Project Leporidae

When I graduated college, the main point of our president’s speech to our class was “Your connections with people will get you everywhere”: he implored us not to let our connections with people fray after we moved on with our lives, because we never know when our connections might open new doors for us. How right he was. Through one of these priceless college connections, I recently discovered a local rabbit farm, and acquired two young rabbits. Although the proprietor of the farm (rabbit-farmer is just too awkward a title) had one cleaned, ready-to-eat rabbit on hand, the other was given to me quite whole, although it had thankfully already been dispatched (as quickly and painlessly as possible, I assure you). The recently deceased and soon-to-be-dinner was black with long silky fur, small perky ears, and disturbingly bugged out eyes.  I tried not to think of my little brother, the staunch vegetarian who’s only pet was a rabbit named Dust Bunny. He need never find out about this little adventure.

Step one: overcoming the "Awww, it's a bunny!" reflex

Bolstered by a less-squeamish friend with much more experience in skinning and gutting animals, I began the process of turning the bunny (sorry, I promise not to write “bunny” again) into a raw product, and then hopefully a delicious meal. The gutting process was, yes, just as disgusting as I’d imagined it, warm repulsive smells and all. The skinning, however, turned out to be surprisingly easy. The aphorism about cats apparently doesn’t extend to the Leporidae family, as there is really only one way to easily skin a rabbit if you want to keep it whole and save the fur as well. First, you cut the skin at the back legs, low around the ankle, then slide the knife under the skin and slit from one ankle across to the other, running underneath the tail and making a T shape with the slit down the belly used for gutting (an extremely sharp boning knife is very useful here). From there, it’s just a matter of tugging firmly (although you may have to detach the fur around the anus with a knife). I was surprised by how unattached the fur was over most of the body. When you get to the head, things get a little tricky, and it’s easiest if you cut the ears and front paws off (I declined my friend’s offer to keep a rabbit foot- I could never believe they brought you luck, considering how unlucky the rabbit was to loose it in the first place). With a little more gentle slicing between skin and muscles, the fur came off completely, and in one piece.  What I was left with, after cutting the head off and giving the body a long rinse, looked like what I was used to working with in a kitchen: a clean, meaty rabbit, all smooth pink muscle and thin bones.

Cleaned rabbits

I broke the carcasses down into front legs, back legs/thighs, loins, and the side meat, which I carefully removed from the ribs. The leg pieces I decided to braise with vegetables, fresh herbs, and some Valpolicella (a blended red wine from Northern Italy), along with some vegetable stock and garlic. While those were braising, I took the thin sheets of meat from the sides and stuffed them with the small loins, some spicy pork sausage, and dried cherries that had been soaked in wine (this time a tannic red blend from the Finger Lakes). I then tied them up with some rosemary and put them in a glass baking dish with just enough wine to cover the bottom. A mere 12 minutes in a 400° oven roasted them perfectly.

Sides stuffed with loin meat & cherries

The stuffed loins were outstanding, and would’ve made a perfect little amusé-bouche or bite-size plate, stacked with rosemary polenta and topped with a rich rabbit jus and a tiny spring of fried rosemary or sage. The legs turned out slightly tougher than I’d hoped, I think because I allowed the braising liquid to boil at one point while I was working on the loins (curse you, electric stove).

The flavor also did not meet my expectations, coming out light and almost chicken-like, overpowered by the strong red wine and herbs, and with none of the wild, gamey flavor I was hoping for. I suppose I was expecting a lot out of farmed rabbits, however free-range they were raised. Next time perhaps I can acquire a truly wild rabbit, and compare flavors and textures. 

That is, as long as my little brother doesn’t find out.

Dinner en papillote

Tonight I made Haddock En Papillote, a stunningly simple dish that nevertheless has many minute details that must not be overlooked: my first attempt was a smooth but short step towards perfection of this French classic.

En Papillote, for those of you who’ve never touched on French language or cuisine, means simply “in parchment”. My dish consisted of a filet of haddock (previously frozen, unfortunately), topped with a few quartered baby red potatoes, some slivered carrots, trimmed green beans, chopped garlic, butter, and touches of lemon juice, white wine, salt, and pepper. All of this was placed in the middle of a large square of parchment paper (I’m told foil is easier and works better, but it’s just not as pretty), which I did my best to fold and seal around the ingredients. My folding job turned out somewhere between a burrito and a tootsie roll, but I got it sealed sufficiently. Then I threw it in a 375° oven for around 12 minutes.

Now for those minute details that must not be missed: Firstly, potatoes and vegetable do not cook as fast as haddock (or any filet of fish, for that matter). Although I had enough insight to parboil the potatoes before wrapping them up, I did not blanch the vegetables, which turned out rather crunchy. In fact, the potatoes should probably have been fully boiled ahead of time, as ten minutes is really not enough to affect their texture, only enough to heat them up. The same goes for the vegetables. The garlic, which added an amazing aromatic element to the dish and a flavor that lightly permeated the fish, was nonetheless also crunchy and altogether too strong when bitten into directly- either sautéing it or perhaps blanching it in milk ahead of time would easily fix this problem. The thought also occurred to me to brush the inside of the parchment with roasted garlic paste, rather than using whole garlic of any kind. The parchment must also be looked after properly, either brushed thoroughly with water or oil before putting it in the oven (by brushed thoroughly I mean practically soaked), or sprayed with water several times while it is cooking. Otherwise the parchment browns extensively, and turns very dry and brittle, even to the point that it crumbles into dust on top of your food (trust me, not a tasty topping. At all.) If this all sounds too complex to you, try the foil until you’ve gained some confidence.

All faults aside, cooking en papillote is much easier than the intimidating French name implies. It provides an excellent medium for bringing out the best flavors in simple, fresh ingredients, without having to use any complex seasonings (or any seasonings at all, for that matter). Since the ingredients are virtually steamed in their own juices, no sauce is needed, and if one were to eliminate the butter, it would provide an almost fat-free meal that is still incredibly rich in flavor.