The Way We Eat: Rabbit Is Rich

The Way We Eat: Rabbit Is Rich
By RANDY KENNEDY

One of my favorite scenes in the Jim Jarmusch movie "Down by Law" involves Roberto Benigni standing in the woods, triumphantly clutching a dead rabbit by its hind legs and trying to explain to his fellow prison escapees Tom Waits and John Lurie that he has just procured their supper, the old-fashioned way.

"Very difficult to catch rabbit," Benigni pants. "I run half an hour for this rabbit.. . .Very cunning rabbit."

I have never had to chase one down for sustenance. But since I started regularly cooking rabbit several years ago, it has felt like an epic hunt, requiring all my cunning, to find a fresh one for sale. Even in Brooklyn, where I live, my only reliable supplier for years was an Italian butcher in Bensonhurst, which meant a subway ride. And on trips to see family, I might as well have been looking for a moon rock. In St. Louis last fall, I finally tracked down some fryers (or young rabbits) at the old Soulard Farmer's Market, and the purveyors, whose stall also included a box of skinned coons and a fresh beaver tail that looked like a prehistoric fish, seemed surprised that I had actually shown up after phoning.

Of course, once you have located the rabbit, then comes the real surprise: the price. I have never bought a fryer for much less than $20, which means about $6 per pound, compared with $2 or maybe $3 a pound for a high-quality chicken. It has never made sense to me. Didn't we all learn in school that rabbits multiply like, well, rabbits? They have been farm animals since at least the Middle Ages. So why is it that buying one feels like buying foie gras?

The short answer is that modern Americans � except maybe during World War II, when rabbit was sold cheaply because of food shortages � have never fully accepted Oryctolagus cuniculus as food. Perhaps as a result, Congress doesn't mandate inspection of rabbits. If they want a voluntary federal inspection, processors must pay, which pushes prices up. And since many stores won't carry non-U.S.D.A.-approved meat, rabbit is harder to find.

In an odd way, it suffers from a dual image problem here. Rabbit is still seen by some as a poverty meat, not far removed from raccoon. But nowadays, paradoxically, the meat is also seen as too haute � and suspiciously French, even in these post-freedom-fries days � thumbing its nose at our images of rabbits as pets and clever cartoon characters. (It surely didn't help John Kerry's campaign when his wealthy wife promoted rabbit as the healthiest meat for kids.)

But she wasn't off the mark. It is high in protein and low in fat. And although rabbit draws the inevitable comparison to chicken because it is white meat and the texture is similar, rabbit nearly always tastes better to me � not gamy, just richer and more interesting. Plus, it is not intimidating to cook, even for fire-up-the-burners-and-wing-it home chefs like me, as long as you remember that "low fat" also means "easily dried out." Not to worry: just quickly fry off-the-bone pieces in a pan. Or even more foolproof, brown it, toss it into a pot with some vegetables and almost any braising liquid � stock, wine, tomatoes, hard cider, even beer � and sit back while a low-temperature oven makes you an amazing meal.

In much of the country, sadly, this might be the only way you'll get to eat it. Philippe Trosch, the chef at the Ventana Room in Tucson, complains that he has sometimes had to drop rabbit from his menu because he can't find a steady supply that meets his standards.

"I barely see it on California menus or in the Southwest," says Trosch, who grew up eating it at Sunday family dinners in Biarritz, France. "A lot of younger chefs here just don't have any idea how to cook it." With deep culinary disappointment, the Gallic kind, he adds, "I don't understand."

Neither do I. But right about now I would really like one with a nice, creamy mustard sauce and some thyme. I guess it's hunting season again.

Rabbit Ragu With Pappardelle

1 rabbit (2 � to 3 � ), cut into 8 pieces, bone in
Kosher salt and ground
black pepper
� cup olive oil
1 anchovy (optional)
1 medium onion, diced
1 carrot, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
Pinch of red-pepper flakes
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 teaspoon tomato paste
1 cup dry red wine
1 cup seeded, chopped San Marzano tomatoes
1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
2 bay leaves
2 sprigs thyme
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
12 ounces pappardelle
Pecorino Romano cheese, for grating.

1. Pat the rabbit pieces dry and season with salt and pepper. In a Dutch oven over medium-high heat, add the oil and brown the pieces, working in batches if needed to avoid crowding. Transfer to a plate.

2. Reduce the heat to medium. Add the anchovy (if you choose) and mash it until it dissolves into the oil. Add the onion, carrots and celery, stirring until soft, about 5 minutes. Then add the red-pepper flakes, garlic and tomato paste, stirring for another minute. Deglaze the pan with the wine, turn the heat to high and boil to burn off the alcohol, about 4 minutes. Add the tomatoes, broth, bay leaves and thyme. Return the rabbit pieces to the pot, spacing them evenly so they are partly covered by the liquid. Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat and simmer, covered, until the rabbit is falling off the bone, about 2 hours. Turn the pieces at least once.

