Back in May, I wrote a whole post about making chokecherry jelly, and near the end of it I said something I’ve been quietly carrying around ever since. I said chokecherry jelly’s real superpower is as a glaze for wild game. I said to warm a couple spoonfuls with red wine and a sprig of thyme and you’d have a sauce that will make a venison backstrap or an elk steak sing.
Bold words. Confident words. Words from a man who, at the time of writing, had not actually done it.
I’m not saying I lied. I’m saying I made a promise on the internet and then spent five months walking past the evidence. A jar has been sitting on the pantry shelf this whole time, glowing that deep, wine-dark ruby color every time I opened the door for peanut butter. Kimi noticed. Kimi notices everything. A few weeks ago she held it up to the light and said, “So when is this thing going to make an elk steak sing?” Our five-year-old, who has no idea what any of this means, started singing at the freezer. That’s the household I live in.
So this is the post where I finally pay up. Pan-seared elk backstrap, a chokecherry pan sauce built right in the same skillet, red wine, thyme, cold butter at the end. The exact thing I told you to do back in May. I’m reporting back.
Spoiler: I was right. But I learned a few things May Sean didn’t know.
Where the Chokecherries Came From (Sort Of)
If you read my piece on Wyoming foraging culture, you already know I’m not telling you where I picked them. Nobody in this state tells you where. I’ve accepted it, adopted it, and become part of the problem. “Out past town, near some water.” That’s all you get.
What matters for this recipe is what happens to chokecherries when you cook them. Raw, they’re aggressively astringent, the kind of pucker that makes you question your life choices. Cooked down with sugar, that harshness mellows into something rich and tart. That’s exactly why it works with lean game: elk doesn’t have much fat to carry flavor, so it loves a sauce with acid, sweetness, and depth. Chokecherry brings all three in one spoon.
If you don’t have homemade chokecherry jelly, don’t panic. A tart red jelly like red currant or lingonberry will get you in the neighborhood. It won’t taste like Wyoming, but it’ll taste good.
Backstrap Is Not a Braising Cut. Treat It Accordingly.
I’ve spent a lot of this year cooking wild game low and slow. The elk osso buco sat in a braise for hours. The Dutch oven venison stew was all shoulder meat and time. Those cuts are loaded with connective tissue, and a long braise gives that tissue time to break down into something tender.
Backstrap is the opposite situation entirely.
The backstrap is the loin running along either side of the spine, and on a deer or elk it’s the most tender cut on the animal. Almost no connective tissue, very little marbling, nothing that needs hours to break down. Braise it and you’re not making it more tender; you’re slowly squeezing the moisture out of the best meat you own.
So backstrap gets the opposite treatment: high heat, short cook, pulled at the right temperature, rested, sliced against the grain. That’s the whole philosophy.
Here’s the part I want to be really clear about, because I’ve said it about lean game before and it goes double here. Backstrap is not a forgiving cut. A shoulder roast can go an extra half hour and you’ll barely notice. Backstrap can go an extra two minutes and you’ll notice every bite. With no fat to hide behind, the gap between “perfect” and “shoe leather” is a few degrees. And because it’s the best cut on the animal, the stakes are as high as they get. Nobody tells stories at Thanksgiving about the stew meat they ruined. They remember the backstrap.
Let’s Talk Temperature (With Actual Numbers)
I’m going to give you the real number, because “cook it to medium-rare” isn’t a number and color isn’t a measurement.
According to the USDA, the safe minimum internal temperature for whole-muscle cuts like venison and elk steaks and roasts is 145°F, followed by a 3-minute rest. Backstrap is a whole-muscle cut, so that’s the number that applies here.
That’s different from other numbers you’ve seen on this site. Ground venison has a safe minimum of 160°F. Stews and combination dishes go to 165°F. Different foods, different rules.
Honesty time. Hang around hunters long enough and you’ll meet plenty who pull backstrap well under 145°F because they prefer it redder. That’s a personal, informal choice some people make with their own meat. It is not the USDA safe-minimum guidance, and I’m not going to blur the two or tell you a lower number is the “right” target. The recipe below is written to 145°F with a 3-minute rest.
The good news: a well-seared, properly rested backstrap at 145°F is still juicy and a world away from the gray, chewy stuff that gives game meat a bad name. You just have to stop cooking the moment it gets there.
