The regional table / Wyoming
Rocky Mountain Oysters
They are the testicles of bull calves, taken at castration, and there is no reason to be coy about it. The cooking question is the membrane and the soak.
The supply comes from an annual job of work that the federal government has described in detail twice. Joseph Nimmo, Jr., Chief of the Bureau of Statistics at the Treasury Department, reported to Congress in May 1885 on how the western range was run: two round-ups a year, "the spring or calf round-up, and the fall or beef round-up", and in the spring "the only work is to drive the cows with their calves into the corrals and mark the calves by branding and ear-slitting." Wyoming still runs on the principle that a calf is identified beside its dam — W.S. 11-20-222 requires unbranded calves to be shown to the brand inspector "at their mother's side". Forty-four years after Nimmo, the Department of Agriculture published the procedure itself. Farmers' Bulletin 1600, Dehorning, Castrating, Branding, and Marking Beef Cattle, written by W. H. Black and issued in 1929, opens its section with a sentence no euphemism survives: "Castration consists in the removal of the testicles of the male." It sets the age — "Bull calves from a few weeks up to 8 months of age may be castrated without serious consequences" — warns that a bull left past eight months "may become 'staggy'", advises that the work "should be done in cool weather", and notes that "it is not uncommon for cattlemen to perform all operations — castration, branding, and marking — at the same time." One correction to the story as it is usually told: the bulletin says that in round-up days "it was customary to brand fall calves in the spring and spring calves in the fall", so the branding pen was not only a spring affair.
The name is older and travels further than the Rockies. The earliest printing I could reach is a restaurant advertisement in the State Press of Macon, Georgia, for 29 October 1857, whose bill of fare runs through oysters from New York, Savannah and Brunswick, shrimps and crabs, venison and beef steaks, mutton chops, deviled ham and deviled terrapins, and then "Mountain Oysters" — printed without a word of explanation, between the terrapins and the turtle soup, in a city a long way from any mountain. Forty-one years later a Plattsmouth, Nebraska, butcher was advertising the same thing in the same company in the Semi-Weekly News-Herald of 16 December 1898: "sweet breads, calves' brains, calves' liver and bacon or spring lamb chops. Mountain oysters or a Spanish mackrel". The longer form turns up as a joke in the Falls City Tribune of 20 September 1907, reprinting the Tecumseh Tribune on a banquet promised to a defeated candidate, whose menu was to be "Rocky Mountain oysters fried, stewed or raw." Fried, stewed or raw is a fair summary of the historical treatments; the first is the one worth your time. Two honest notes on the evidence: Wyoming's own digitised newspapers are behind a Cloudflare wall that refuses scripts, so every dated printing quoted here comes from Georgia and Nebraska archives rather than from a Wyoming paper, and none of them says which animal supplied the dish.
Why this version works
Cornmeal in the dredge, and 350°F. Half cornmeal gives a crust that stays crisp for the ten minutes it takes to eat them, where straight flour softens as the steam comes through. Hold the oil at 350°F and fry in small batches: a crowded pot drops to 300°F, the crust soaks instead of setting, and the result is greasy.
A quarter to three-eighths of an inch, no thinner. Sliced thin they dry to leather before the crust colours. Sliced thick the crust is dark by the time the middle has set. At a generous quarter inch the interior firms in the two or three minutes the coating needs, which is the whole trick.
The membrane comes off, and everything depends on it. Each one arrives inside a tough white sheath. Left on, it shrinks hard in the fryer and turns the whole piece rubbery and difficult; off, what remains is a fine-grained pale meat that behaves like a sweetbread. Thirty minutes in the freezer firms the sheath enough to split it with a knife tip and strip it away in one piece.
The soak is part of the standard preparation, not a superstition. USDA's own nutrient database carries an entry described as testes "cooked, soaked and fried" — the soak is written into the federal description of the food. Two hours in salted water, changed once, pulls out blood and the faint metallic edge that comes with it. Milk or buttermilk does the same job and adds a little sweetness.