lovely wife, three beautifully savage children, and one rambunctious dog. His essays - blending dirt, myth, muscle, and memory - explore what it means to live radically, and are published weekly in his newsletter, “Cow We Doin’.”