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.