How to butcher a rabbit

Skin it, chop it, mince it or stew it: Thom Hunt of 7th Rise demonstrates the simple and speedy art of rabbit butchery

For some people, the art of skinning and preparing a rabbit can look a little gruesome, which is the reason why I believe every person should try it at least once in their lives.Whereas many of us have become disconnected from the meat we eat, in many cultures around the world preparing meat on the bone is a perfectly normal part of everyday life.

The process is surprisingly simple. In fact my record for ‘speed butchery’ of a rabbit is 92 seconds.This includes gutting, skinning and jointing a whole carcass.The carcass can be split into three rough sections; the front (shoulder, neck and skirt), the middle (the loin and tenderloin) and the rear (the rump/hind legs).

The front end is great for mincing for rabbit bolognese or bunny burgers while the loin is fantastic for quick frying, quick roasting or hot smoking.The rear legs are ideal for diced dishes, such as stews or curries. Alternatively, place the whole rabbit in vegetable stock with carrot, celery, onion, peppercorns and bay leaves and poach it on a gentle simmer for three hours. Remove the rabbit and you can pull the meat from the bone, which you can use in fun dishes like crispy rabbit pancakes, rabbit pies (it holds the gravy really well) or Mexican pulled rabbit tacos.

1. Remove the skirt/belly (thin meat from the ribs to the hip) from each side of the rabbit and set aside for mincing.

2. Cut between ribs 3 and 4 on each side (counting from the smallest rib nearest the hips up towards the head), cutting all the way round so the incisions marry up on each side and then literally snap the spine – pull and the front end will detach. Any meat from this front section should be taken off the bone and minced with the belly meat.

3. Take a heavy cleaver and chop the middle section (the saddle) from the rear legs at the lowest part of the spine where it meets the hips. Cleaver the two back legs apart by chopping down the middle.

4. Remove the loin from the saddle by running a knife down the side of the spine on each side and then teasing open the cut. Use the tip of the knife to roll each long thin fillet of meat off the bone. Do not casserole the saddle once jointed – if you overcook it you will end up with lots of small vertebrae bones in the dish.

You can discover more wild food techniques in the second print edition of Ernest Journal on sale now. 

From growing up on his grandparents' farm to travelling the world as a diving instructor, Thom has always had an accute connection with the wild. He now runs 7th Rise, specialising in fishing, hunting and foraging.

 7thrise.co.uk

Ship biscuits

These hardy crackers were the main staple for sailors on a long voyage – it's believed around the time of the Spanish Armada the daily allowance on board a Royal Navy ship was one pound of biscuits and a gallon of beer. Guy Lochhead tells us more about this stalwart biscuit...

Image: National Maritime Museum, Greenwich

These historical crackers have served as a vital food for centuries aboard boats, among armies and far-flung communities across the world. When stored well, they last indefinitely.

Their usage in the military and at sea led to all sorts of mythologising – most famously in maritime novels as “weevily biscuits”, with sailors opting to eat in the dark to avoid seeing the maggots. Historians have debunked this idea, at least since the early 19th century, when sailors began storing their biscuits in airtight wine barrels.

In 1812, Captain Basil Hall described tasting the results: “the biscuit smelled as fresh and new as if it had been taken from the oven only the day before. Even its flavour and crispness were preserved so entire, that I thought we should never have done cranching it.”

Here’s a traditional recipe, eschewing any of the butter and milk that modern versions use. Although the additional ingredients taste great, they are perishable, and we want our biscuits to last hundreds of years. 

Ingredients:

500g flour (historically, medium coarse stone-ground wholemeal)
2 tsp salt water

Method:

Preheat oven to 190°C. Combine flour and salt in a bowl and add water until it makes a stiff dough. Roll this out thickly then cut into squares (Navy-style) or circles (Army-style), and pierce holes in them to make them easier to break up later (‘docking’). Place on a baking tray in the oven for half an hour then remove and leave to cool fully on a wire rack before eating.