3. Turn off the heat and discard the thyme and bay leaves. Remove the rabbit from the sauce and let cool; then pull the meat from the bones. Shred some pieces and leave others large. Return the meat to the pan and simmer the sauce until thickened, 10 to 15 minutes. Stir in the butter, piece by piece. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

4. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the pappardelle until al dente. Before draining, save a cup of the pasta water. Toss the pappardelle with the sauce over low heat, adding pasta water as necessary if the sauce is too thick. Divide among pasta bowls and top with the grated cheese. Serves 6.

Caf� des F�d�rations's Rabbit With Mustard Sauce

1 rabbit (2 � to 3 � pounds), cut into about 8 pieces, bone in
� cup Dijon mustard
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons peanut oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 bottle dry white wine
2 medium onions, finely chopped
1 tablespoons superfine flour, like Wondra
3 branches thyme
1 bay leaf
Chopped flat-leaf parsley.

1. Brush one side of each rabbit piece with mustard, then season with salt and pepper.

2. Heat the oil and butter in a large nonreactive pan over medium heat. When the fat is hot but not smoking, add several rabbit pieces, mustard side down. You may need to cook them in batches, so as not to crowd the pan. Cook until browned, about 10 minutes, and then brush the uncooked top of each piece with the remaining mustard. Season with salt and pepper; flip and cook until brown, 10 minutes more. Transfer to a large platter and continue cooking in this manner until all the rabbit is browned.

3. Add several tablespoons of the wine to the pan and scrape up the browned bits. Add the onions and cook, stirring, until golden, about 5 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat. Sprinkle the flour over the onions and stir to coat. Pour in the remaining wine, the thyme and bay leaf. Add the rabbit. Return the pan to medium heat and simmer until the rabbit is tender and the sauce begins to thicken, about 1 hour.

4. Transfer the rabbit to a warmed platter. Discard the thyme and bay leaf. Reduce the sauce to the desired thickness; then season to taste with salt and pepper. Pour the sauce over the rabbit and sprinkle with parsley. Serve immediately over buttered noodles or rice. Serves 4. Adapted from "Bistro Cooking," by Patricia Wells.

Fried Milk-Brined Rabbit and Roasted Morel Salad

1 white onion, sliced into 1/2-inch-thick rings
1 quart whole milk
3 tablespoons kosher or sea salt, plus more to taste
1 teaspoon cracked black pepper, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1 bunch sage
1 medium rabbit (21/2 to 31/2 pounds), meat cut from bones into roughly 11/2-inch chunks (the pieces will be irregularly shaped)
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
5 shallots, peeled and halved lengthwise
1/2 pound morels, rinsed and halved lengthwise if large, or other wild or flavorful fresh mushrooms, cleaned
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 sprig rosemary
11/2 cups fava beans, blanched and cooled
2 tablespoons red-wine vinegar
4 cups canola or vegetable oil
2 bunches baby dandelion greens or assorted bitter and sweet greens (about 4 cups)
1/2 cup herb sprigs, such as flat-leaf parsley, chopped chives, chervil and/or borage.

1. Make the brine: heat a dry, nonstick saut� pan over medium-high heat and cook the onion slices on one side to a deep caramel brown, 6 to 8 minutes. Turn and brown the other side, another 6 to 8 minutes. Transfer the onions to a large bowl and then stir in the milk, salt, pepper, allspice and sage. Add the rabbit, cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours or overnight.

2. Preheat the oven to 550 degrees (or the highest setting). Combine 1 tablespoon of the olive oil, the shallots, morels, garlic and rosemary in a small baking pan. Season with salt and pepper and toss to coat evenly. Roast until the morels and shallots are slightly caramelized, about 20 minutes. (The amount of roasting time will depend on the moisture in the mushrooms.) Remove the garlic and rosemary, place the shallots and morels in a salad bowl and let cool.

3. Remove the outer membrane of the fava beans and add to the salad bowl. Add the vinegar and toss, adding the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Set aside.

4. To fry the rabbit, heat the canola oil to 350 degrees in a deep, heavy pot. Lift the rabbit pieces from the brine and pat them dry. Discard the brine. Carefully add the rabbit pieces to the oil and fry until golden brown and cooked through, about 5 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon to a plate lined with a paper towel. To serve, add the rabbit to the salad. Toss, add the salad greens and herbs, and toss again. Divide among four plates. Serves 4 as a main course, 6 as a first course. Adapted from "The Rose Pistola Cookbook," by Read Hearon and Peggy Knickerbocker.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/12/magazine/312food.html

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