18th March 2007 - Sunday bonus recipes. Bunny Bits on Toast and First Step Sandwich

This site has now been retired. I've moved to my new site Silverknife, where you'll find new blog posts and all my latest projects and photos. These pages will remain for at least a while, as I know some of you are still looking through the archives, but I'm reposting my travel journals and many other articles on the new site. Come and check it out.

It's another Sunday night bonus recipe fest! And this time it's a bumper bag of two cos it's been a good weekend for food.

Running a bit late actually, as a proposed quick walk with my mate turned into a wonderful 2-hour wander and philosophical debate. Technically it's Monday now but it still counts.

Rabbit Bits on Toast

This is actually a little "chef's bonus" dish, resulting from last night's dinner: Rabbit stew. Here's the stew method, I would call it a third recipe but there's really nothing to it: Get two rabbits, jointed if possible or divide them up into rough chunks according to your preference (leaving the meat on the bone - always better for flavour), sear the bits brown in a pan, bung in a big pot with some carrots and onions, whatever other veg springs to mind and enough water to cover, and simmer for about 5 hours. Throw in some roughly chopped potatoes about an hour or an hour and a half before it's done and towards the end mash them into the stock to thicken it. Ideally it's best left to stand for a while, even overnight if you can. It's pretty economical too, depending on the price of bunnies near you - I paid £6.00 for two, plus maybe £2.00 for the veggies, and it made a hearty meal for myself and my SO, plus three meals to freeze for future use. And it's blooming delicious - rabbit is tender, richly flavoured with a slight sharpness that stops short of being gamy, and incredibly lean as well. Anyway, on to the chef's bonus.

	The ingredients. Okay, they're not necessarily looking appetizing right now. On the left: thinly chopped garlic. On the right: The livers and kidneys of two delicious wild rabbits. Ordinarily the hearts would be there too, but sadly the butcher threw them away before I could stop him.
The organs are very easy to remove from inside the bunnies, they pretty much just pull away from where they are attached to the inside of the carcasses.
		The garlic is fried for a couple of minutes in olive oil and a bit of butter. The butter helps everything to brown nicely - it's a good idea for anything you want to develop a nice surface texture and flavour. The longer you cook garlic, the sweeter and milder it gets, so not cooking it too long before adding the meat ensures that it keeps a nice sharp flavour.
	Meanwhile I rinse the organs in cold water, pull off the membrane attached to the kidneys (it just peels off) and halve them, and cut the livers into slices. If the hearts were here I'd cut them in half and wash them out thoroughly, there's always a good bit of congealed blood inside which is of a jellyish consistency and needs to be squeezed out and rinsed through. This is really not as disgusting as it sounds, honestly. And trust me, it's worth it.
		Into the pan with the bunny bits, where they mingle with the delicious garlic flavours and begin to brown.
	And finally the organs are served up on some lightly buttered toast. The meat is tender (only needs to be cooked for about 5 minutes), richly flavoured and sweet. The liver particularly has no bitterness or strong flavour, just rich warm meatiness. Frankly we look forward to this even more than the main course - in particular if I mention I'm getting rabbits for the weekend my SO always responds with "Yay, bunny bits on toast!"
And with barely a pause, on to Recipe 2.
A brief rant: There is, in this country, a horrible depressing puritan attitude to sandwich-making. Obviously there is a long tradition among our institutions (like British Rail) of making nasty, tasteless, dry and uninspired food, and sandwiches have always been the worst of it. But there is something deeper, something in the blood of the English cook which rebels against putting in a sandwich anything more exciting than lettuce and cheese. Even in the most overpriced packaged sandwiches, you'd be lucky to find more than two ingredients (even when those are something relatively exotic like crayfish and rocket salad), and good luck finding a double-decker sandwich anywhere. Mayonnaise is spread as a thin layer, rather than liberally and with joy as it should be (mayo should always squeeze out the sides just a little bit, in my opinion, or you might as well use low-fat dressing), and the use of more than one meat is held as a blasphemy against the memory of Fanny Cradock. I believe the modern English cook (and indeed, anyone who owns some bread, a knife and a flat surface to work on) should rise up against this opression, strike a blow for hedonism and joy in food! Let's make sandwiches which are an expression of true sensual pleasure - after all, what's the purpose of a sandwich? To put as many different things in your mouth at the same time as possible! It's an opportunity for even the most nervous kitchen amateur to combine flavours and textures with abandon, it's the Lego of cuisine! To this end, I present my first contribution to the Campaign for Joyful Sarnies. I like it because it's fairly hedonistic, but still definitively English (and it's gorgeous). First Step Sandwich Named in celebration of having booked my plane tickets :-)

	One slice of bread, very lightly toasted on the top side only (creating the perfect combination of softness, moistness and crispness), and buttered. And yes, I know it's horribly out of focus. Sadly I had completed and eaten the sandwich before I realised. I think most people will get the idea anyway.
		Two slices of smoked back bacon, fried till crispy, and a dab of tomato ketchup.
	Four slices of fresh tomato.
		A second slice of bread, lightly toasted on both sides (this one needs to be extra resistant to moistness) and buttered.
	Thinly sliced roast beef added (from a butchers or deli, or slice your own).
		A good layer of horseradish sauce, the spicier the better, and fresh basil leaves (from your windowsill basil plant of course).
	The final slice, and the cut. Eat using your face, then sit very still for a while and ponder on the joys of food and your imminent triple heart bypass. Specifically the way in which one justifies the other.
It would seem slightly comedic to post my weight and waistline today. Normal service will resume tomorrow.