Guy Lochhead is a primary school teacher living in Bristol. He is currently gathering sources via the British Whybrary, putting on gory am-dram classical tragedies and starting Bristol's first co-op gym.

britishwhybrary.org

Time for a pint: Beacon Hotel, Sedgley

Dimpled pint glasses, Victorian bell-pushes and real ale brewed in a tower out back and served from a hatch, this Dudley pub is a house of solace for anyone fortunate to tread its passageway. Jon Saxon of Doghouse Magazine pulls up a pew...

Image: Gavin Weston

Daylight hasn’t much further to fall to find total darkness, as we eventually enter the main door into a benchmark public house; a blueprint that has been hanging on this corner in Sedgley since 1860, for the nation’s publicans to come and observe. Its recipe remains as original as its beer, brewed out back, with its Victorian vice keeping it well and truly planted in the 19th century. The opening hours aren’t immune. Nor is the style of service.

A sprinkling of modern signage and security measures are there for your eyes to see – bedfellowing with Victorian bell-pushes and genuinely old portraits – yet little other than a soothing mood consumes your senses... as you enter off the modern mundane public pavement of Bilston Street, out front, into the date-stamped passageway, floor-tiled in red. 

Many pubs take a while to warm up, getting into the groove of business over a couple of hours in some cases: it happens here in a matter of minutes, like ale-hungry moths lured by gas lamp fixtures and back-lit beer engines.

Labourers – laden, still, with that day’s duty of plaster, paint, dust and grime – take early-shift solace in the six-tile-wide passageway of this pub, each with a handled dimple glass, headed mostly with the stuff of Sarah Hughes Brewery, quite possibly 6% Dark Ruby Mild, quite possibly more being brewed right this moment, just a few footsteps away. It’s a swathe of dimpled pint glasses as far as the eye can see, as we too take refuge in the narrow hallway, flanked by one of the serveries and the sweeping staircase. With an increase in custom making its way through the front door we are forced up one of the rungs to allow the latest troops hatch access. It’s definitely a hatch too – rare and remarkable in its design – with three serving windows in total, each serving a different part of this elegantly basic public house.

They are best described as squat wooden sash windows, with mottled glass inserts. Inlaid in a dark red wood surround, they ooze even more romance for their positioning, allowing both customer and bar staff very little in the way of eye contact, perhaps a midriff at best, and just enough sight of one of the seven hand pumps being pulled for your beer. 

Stooping down to pay for and collect your pint off the narrow hardwood 1920s island counter is treated as much a charm, as many would assume an inconvenience. Captivated – it is hard not to be, by this intentionally compromised central tree house of beer: each one of its many panes of glass a corner shop sweet jar. The rich goods, and their actions behind, attract the attention of both regulars and visitors (with blurred curiosity) as a refraction of reds, greens, blues and yellows moves around the room – darting from behind bar staff as they rotate from hatch to hatch – changing the form and composition like an internal lighthouse.

It’s a solid survivor that proves that you can do just swell (immeasurably so, with the queues forming at each hatch) with a simple blend of honest home-brew, cheese and onion baps, and staff that clearly like being there. 

Certain customers take up a seat in one room, whilst others prefer another, dividing up a beautiful mix of backgrounds, voices, and opinions – these acoustics seemingly collecting in the passageway as a casual crescendo – like the perfect jukebox song played at the perfect moment on a perfect date. It’s a soothing hum that speaks of community, of thriving warmth, and of good business practice – without being able to decipher one word from another. Forget scented lavender candles, essential oils, chamomile bubble bath and orca whale CDs; this soundtrack could settle any teething child into lull, a grown man down from a day’s rage… relax the wildest of woman’s woes. 

But of course there’s nothing quite like the real thing – awaiting your ears and more, everyday here, in Sedgley: a real pub with real award-winning ale, real outdoor lavs, a real Victorian brewery tower… and very real Victorian opening hours.