Which is why the most important tool in this post is an instant-read thermometer. Lean game is unforgiving and color is unreliable; elk is darker than beef to begin with, so “looks done” is a guess. Probe the thickest part, read the number, act on the number.
How to Get a Proper Sear
The sear is where all the flavor starts, including the sauce’s.
Dry the meat. Surface moisture has to boil off before browning starts, and that’s time your meat spends cooking through without building a crust. I salt mine 40 minutes to overnight ahead, uncovered in the fridge, then pat it dry with paper towels before it hits the pan.
Use a heavy pan, and get it hot. Cast iron or heavy stainless. Not nonstick, which won’t build the browned bits we need for the sauce. Get it hot over medium-high, then add a high-smoke-point oil.
Don’t crowd it, and don’t fidget. Let it brown, then turn every couple of minutes so all sides get color.
Whole beats medallions here. I sear the backstrap whole (cut into sections that fit the pan) and slice after resting. Medallions look fancy, but they’re thin, go from raw to overcooked in a blink, and leave you juggling six thermometer readings. A whole piece gives you a thick, even interior, more margin for error, and one number to watch. On a cut this unforgiving, I’ll take every bit of margin I can get.
Butter and thyme at the end. Once the crust is set, I add butter, smashed garlic, and thyme, tilt the pan, and spoon the foaming butter over the meat. Not strictly necessary. Also not optional in my house.
The Pan Sauce: Where the Chokecherry Finally Earns Its Keep
When the backstrap comes out, the skillet is covered in brown, sticky bits. That’s fond, and if you read the stew post you know what it is: concentrated flavor from the Maillard reaction. Throwing it away would be a crime. We turn it into sauce instead:
- Rest the meat. The sauce gets made while it rests. Perfect timing.
- Pour off most of the fat and drop the heat before the shallot goes in. (Learn from me: a minced shallot in a ripping-hot cast iron pan burns before you can say “chokecherry.”)
- Deglaze. Add red wine and scrape the pan bottom with a wooden spoon. The fond lifts off and dissolves into the liquid. That’s the whole trick.
- Reduce. A wide pan lets it bubble down fast, concentrating flavor and body. Then stock, chokecherry jelly, and thyme go in and it reduces again until glossy.
- Cold butter, off the heat. This is the restaurant step. Off the burner, swirl in cold butter until it melts in. Swirled in off the heat, it makes the sauce glossy and slightly thickened; boil it and you get a greasy, broken mess.
No wine? No problem. If you’d rather skip alcohol, use beef, elk, or venison stock instead, and add a small splash of red wine vinegar or balsamic at the end to bring back some tang. For the wine version, use a dry red you’d actually drink. If it’s not good enough for a glass, it’s not good enough for your backstrap.
How’d it turn out? The jelly melts into the wine and fond and becomes a deep, glossy, garnet sauce that’s tart, savory, and just sweet enough. It doesn’t taste like jelly on steak, which was my one fear. It tastes like a proper sauce with a little piece of Wyoming summer in it. Kimi had seconds. The five-year-old put it on his potatoes and declared it “purple gravy,” which is now its official name.
May Sean, you were right. October Sean apologizes for taking so long.
Pan-Seared Elk Backstrap with Chokecherry Pan Sauce
- Serves: 4
- Prep time: 15 minutes (plus 40 minutes to overnight for dry-salting, optional but recommended)
- Cook time: about 25 minutes
- Works with: elk or venison backstrap
Ingredients
For the backstrap:
- 1½ to 2 pounds elk or venison backstrap, silverskin trimmed, cut into sections that fit your skillet
- 1½ teaspoons kosher salt
- 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 2 tablespoons high-smoke-point oil (avocado, canola, or similar)
- 2 tablespoons butter
- 2 cloves garlic, smashed
- 3 to 4 sprigs fresh thyme
For the chokecherry pan sauce:
- 1 medium shallot, finely minced
- ½ cup dry red wine (or ½ cup additional beef, elk, or venison stock for a no-alcohol version)
- ½ cup beef, elk, or venison stock
- 3 tablespoons chokecherry jelly (or another tart red jelly like red currant or lingonberry)
- 1 sprig fresh thyme, plus 1 teaspoon picked leaves for finishing
- 2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Optional (recommended for the no-wine version): ½ to 1 teaspoon red wine vinegar or balsamic
Gear
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- Lodge 12-inch cast iron skillet: holds heat evenly and builds the fond this sauce depends on.
