Gator Jerky

We took the day off from Disney World, traded amusement parks for a State Park: from 4D ride to canoe.  At Wekiwa Springs, we were on the look out for wildlife.  Alligators, specifically.  As we paddled slowly along the river, canopied in Spanish moss, we saw mangy swamp birds, mating dragonflies, bullfrogs, red-bellied cooters, and loud Memorial Day revelers, but no gators.  When the rain began to fill our vessel we decided to turn upstream and drive back to Orlando. 

Just before Kissimmee, on Route 4, we passed two hand-written signs that shouted “GATOR JERKY” in big, bold capitals.  We figured if we couldn’t see them in the wild, the least we could do was eat them.  We pulled over to the side of the highway where a rusty blue pickup truck had parked, ass-out, under an overpass.  Rainbow-striped umbrellas gave the contents of the bed shade, and a woman with a few teeth missing grinned at us as we approached, cars zooming past.  She offered us a sample of the jerky right away, knowing that this was why we were here: two pasty tourists looking for an off-the-beaten-path Florida experience.  I was afraid to try it, so I stalled by asking how they caught the gators.  Weston was already munching.

“His uncle does it.” She pointed behind her at a man sitting with his tattooed legs dangling out the passenger door.  He was smoking a fat cigar.  “We give him a six pack of beer, he takes his airboat out on the St. John River, gets drunk, and comes back with ‘em.”  I took a bite, and it tasted, well, like jerky.  “I don’t get involved with the process,” she flashes her half empty smile again.  “I just sell it.”  She offered us a package – a Ziploc of jerky and a watermelon, but we told her we were just here for the meat.  I handed her a ten-dollar bill and we kicked dust back onto the highway.

Feeling good, like we had had an authentic gator experience, we munched on the jerky and turned up the base-heavy Cuban tunes on the radio.  A few bites in, Weston turned to me.  “This is beef jerky.”  Sure enough, it was a waxy, dark, salty meat straight out of a convenient store bag and repackaged for our willingness and gullibility. 

Weston immediately called the Kissimmee police to report the crime, not about to get jerked around.  I kept eating it.