Mitch DeSantis is Milwaukee Record‘s new Rural/Northwoods Wisconsin Correspondent. Welcome, Mitch!
Another Wisconsin deer hunting season has come and gone. The blaze orange is packed away, and the routine of everyday life has returned. For generations, this tradition has defined Wisconsin’s cultural fabric. But for me, it’s always been something I’ve approached with a mix of admiration and ambivalence.
I deeply respect those who embrace the hunt as a way to source their food locally—it’s a commendable effort. Yet the ritual of rising before dawn, trekking into the woods, and standing silently in the cold for hours is not a practice I can commit to. Raised by a hunting family, I went through hunter safety training and even had my moment in the woods. But when the time came to pull the trigger, I purposely aimed high and missed. I simply couldn’t do it.
Though I no longer hunt, I’ve found my way to partake in the deer camp tradition. Each year, I make the pilgrimage to visit my father’s camp, not with a rifle but with a culinary mission: preparing a meal for the group. This year, as an amateur wood-fired pizza enthusiast, I brought my trusty oven and a bold idea.
In most deer camps, the kitchen table is a sacred gathering spot piled high with snacks and booze. You’ll find everything from Little Debbies, chips, and dips to infamous pickled offerings—items that dare the brave to take a bite. Pickled herring, pork hocks, and eggs reign supreme, and Milwaukee’s own Bay View Brand Fine Pickled Foods is a staple. Their jars, often collecting dust in dive bars, are a Wisconsin delicacy among the camp’s regulars.
While I’m no stranger to the occasional pickled egg—especially paired with a pint of Hamm’s—the herring and pork hocks have always intimidated me. This year, I decided it was time to face my fears. To my surprise, the pickled herring on a Tollhouse cracker wasn’t half bad, though I remained skeptical of its snack versatility—a thought that soon changed after several sips of rye whiskey and Polish Jezynowka (blackberry brandy).
The camp’s camaraderie soon turned into culinary experimentation. An idea was born: the ultimate pickled pizza, a Frankenstein creation we aptly named “The Polish Bar Rag.”
Featuring an absurd lineup of pickled ingredients—herring, pork hocks, eggs, green beans, mushrooms, and onions—it sounded ridiculous, and as I would soon learn, it tasted worse. Like Jeff Goldblum’s character in Jurassic Park once said, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.”
Bringing pickled herring to 900 degrees in a pizza oven proved to be a mistake I’ll never forget. The result was a crime against pizza, disastrous to apocalyptic proportions. In the aftermath, I was left to reckon with my creation and its consequences.
If there’s one thing I took away from this year’s deer camp, it’s that tradition is as much about shared laughs as it is about the hunting itself. While the “Polish Bar Rag” pizza was a crime against society, it did bring the group together in a way that no meal ever could.
Shout-out to my friend Cory, who bravely consumed three pieces and spent most of the next morning destroying this outhouse.
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