Weekly Meal Prep: Carnivore Style

Out here at the Brazen Branson homestead, Sunday afternoons after church are for firing up the smoker and setting the week right. The air’s got that crisp autumn snap, scented with pine and the faint whiff of woodsmoke from neighboring cabins, and I’m already dreaming of the carnivore feast I’ll prep for the days ahead. On my five acres, tucked along a quiet bend of Table Rock Lake, the smoker’s my trusty sidekick. The weathered barrel hums with hickory and applewood, turning chicken wings, legs, beef ribs, brisket, salmon, and pork tenderloin into meals that burst with flavor and keep for the week.

There’s something deeply satisfying about this ritual, a nod to the old ways when every bite was earned by patience and craft, and the smoky aroma curling through the crisp air feels like a warm hug from the land itself. I start with the meats, laid out like treasures on my oak workbench: plump chicken wings and drumsticks, meaty beef ribs, a slab of brisket marbled just right, a rosy salmon fillet, and a lean pork tenderloin. Each gets a gentle rub, keeping it simple to let the smoke work its magic.

The smoker’s fire crackles to life, hickory chips glowing as they release their sweet, earthy perfume, and I arrange the meats on the grates, the sizzle a soft promise of what’s to come. Hours pass in that slow, unhurried way of the homestead, with the lake’s gentle lapping and a cardinal’s trill keeping me company. Smoking doesn’t just preserve; the low, steady heat locks in juices and infuses each bite with a depth that makes every meal feel like a celebration, ready to be portioned into glass containters or wrapped tight for the fridge, good for weeks if needed.

By dusk, the meats are done, their surfaces kissed with a smoky, caramelized crust that makes my mouth water. I pack the brisket into small portions, stack the ribs in neat piles, and wrap the salmon’s flaky richness, each piece a testament to the day’s labor. My kitchen, warmed by the glow of a single lamp and the faint twang of a radio playing bluegrass, becomes a haven as I pack the week’s meals into glass containers. The chicken wings will make for a quick lunch, pork tenderloin for a hearty supper, salmon to savor under the stars, and beef ribs for game day.

This meal prep isn’t just about food; it’s about rooting myself where the land and the smoke weave a story of resilience and plenty. I place the lid on the last container as the moon rises over the hills and I know I’m ready for whatever the week brings, with the fun of playing with veggies each day as I customize my meals based on what’s growing outside.