Jugged Hare
1 Hare or Large Rabbit
Blood from the Hare or Rabbit
4 rashers Bacon
2 Onions
1 Lemon
15g (½ oz) Butter
1 tbsp Plain Flour
1 Bouquet Garni
6 Cloves
1 tsp Ground Allspice
Seasoned Flour
Port
Salt and Black Pepper
Preheat the oven to 170°C: 325°F: Gas 3.
Method: Chop the bacon and onion, zest the lemon.
Lightly coat the joints of the hare with flour and place in a flame-proof casserole dish.
Add the herbs...
Well it started when we were passing the new supermarket in Marino, the really upmarket one that fancies itself as a gourmet supplier. The butcher section is open to the great plate glass windows at the front and they were chock full of every kind of game. It seems poussin and quail have become too common, only the finest pheasant and woodcock will suffice. Anyway, there hanging in the middle were four or five hare, or hares, I’m not sure of the plural. Or perhaps I don’t care.
So John starts waxing lyrical about some rabbit stew he had eaten as a child, why not go for that for our soiree. Well, who am I to point out that hare and rabbit are not entirely the same thing, but in my anxiety to keep him online with the proceedings I talked myself into jugged hare.
One hare or large rabbit, check, or will be check as soon as I call them up and make sure they stock these poor beasts regularly, not just when Lord Longford chooses to go out for the afternoon with his shotgun. Uh, hold on. Blood from Hare or Rabbit. What the hell was I thinking, okay, not thinking, too anxious to please. I could back out, I guess. What would I say to John? I would rather not cook it because of the blood? That would just wind him up. He would take it into his head, I have no doubt, to cook the meal himself. With hilarious consequences!
No, while the courage is still strong in me I picked up the phone and called the butcher in the awfully nice supermarket. He was somewhat perplexed, I guess they have not been in the business of providing quality foods to the gentry for generations as their antique wooden shelving might suggest. I had to explain my predicament and my recipe in rather more depth than he wanted, perhaps I was bullying him verbally by the end, but he agreed to try and source me some, promised to ring me back.
Ring me back. I believe that, just like I believe Jennifer Muns at the school every second Tuesday when her au pair, or is it her nanny, I can never tell the difference, has the day off and she has to take her two darling children in the range rover. “We’ll talk”, she shouts from across the road, making that annoying telephone hand on the side of her face. Jennifer and I were best friends from school, but since her husband became a consultant I don’t seem to feature in her social circle. We both make the pretence, “we simply must do lunch”, but we both know there is little chance. Part of me is pleased, never liked her anyway, the other part is honest.
The butcher phoned back, wonders will never cease. Jugged hare is go! How many litres of blood do I want? Ugh!
