On a crisp morning in February 2023, a few pals and I set off through the woods outside of Fairplay—though this was hardly a leisurely hike. Armed with a shotgun, I scanned the trees looking for movement. The silence was broken when we finally heard a rustling in the branches above us. Acorns from the wall of oaks surrounding us littered the ground. As yet another hit the earth, I steadied my gun and took aim at the critter perched on a branch above me. Even from 20 yards away, I knew this particularly plump squirrel would make for good eating.

Now 30, I grew up hunting deer and turkey on my grandfather’s farm in Missouri and survived college in Florida on the wild boar meat I harvested there. I always believed big game was the pinnacle of the sport, especially after moving to Colorado in 2019. But then, in 2023, I heard about the World Championship Squirrel Cook Off, held each September in Springdale, Arkansas. Being both curious and country (my mother owned a pet bear growing up; I pulled out my wisdom teeth using pliers), the contest appealed to me. I filled out my entry form and immediately began dreaming up recipes.

Read More: How To Get Started Hunting in Colorado

A squirrel
Illustration by Lars Leetaru

To test and perfect my dish, I needed to get ahold of a steady supply of the main ingredient, so I began scouring Colorado’s public lands for squirrels. (You need to buy a small-game license, and different squirrel species have different seasons and bag limits.) Much to my surprise, squirrel hunting offered a refreshing contrast to big-game hunting, which might require you to spend days traversing tough terrain without spotting a single animal and, if you’re successful, to pack out a massive carcass. Squirrel hunting, on the other hand, is low stakes and high reward. You’re likely to see multiple squirrels in a single outing, and they’re forgiving of newbies: You don’t have to be quiet because startling the rodent only betrays its location, and there’s likely to be another opportunity if you miss your shot.

Another surprise was how versatile squirrels are in the kitchen. They absorb flavor like a Nerf football soaks up water. I experimented with various recipes, from squirrel steaks to squirrel soup, before eventually settling on tamales fried in bear fat served with a crema made from ancho chile peppers, red chiles, red peppercorns, chili powder, and tomato bouillon. My dish was good—but got destroyed in Arkansas.

It isn’t often that I get out-rednecked, but most of my competitors looked like they’d been frying bark bacon since Moby Dick was a sardine. (I should’ve known better: I’ve been on hog hunts in Arkansas. I’ll never forget the look of shock on my comrades’ faces when I told them I’d never eaten raccoon before.) These men and women were wild-game culinarians, cooking up squirrel and waffles, squirrel khao soi, and squirrel al pastor. Every bite tasted delicious.

Still, I remain undeterred. I’ve spent the past year preparing for a return to the Natural State this month, and I’m leaning toward presenting a reimagining of my grandmother’s Bolognese. As fun as the cook-off will be, though, my favorite part remains procuring the ingredients for the test kitchen.