When I was a teenager I spent several months in the South (Tennessee but right on the North Carolina border in the Great Smoky Mountains). Beautiful. Some co-workers “treated” me to a dinner of fresh squirrel stew. Not exactly a dish I had come across in my upper class, very Northern upbringing. I recall pretending like I was looking forward to it and it was no big deal but inside I’m screaming something like “Gross! Rodentia!”. As it turned out, after some beer and moonshine the squirrel stew tasted fine.