As a rule, you shouldn’t really name something that you intend eating which is why Freddie and Roger are cats and the rabbits are rabbits. My sister, Finola, refuses to eat anything with a mother, which excludes even eggs, but she’s a vegan and lives on rice cakes. Some of the chickens, the ones that lay eggs or hatch chicks are called Betty or Dixie and there’s Kato, of course, the rooster who wakes us at dawn (not now, Kato!). However, the capons are just ‘the boys’. Foxes don’t know this rule which is why the duck brothers Huey, Dewey, Louie and Chewy disappeared one frosty moonlit night.

Macgregor, the buck rabbit is an exception as he lives in his own segregated run whilst the rest of the does and their young enjoy Bunny Guantanamo with its imposing Taj Mahal. This enormous hutch was knocked up by Bautista out of some white insulating board and is now the home to about 40 rabbits. Because they have burrowed under the hazel trees it is impossible to catch them when the pot requires filling. As soon as I step into the enclosure they scatter and make a dash for their underground shelters. Identifying and culling the males is also very difficult but I have come up with a solution. An air rifle with telescopic sights.

I can now sit on the terrace, glass of wine in hand and keep an eye on my flock whilst enjoying the sunshine. Any hint of typical adult male behaviour by a suitably sized rabbit and ‘pop!’ coniglio in padella for dinner. Marcella Hazan, Italy’s finest cookery writer, advises stewing the rabbit in its own juices then simmering it in white wine and rosemary. ¡Buen provecho!

Publicada el Thursday,8 May, 2008 a las 9:35 am en Gastronomy, Local Life. Puedes seguir cualquier comentario sobre el tema a traves del canal de sindicacion RSS 2.0. Puedes comentarla, o hacer trackback desde tu portal.