Beacon Hotel, 129 Bilston Street, Sedgley, Dudley, DY3 1JE, 01902 883 380

OPENING HOURS: Monday–Friday: 12noon– 2.30pm and 5.30pm–11pm; Saturday: 12noon–3pm and 6pm–11pm; Sunday: 12noon–3pm and 7pm–11pm

Jon Saxon is the founder and editor of Doghouse Magazine and Ludlow Ledger. 

doghousemagazine.co.uk

ludlowledger.com

Menthe's legacy

David Gerrans of The Running Horse, Mayfair, shares his recipe for the classic cocktail from America's Deep South: the Mint Julep, while delving into the legendary origins of one of its key ingredients

Menthe was a water nymph who entranced and seduced Hades, ruler of the Underworld and husband of the beautiful goddess Persephone. The beauty and charms of Persephone could not keep Hades from the arms of Menthe, and when Persephone caught the pair up to their dirty deeds, in her fury she turned Menthe into a low-growing plant so that the feet of humans would forever trample her. Hades, feeling sorry for Menthe, gave her a sweet aromatic smell to omit from her when crushed, so humans would grow to love her as he did. Hence the story of how mint, one of the four key ingredients in a Mint Julep, came to this world.

Rather than trample on your mint, lightly press it in the Julep tin cup to release its aromatics before adding sugar ice and whisky to this slow sipping cocktail.

Mint Julep

50ml American bourbon whisky
2 tsp caster sugar
2 tsp water
6-8 mint leaves
Ice

Add the mint to your julep tin or glass and lightly press it with a spoon to release its aromatics. Add the sugar and water next – sugar has a hard time dissolving in alcohol so give it a quick stir – then add 2 shots of whisky. Wrap up some ice in a tea towel and with a mallet or a frying pan go to town on it. Scoop your newly crushed ice on top and add a mint sprig garnish. Julep strainer optional. 

Established in 1738, The Running Horse is the oldest pub in Mayfair. 

Stoney Bay Chowder

What does one eat in the Antarctic? In our fourth digital issue Wendy Trusler and Carol Devine their share culinary experiences, provisions lists and Victorian explorer menus from their fascinating book The Antarctic Book of Cooking and Cleaning, including this recipe for a warming seafood chowder

Photo: Sandy Nicholson, Recipe: Wendy Trusler

In 1996, Carol Devine and Wendy Trusler led volunteer groups for The Joint Russian-Canadian Ecological Project at Bellinghausen station on the Antarctic peninsula. People from five countries paid to pick up 28 years of rubbish during their holiday on a continent uniquely devoted to peace and science. The Antarctic Book of Cooking and Cleaning is a journey through that austral summer. It is also a look at the challenges of cooking in a makeshift kitchen.

The book unfolds in the style of Antarctic publications such as Sir Ernest Shackleton’s handmade Aurora Australis, through provision lists, menu plans, journals and letters. 

Whenever the volunteers' Russian neighbours’ catch was particularly bountiful Wendy, the site cook, made this chowder. 

Ingredients

225g/8oz slab bacon 
2 onions
1 celery stalk
6 medium potatoes
2 tablespoons butter
3 to 4 ears of corn (about 3 cups corn kernels)
2 teaspoons dried thyme
1 tablespoon salt
1 bay leaf 900g/310oz cod fillet, (or some other white fish)
1.5 litres water    
350ml whipping cream    
freshly ground pepper

Method

Finely chop the onions, dice the celery and potatoes and remove corn kernels from the cob. Dice the bacon then cook it in a heavy-bottomed soup pot over a medium heat, stirring often, until lightly browned at the edges.This should take about two minutes.Add the onions and celery to the pot and cook over a low heat until soft, for about five minutes.

Melt the butter and stir in the thyme and salt.When the herbs have warmed thoroughly, mix in the potatoes and cook until they are slightly softened. Stir in the corn and let it cook for a minute or two then bring up the heat, add the bay leaf and pour in the water. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat and simmer for about 10 minutes.

Cut the fish into good-sized chunks and add to the pot once the potatoes are tender. Gently cook the fish until it pulls apart easily, which should take five minutes. Stir in the cream and cook just long enough to bring everything up to heat.Add freshly ground pepper to taste.

Note: We strongly encourage using sustainable seafood for this recipe. The Madrid Protocol on Environmental Protection, signed in 1991 and entered into force in 1998, prohibits disrupting wildlife. While the kind of small-scale fishing some of us partook in was not yet a breach in 1996, we are aware it was a grey zone and in hindsight are uncomfortable with this.

You can discover more of Carol and Wendy's recipes and experiences on the Antarctic peninsula in iPad issue four, available to download now. Or buy a copy of the book for more recipes.