Run Rabbit Run Rabbit....

....run, run, run. Here comes the farmer with his gun, gun, gun. And struggling to keep up, here comes Edward cheering on the farmer and keeping him supplied with pork pies, cheese sandwiches, and anything else he may need to sustain his bloodlust. For me, hunting is the purest form of food provision. Not only are there no welfare issues with sourcing meat this way (obviously) but also, be it fishing, shooting or trapping, there's little doubt that the taste of a wild animal is infinitely superior to that of a farmed equivalent and as I've said previously, taste is the number one consideration. I remember fondly the first time I ate wild salmon, having previously only encountered the regular, pale pink supermarket variety. I was dumb-founded that the flesh was a beautiful deep red, rather like that of a blood orange, and once I'd pan-roasted the fillet, gently seasoned it and taken my first bite, I was hooked. The flesh was sweet and complex no doubt due to the variety of foods the salmon had eaten during it's lifetime. You know that slightly devious look many women develop when they're munching on some chocolate - well that was me with the salmon. Since that moment I always try to eat wild produce where possible but there's no doubt that some products are more easily sourced than others. Regrettably many fish stocks are perilously low, and I would encourage anyone to try and buy with a consideration for what's sustainable where possible - more on this in future posts. However, it's not all doom and gloom. One can still enjoy parts of nature's bounty without feeling too guilty, without giving the bank manager a heart attack and without a huge knowledge of what game is in season (more on this in later posts too). Available almost all year is the (drum-roll!!) European Wild Rabbit.

Wild rabbit is an extremely lean meat and has a subtle, gamey flavour. Perhaps it's greatest strength is it's versatility. It works well with a myriad of different ingredients. The Italians use tomatoes and herbs, the south americans use chilli and the French use mustard and cream. But in Britain, although there are thousands of the critters all over the country, and despite the fact they're regarded as a pest by many farmers, we eat relatively little. It seems to me there are three reasons for this.

Firstly, during the Second World War, households were encouraged to keep rabbits for meat in an effort to feed the family during the dark days of rationing. No doubt there were many botched attempts at casseroles and pies, as the meat can go incredibly tough without a sufficient addition of fat. Cue a lifelong dislike of rabbit for the children subjected to that. Secondly, there was a highly successful attempt to cull the rabbit population during the 1950's through the introduction of Myxomatosis. This seems to have affected many - even my father recently admitted that he was "scarred by frothing mouths and convulsing bodies" in the fields he walked. And thirdly, there is the slightly contemptible "fluffy bunny brigade" for whom the idea of eating such a "cute" animal cannot be reconciled. It's also fairly hard to get your hands on some. Regrettably, most food is purchased in the supermarket, but when was the last time you actually saw Rabbit in the refrigeration cabinet?

If you'd like to secure some rabbits, ask a good local butcher. They'll be able to remove the head (fluffy bunny brigade), skin the animal and gut it for you. I would certainly recommend this. The first time I prepared a rabbit for use, the animal evacuated it's bowels all over my forearm, resulting in much sniggering amongst the boys and loud screams from the girls. Joking aside, it wasn't an overly pleasant experience, so save yourself the bother. I then cooked the whole lot up in a vague "coq au vin-esque" manner. Needless to say it was tough and inedible. Thankfully I've developed since then, and my take on a classic warming autumnal rabbit stew is below. Try some rabbit today - it's cheap, different, tasty and extremely good for you.



Cider Braised Rabbit & Apple
Serves 6

I like to eat this very simply with a hunk of crusty bread, but I've also served it with Polenta. Use a good quality dry cider, as opposed to a sweet mass-produced one. It's one drawback is a lack of colour, so make sure you sprinkle some chopped parsley over it before serving.

Ingredients:

Olive Oil
4 Large Shallots, Sliced
400g Pork Belly, Diced
2 Wild Rabbits, Skinned & Jointed
100g Plain Flour, Seasoned
450 mls Cider
200 mls Double Cream
4 Bay Leaves
4 Eating Apples, Halved, Cored & Sliced
A handful of Flat Leaf Parsley, Finely chopped
Sea Salt & Cracked Black Pepper

1. Find a good quality heavy casserole dish. Add a glug of olive oil and add your shallots. Soften and remove.
2. In the same pan, add the diced pork belly. Brown and remove.
3. Take your seasoned flour and put it in a plastic bag. Add the rabbit joints and shake until covered. Remove the rabbit and shake off the excess. Then brown in the oil and rendered pork fat. You will probably need to do this in batches. Once the rabbit is well browned, return the shallots and pork belly to the pan.
4. Now add your cider, cream and bay leaves. Stir, and bring to a simmer.
5. Finally add your apples. Keep the stew ticking over on a simmer for a good hour. You'll know it's ready when the sauce has reduced and the meat is tender.
6. Season to taste.

