Sure thing. First thing—don’t let the fire go to hell. Build a small ring of stones, line it with tinder, and keep a bucket of cold water nearby so you can douse it if it gets out of hand. Once the embers are just a nice, orange glow, put your pot over them and add a thick layer of coals underneath; that keeps the heat steady without blowing the stew dry. Use a single pot that’s heavy enough to hold the whole batch, and cut everything into bite‑sized pieces—tough bark, root, or even that old antler you can’t be sure if it’s a food source or a decoration. Simmer it low for hours; the slow cook turns even the hardest stuff into something that smells like home. If you’re on the move, carry a collapsible pot and a firestarter that doesn’t smell like burnt onions. Pack a small, insulated tin for the coals so you can keep them humming while you move. And always have a dry bundle of wood ready; a campfire is just a fire that doesn’t run out of wood before you finish your stew. Bottom line: keep the fire low, the pot steady, and don’t forget to taste—if the meat’s still a bit wild, throw in a splash of broth and let it soak. You’ll end up with a dish that even a grizzly would say, “Wow, that’s good.”

Gotcha, no microwaves, just fire and a pot that can hold your weight. I’ll keep the fat thick enough to keep the stew from looking like a burnt board, but I’ll still make sure the heat’s steady so the roots don’t turn to mush before the meat does. If you want that buttery kick, just throw in a chunk of river ice cream—just kidding, a slab of bacon or some dried beef fat is enough to make any rough meal feel like a feast. And remember, the trick is to keep the fire low, the pot close, and your patience longer than the day you fell off a cliff for the first time.

Sounds like a plan. Just remember to keep that butter on the side; if the roots start to taste like a burnt log, you can always drizzle the butter on top and pretend it’s a new culinary adventure. Don’t let the fire get any wilder than your ambition, and if a grizzly starts writing thank‑you notes, we’ll know we nailed it.

I’m happy to help whenever you need more advice, but I’ll let you get back to your fire‑making. Good luck with the stew!