- ThermoPro TP15 instant-read thermometer: lean game plus guesswork equals regret.
- Victorinox 12-inch Fibrox Pro slicing knife: clean, even slices against the grain.
- OXO Good Grips wooden turner: the flat edge scrapes fond better than a round spoon.
Instructions
- Salt ahead (recommended). Trim silverskin. Season all over with the kosher salt and refrigerate on a rack, uncovered, 40 minutes to overnight.
- Dry and season. Pat thoroughly dry. Season with pepper.
- Heat the pan. Heat the skillet over medium-high until very hot. Add oil and heat until shimmering.
- Sear. Add the backstrap, leaving space between pieces. Sear undisturbed 2 to 3 minutes until deeply browned, then turn every 2 minutes or so to brown all sides. Expect roughly 8 to 12 minutes total depending on thickness, but go by the thermometer, not the clock.
- Baste. Start checking temperature early. When the thickest part reads around 130°F, lower heat to medium, add the butter, garlic, and thyme, tilt the pan, and spoon foaming butter over the meat for about a minute.
- Check the temperature. Probe the thickest part of each piece. The USDA safe minimum for whole-muscle venison and elk is 145°F with a 3-minute rest. Remove the meat when it reaches 145°F.
- Rest. Transfer to a plate and rest at least 3 minutes, ideally 5 to 8, while you make the sauce. Resting lets juices pushed toward the center redistribute, so less ends up on the cutting board.
- Start the sauce. Discard the garlic and thyme and pour off all but about 1 tablespoon of fat. Reduce heat to medium-low, add the shallot, and stir about 1 minute until softened.
- Deglaze. Raise heat to medium-high, add the wine (or stock), and scrape up all the browned bits. Simmer until reduced by about half, 2 to 3 minutes.
- Add the jelly. Add the stock, jelly, and thyme sprig. Stir until the jelly dissolves, then simmer until glossy and lightly coating a spoon, 4 to 5 minutes. Add any juices from the resting plate.
- Finish with butter. Off the heat, discard the thyme sprig and swirl in the cold butter a piece at a time. Do not return to a boil. Season with salt, pepper, and vinegar if it needs brightening.
- Slice against the grain. The muscle fibers run lengthwise along the loin. Slice across them into ½-inch slices. Slicing with the grain leaves long fibers that chew tough even on perfectly cooked meat.
- Serve. Fan the slices, spoon sauce over, and finish with thyme leaves.
Storage and Reheating
Backstrap is best the moment it’s sliced, so the best storage plan is cooking only what you’ll eat. But leftovers happen.
Refrigerating: Cool, then store the meat and sauce in separate airtight containers in the fridge. Use within 3 to 4 days.
Freezing: Cooked backstrap can be frozen, well wrapped, for a couple of months, but the texture suffers on thawing. The sauce freezes better than the meat. If you’re freezing anything, freeze raw backstrap and cook it fresh.
Reheating: The tradeoff, stated plainly: USDA guidance is to reheat leftovers to 165°F, which is the safe approach and will also take your backstrap well past where it started. Warm the sauce gently in a small pan, add the slices, and heat just until they reach 165°F. Don’t blast it in the microwave; that’s how you make jerky by accident.
What I actually do: Eat it cold, thin-sliced on a sandwich with a smear of the sauce, sharp cheese, and arugula. No reheating, no overcooking, and it might be my favorite lunch of the fall.
The sauce: It firms up in the fridge. Rewarm over low heat with a splash of stock, whisking, and it’ll come back together.
Five Months Late, Right on Time
I’ve cooked a lot of wild game this year: braises, stews, sausage, meatloaf. But this one feels different because it closes a loop. Berries that turn your mouth inside out became a jar of jelly, and the jar finally met the cut it was always meant for.
That’s what I love about cooking here. The pantry tells a story if you let it. A spoonful of jelly, a backstrap from the freezer, five minutes of scraping a hot pan, and the whole year is on one plate.
If you make this, with homemade chokecherry jelly or a store-bought stand-in, I want to see it. Tag us on social and show me your purple gravy.
— Sean