Monroe — With Christmas over, people are looking toward Lent, which means no meat on Friday for Catholics. But if you live in Southeast Michigan, not only are you allowed fish on Fridays, you may also eat muskrat.
The Monroe Boat Club recently hosted its annual muskrat dinner, and the event is nearing its centennial. This history stems back to the French settlers who first came to the region, trapping everything in sight, including muskrats. After trapping thousands of the rats for their fur, someone decided he was hungry. Why throw away the carcasses when there’s meat on those bones?
The Frenchmen found they loved the “marshrats.” But don’t worry, it isn’t like escargot or any other such atrocity. Muskrat is the prime rib of the marshes, a lean and sweet meat that is darker than beef and tastes nothing like chicken.
Over the next centuries, muskrat dinners were still prevalent in Monroe, Detroit, and the surrounding regions. But in recent years, this voracious rat eating has diminished. My experience at the dinner confirmed that.
I arrived at the club at 5 p.m. and found the visitor park lot packed to the gills. Thankfully someone pulled out, and I found my way in where I purchased my ticket and sat near the bar, noticing I was one of the 10 youngest in the room. My guess was the average age was 55.
Brad Fichtner, head of the Monroe Boat Club, came over and sat down with me and explained the tradition.
“Years ago, there were dinners all the time.”
“You mean every week? Like all year?” I asked.
“Yes, the whole year,” he said.
Mr. Fichtner took over the dinner from Molly Wood and Dave Rafko after helping them prepare the rats and serve the meal for five years. One year, Mr. Rafko handed the reins over to Mr. Fichtner, who was fervent to see the annual feast continue. But, he said, the tradition is dying. This year’s muskrat dinner had 150 diners, whereas last year’s had 200. They used to be everywhere: hotels, game clubs, and especially Catholic and Lutheran churches.
“Monroe is the primary home of the muskrat tradition. We have people coming in from Milwaukee, from Utah. People fly in for this because they want to enjoy the tradition,” Mr. Fichtner said.
Monroe is truly the heart of the thing. Though the history is murky as the lake, the legend is there was a famine in the region in the 1700s, leaving food scarce for the French settlers during Lent. The people appealed to the Pope, asking if they might eat muskrat (and possibly beaver). The Pope granted a special dispensation to eat muskrats on days of fasting from Port Huron to Toledo, as well as certain parts of Canada.
But just as Catholicism has been declining in the region, so have these dinners. Kola’s Kitchen, a restaurant that operated out of a Wyandotte bowling alley, served muskrat until its eventual shutdown in 2007. That closure marked the end of an era.
“Other than our dinner,” said Mr. Fichtner, “Churches are mostly where the muskrat dinners happen around here and in the Midwest.”
But even then, Mr. Fichtner said it’s happening less and less at the churches.
After Mr. Fichtner went back to the kitchen, I got in a long line for some rat. The aroma of sweet red meat wafted from the kitchen. I was famished. Watching the tender, fall-off-the-bone meat dished out in front of me made my mouth water.
Eventually I sat down to dinner. Before I ate, I learned that the boat club got together the day after Christmas to remove the musk glands and prepare the carcasses for cooking. The rats cook for 12 hours the day of the dinner.
The meal was succulent. I’ve eaten squirrel, rabbit, and venison. I’m used to gamey meat, but I’ve never tasted a sweet meat like muskrat. It is redder than anything I’ve ever had. The major downside is the pin bones, which are everywhere. You can eat the legs and the tenderloin with little labor, but anything around the ribs requires extreme caution. You don’t want to puncture your esophagus. But once you taste that meat, all the risk is worth it.
My theory is that the muskrat dinners are out of style because of those bones. I inferred from my conversation with Mr. Fichtner that this tradition will be gone in 30 years. But that doesn’t have to happen.
If you think muskrat sounds like eating a possum, you’re wrong. Muskrats don’t dig in your trash bin or venture out of their marshes often. And even if you are like me, eating beef all year round, the muskrat dinner is still for you.
There should be whole families in line at the dinners. You don’t need to start your own dinner at your parish or game club, but the least you could support the nearest one. Travel down southeast this spring and find a rat feast. Evading the little bones for the delectable meat will be worth the work.
Noah Wing is a contributing writer for Michigan Enjoyer.
