Time and patience: the essential ingredients of sustainable cookery
Time is a heedless trickster stretching and contracting on a whim. Throughout lockdown, time has taken on an elastic, unreal quality. The start of lockdown feels both distant and immediate.
This period of standstill has been revelatory. How long has it been since I had the opportunity to examine the changing seasons so closely? To immerse myself in my surroundings? To self-dictate the rhythm of my days? To appreciate how fortunate I am in so many ways and to comprehend my privilege? To be forced to take a breath and not fill time?
The return to “normality” is unwelcome and abrupt. Whilst I understand the economic imperatives, I have become comfortable and cosy in my nest, free from awkward social interactions and a lengthy commute. Outside of work, Matt and I have been wrapped in a cocoon, focused on the immediate world around us. Joy has been to watch two pairs of geese raise their young, to explore and re-imagine the countryside around us, to exult in nature’s quirks and to laugh at abnormally tall foxgloves. It is strange and sad to think that we will never experience such a period again. The terrifying backdrop of political, economic and health-related uncertainties intensifies my uncertainties.
I am choosing to live small, to breathe, to be honest, to support those around me and not focus on the future.
In this period I have rediscovered a love of traditional cookery, driven partly by a desire to understand my cultural and historical context, and partly by nostalgia for a time when fast-consumption and fast-production were alien. A time when we lived in balance with the world around us. Re-establishing environmentally sustainable supply chains and waste reduction are critical to our survival.
Waste reduction is why so much traditional meat cookery takes time. In the developed world, habits need to be reformed and a distaste for unusual cuts removed. I know that I am unusual for always having maintained a dripping bowl (thanks Mum!) and to have a freezer stuffed full of homemade stocks.
Last year, some close friends raised five beautiful Saddleback pigs in their sizeable garden and we jumped at the chance to have one. What an incredible opportunity to experience nose to tail eating and enjoy low-impact pork. In the spirit of nominative determinism (along with a healthy dash of cynicism), I promptly named our pig “Sausage” and when the time came to butcher the animals, we requested all of the less-used cuts and ended up with a head (to make brawn) and a whole bushel of trotters.
Sausage the pig and friends
Rabbit has long been touted as one of the most sustainable meat sources available due to its low environmental impact and well-known reproductive abilities.
Jellied meats have a long history within British cookery. They are a delicacy brought over by the Romans and were ornamental staples of Medieval, Tudor and Regency tables. Their popularity has waned in recent years as tastes have changed and time has become a commodity.
A Tudor Banquet: ‘Still life with Peacock & Pie’, Pieter Claesz c.1627
Matt and I have wanted to try jellied rabbit for a long time. It isn’t something that you find on many menus or in recipe books and so we resorted to making it ourselves. We are both a little obsessed with Fergus Henderson’s approach to food and the recipe we used came from his incredible book The Complete Nose to Tail.
“If you’re going to kill the animal it seems only polite to use the whole thing.”
I have to say, the results exceeded our expectations, it is truly a delicious meal and would be fantastic for dinner parties as all the prep is done beforehand. None of the processes are difficult – all you need is time!
During my research into the recipe, I discovered that hard-boiled eggs are a traditional accompaniment hence the Chicory and Quail’s egg salad.
Jellied rabbit served with chargrilled chicory and quail’s egg salad and buttery parsley Anya potatoes
Jellied Rabbit
Recipe from ‘A Complete Nose to Tail’ by Fergus Henderson
Ingredients:
1 tame rabbit or 2 wild rabbits, chopped up but bone in
10 shallots peeled and finely sliced
1 bottle of white wine
2 pig’s trotters
2 whole heads garlic
A bundle of Thyme
10 black peppercorns
1 litre light chicken stock
400g streaky bacon
2 bay leaves
Salt & pepper
Day one:
Marinade the rabbit and shallots in the white wine in a non-metal container in the fridge overnight. Meanwhile place the trotters in a pan with the garlic, thyme and peppercorns, cover with the chicken stock [I had large trotters so ended up using closer to two litres of stock] and bring to a gentle simmer. Cover and, keeping an eye on it, cook for three hours. Strain (if you want you can add the trotter flesh to the final dish, otherwise discard it), return to a pan and reduce by half. Allow to cool.
Trotters in stock
Day two:
Line an ovenproof crock with the bacon (we borrowed a proper earthenware crock from Matt’s mum but a large dish with a lish would work too).
Mix the rabbit and marinade with the trotter stock (this may have jellied so it might have to be melted) and bay leaves.
Check the seasoning, remembering the salty bacon factor, and also that you will be eating it cold so it will need a flavour boost.
Pour the rabbit and its mixture into the lined crock, cover and place in a medium oven for 2 ½ hours [150˚c - 160˚c], keeping an eye on it so it never cooks too fast.
Check with a small sharp knife that the rabbits are cooked.
When cooked allow the whole crock to cool and then place in the fridge overnight.
A proper crock!
Day three:
Serve cold from the crock with hot boiled potatoes [I used Anya potatoes because I love them], with lots of chopped curly parsley.
Chargrilled endive and little gem salad with hard boiled quail’s eggs and a burnt lemon and buttermilk dressing
I chose this recipe to go with the rabbit as the sharpness from the lemon and chicory cuts through the jelly whilst the creaminess of the buttermilk and quail’s eggs adds depth to a very lean meat. You could use any kind of eggs really, I just wanted it to look a little fancier for our guests!
Ingredients:
2 white, 2 red chicories and 2 little gem lettuces sliced in half length ways and brushed in oil
100ml buttermilk
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 unwaxed lemon, zested and then cut in half
1 garlic clove (crushed)
A pinch of sugar
Chives (chopped)
Place the lemon cut-side down on the barbecue and grill for a couple of minutes until caramelised and sticky then put aside.
Place the chicory and little gems onto the grill for a couple of minutes each side until charred (the chicory takes a couple of minutes longer than the lettuce).
Remove and set aside to cool.
Boil the quail’s eggs for 2 ½ minutes and leave to cool, then peel and slice in half.
In a bowl whisk the buttermilk, olive oil, lemon zest, sugar and garlic until thick and combined.
Squeeze in the juice from the burnt lemons, whisk again and check seasoning.
Cut off the roots from the greens and separate the leaves into a large salad bowl, stir in the dressing then scatter over the eggs and chives.
Tiny, fancy eggs
Enjoy!
Warning! It is impossible to make jellied rabbit look nice on a plate. I didn’t even try.