October Leaves Falling

One of the most pleasing things about autumn is the aesthetic pleasure it gives the eye. Leaves turn from greens to browns, reds and oranges before falling to the ground and making the underfoot squelchy and slippy. Nature then stands before you, naked but not vulnerable - and re-invents itself in a few months time looking fresher and more youthful than ever. We, being top of the food chain, reap the reward of the seasons but will only gain true pleasure by working with them, not grating against them.

Think about Strawberries in May. They pack much more flavour, are cheaper because there's a glut of them and you can get them locally. Now compare that with buying them during the winter months. Bland, strangely watery, an anaemic interior and only palatable with huge quantities of sugar and/or Cointreau. That was NOT a suggestion -wait for the food to come to you. I guarantee the anticipation of food in season will make it taste all the better.

Thinking of the falling leaves, some that you get your hands on right now are the Nasturtium - or Tropaeolum to give them their official name - and they can be used in a variety of ways, the most common being mixing through salads. They have a distinctive peppery, slightly mustard-like taste and their flowers, whilst lacking on taste are incredibly decorative. You can also make soups from them, or toss them through a stir-fry for added nutrition. This is how I like to use them.

Tempura Nasturtium Salad with Goats Cheese
Serves 2

This salad can be served as a snack-lunch or a starter for a dinner party. It utilises all parts of the perennial Nasturtium plant. When picking, remove the flower heads and soak in water for ten minutes before using. Check them well for Earwigs, who seem to love hiding around the stamen. Once you're happy that they are clear, drain them on some kitchen paper. When serving, choose a light dressing as the goats cheese is quite rich. Finally, don't go mad on the seasoning, the leaves are peppery enough as it is!

Ingredients:

9 Nasturtium Flower Heads
200g Soft Goat's Cheese
4 Small Anchovy Fillets
A Good Handful of Thyme Leaves, Chopped
10-12 Nasturtium Leaves, Shredded
3 Good Handfuls of Watercress
100g Plain Flour
200 mls Ice-Cold Carbonated Water
1 Medium Egg
Sunflower Oil

Method:

1. Wash the Nasturtium flowers as directed above.
2. While they are soaking, cream the cheese, anchovy and thyme leaves together to make a paste.
3. Using either a teaspoon or piping bag, fill six of the flowers with the mixture. Do not overfill. Place in fridge to chill.
4. Pre-heat a fryer to 180 degrees centigrade. Use a flavourless oil like Sunflower Oil.
5. Make the batter. Whisk the egg and add the ice-cold water. Then gradually add the flour. Don't over do the whisking and don't worry if there are a few lumps.
6. Toss the leaves in your dressing of choice. Pick the colouful leaves from the remaining Nasturtium flowers and mix through. Season and arrange in the centre of a plate. Try to get some height involved here.
7. Remove the flower heads from the fridge and dip in the batter, coating lightly. Then fry until they are golden and bobbing on the oil like a boat on the ocean. Remove and drain.
8. Serve with the salad leaves.

"Grow Your Own": Broad Beans

As a cook I consistently try to use top quality ingredients. A rather famous TV chef once said to me - "You're only as good as your ingredients, Ed. I can't make a joyous meal out of tinned spaghetti and frozen prawns..." - and that simply confirmed to me what I already felt. Growing up in Carmarthenshire, I was lucky to be surrounded by fantastic local produce. The area is historically associated with livestock, and in particular lamb, but we also have the most amazing pork products, some award winning cheeses, access to the Irish Sea as well as inland rivers that are (relatively) brimming with Salmon and Trout. You could easily eat for the rest of your life out of one small part of west Wales. So why we're importing lamb from New Zealand, I have no idea.

Of course there are certain things we don't produce in abundance, but that's where the green fingers come out and you start to grow your own. I'm not going to get completely sanctimonious and pretend I'm an environmentalist - I'm not. I'm interested in taste first. I'm afraid the rising waters of the oceans are a secondary concern to "what the hell am I going to do with all these apples falling everywhere? I've already made pies, crumbles, compotes, jellies and apple juice." But it does stand to reason that if you grow vegetables in your garden, or on your windowsill, or on a shared allotment, they will taste infinitely better than if they have been sitting around on a supermarket shelf for a week, and will have helped reduce your carbon footprint too.

October is a bleak time in the garden. The weather is closing in and there is very little to plant for next year. You harvest apples all day long, you dig up the last of the carrots and potatoes. The thrill of new life is in short supply. But you can keep yourself going by planting one of my favourite vegetables - the Broad Bean. There can be surely no more comfortable bean, than the broad bean. By the time spring is upon us, they will be dangling thick, heavy and proud whilst nestled in a soft white jacket. They look so cosy in there! But I digress. Right now, you need to plant them about 5cm deep, roughly 10cm apart, in parallel rows that are themselves 25cm apart.

I planted mine (Bunyards Exhibition and Red Epicure) two weeks ago, and the little beggars are already sprouting. Broad beans are renowned for being a hardy plant, but if a frost is on the cards over the winter you must cover them, just to be on the safe side. Other than that you just give them a stake to cling onto once they become seedlings, and all should be well. Give them a try!

Whole Roast Onions with Marjoram
Serves 4

October is also the time of year when one has an abundance of onions. Try this as a yummy lunchtime snack, with some crusty bread and a glass of crisp white wine.

Ingredients:

4 Large White Onions
100g Butter
A Handful of Marjoram, Chopped
Sea Salt and Cracked Black Pepper

Method:

1. Pre-heat your oven to 220 degrees centigrade.
2. Place the onions in a baking tray, transfer to oven. Cook until very soft and juicy.
3. Meanwhile, soften your butter and add your chopped Marjoram.
4. Once the onions are cooked, remove and gently peel the first few outer layers of the skin. You must leave some behind though, so the onion will hold it's shape. Slice the top of each onion away, as if you were scalping a boiled egg, and then lather the onion with the Marjoram butter.
5. Once the butter has melted, season well and enjoy!

The Ubiquitous Chip

When starting on a new adventure, it's important to remember who you are, where you came from and the composition of your food genes.

As a child I was incredibly lucky, food wise. I didn't realise it at the time, but a distinct lack of funds during the early years of the 80's meant my parents were always scrimping and saving, using and re-using and generally being inventive in the kitchen. It was here that I watched them unwittingly create the building blocks of my culinary knowledge and for these I am eternally grateful. I remember gazing wide-eyed at the pots and being told that it was important to brown meat before making a stew "otherwise we'll be eating leather". I'm not sure if it was the sizzle of lamb on fat, or the golden brown it turned, but that memory is now imprinted in my nut-store for good.

Another memory etched into my skull is my first ever job, at the local chip shop. My parents had decided that it was time to learn "the value of money" and that "nothing comes for free". So I was marched down to the chippy (wailing) to beg, borrow or steal a job and was amazingly taken on peeling spuds at the back of the shop - for £2.00 a bucket. And by bucket I mean a barrel, full of ice cold water, containing a couple of hundred potatoes each. It was hellish. But when I'd filled three barrels and earned my £6.00 for the evening, I skipped home planning what I could buy if I saved up enough money. Much hard work later, I was promoted to serving customers alongside my friend, Michael the ladies man. Even at the age of 14 he had a way with women. A classic wing-man.

And it was here that I had my first moment of true food satisfaction. I simply loved the ritualistic questions - "Beth wy't ti moen?" (What would you like?) followed by "Halen a vinegar?" (Salt and Vinegar?). I loved the precise nature of wrapping up fish and chips in a couple of sheets of paper and handing them over, warming like a hot water bottle, to eager punters. The smells I adored - gently sizzling chips and crisp battered Cod. And the speed, the efficiency - for someone who went on to work in a professional kitchen, it was the ultimate education.

Twelve years later and I'm sitting outside on a rickety, slightly damp park bench, in the soothing mist with chips and mushy peas, reflecting on the utter timelessness of the place. The youngsters who served me had the same crazed look that Michael and I used to have as the queue grew ever longer, eventually stretching out the door, with hungry stomachs. The layout of the place was identical and the bowls of raw, part-fried and fried chips were all lined up like dominos. And the glee! The sheer glee on the faces of the diners as they munched on a humble fried potato brought me careering back to the satisfaction I felt as mothers and fathers walked out of the door with the family meal.

And it's appropriate that it's here, at the chip shop, that I start on my new food journey which will hopefully take me places I haven't seen and gift me people whom I'll carry with me forever. Having thrown in the old career and invested in a culinary education at the Ballymaloe Cookery School, I'll be plying my trade as a roaming cook, learning as I go. But it all started here, with the simple, modest chip, and in honour of it, this is how you make your own:

Chip Shop Chips

I find that using 'old' potatoes such as Golden Wonder works well. Eat them straight away while they are crisp, and dip them in good quality mayonnaise.

Ingredients:

8 'Golden Wonder' Potatoes
Good Quality Olive Oil

Method:

1. Pre-heat your fryer to 160 degrees centigrade.
2. Clean potatoes well and leave unpeeled.
3. Cut into chips about half an inch thick and 2.5 inches long.
4. Rinse and pat dry to remove excess starch.
5. Fry until just soft. This should take about 5 minutes.
6. Remove the chips. Bring the heat of the oil up to 200 degrees centigrade.
7. Re-fry chips until golden and crisp. Remove, drain on kitchen paper and sprinkle with salt.