Rabbit can be good marinated with olive oil, bay leaves, garlic, thyme and a curl of orange peel, then grilled over hot coals. It is even better cooked slowly with onions, herbs and plenty of liquid, such as wine, cider or stock.
Rabbit's leanness is its downfall. That is why the meat is generally more successful when wrapped in bacon or stewed slowly with strips of pancetta, herb-flecked sausage or avegetable broth. It is also why, when we do decide to grill, it is wise to baste continually with the marinade (try a little rosemary and juniper in with the oil) as it cooks, sending gusts of aromatic smoke into the air. A leg or hunk of saddle can often be kept juicy by swaddling it in streaky bacon then roasting in a moderate oven.
Braising is probably the best answer, stewing the meat with white vermouth, onions and tiny spring turnips, then seasoning it with smooth mustard and thickening it with cream, or more piquantly, crème fraîche. You can, of course, take the red wine route – a fruity burgundy perhaps – with thyme sprigs and garlic, but with meat this mild it feels a bit like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.
A more delicate and possibly more appropriate treatment is the one I used this week with rosemary and wheat beer. I browned the rabbit considerably before adding the liquid, which harnessed plenty of deep flavour, then left it to tenderise slowly in beer and herbs. The flavours were gorgeous, the meat tender and the finish, with cream and chopped tarragon leaves, smooth and silky.
Rabbit, providing it is not the farmed variety, starts and ends its life in the open. Death is quick and probably done out of necessity by adesperate farmer whose crops have been decimated yet again by attack from one or more of this country's estimated 40m rabbits. Like any wild meat, the tenderness is variable, depending on the animal itself. Rabbit is always a gamble – but one that rewards us with a cheap and surprisingly fine supper.
First, though, we need to find our supply. Supermarkets have yet to grasp the notion that they could shift this economic and plentiful meat if only they would stock it and maybe offer a few recipe cards by the counter. Good family butchers are our best bet. It is worth checking that the bunny you are buying is wild, in which case the joints will be smaller but more interesting than the rather dull farmed alternative. Buy them jointed unless you can cope with the sight of a whole skinned carcass. Cute it is not.
Tarragon is my default herb with this meat, but lemon thyme, chervil, chives and basil are appropriate, too. Basically, if it's good with chicken then the chances are it will work with rabbit. In response to people's reticence to try this versatile, light and often tender meat, it is something I cook for guests where they have no choice but to eat it or go without. No one has yet said they didn't enjoy it.
I like surprising people with something they wouldn't normally make for themselves, such as the white chocolate ginger crunch biscuits I sometimes make as edible gifts. An extraordinary confection, it is one that works incredibly well, lifting the cloying quality of the white chocolate while adding a touch of luxury to a simple ginger biscuit. In snap form, covered with dried fruits and shelled nuts then broken into huge and jagged shards, they make a rather beautiful gift.
Slow-cooked rabbit with tarragon
Serves 2
onions 2
rabbit 500g (1 rabbit, jointed)
butter a thick slice
rosemary 2 bushy sprigs
thyme 4 sprigs
wheat beer 1 litre
double cream 150ml
tarragon 4 lush sprigs
Peel the onions, roughly chop them, then soften them in the butter over a moderate heat until translucent and pale gold. Season the rabbit pieces all over with salt and black pepper, remove the onions, then add the rabbit to the pan. Brown it for five minutes, turning as necessary, then mix the onions in.
Add the rosemary needles to the pan, minus their stems, together with the thyme sprigs, wheat beer, salt and pepper. Bring to the boil, lower the heat so the liquid continues cooking at a low simmer, then cover partially with a lid. Leave to putter away on the stove for a couple of hours until the rabbit is tender. The exact timing will depend on the age and provenance of your rabbit, but it is ready to serve when the flesh comes away from the bones with a decent table knife.
The liquid in the pan will still be quite thin and plentiful, so, after removing the meat, turn up the heat for a few minutes and let it reduce by about half.
Pour in the cream and stir in the leaves from the tarragon, chopped if they are very long. Continue simmering for a further 5-10 minutes, check the seasoning and serve.
White chocolate ginger crunch
Makes a 500g slab
white chocolate 200g
ginger biscuits 200g (not gingernuts)
golden sultanas, crystallised orange peel and pistachio nuts a good handful of each
Break the chocolate into small pieces and place it in a china or heat-proof glass bowl over a pan of simmering water until it melts. Avoid the temptation to stir. The odd poke with a spoon, pushing unmelted chocolate into the melted is all it needs.
Crush the biscuits into small crumbs and nuggets. Stop short of grinding them too fine, as you want the finished snaps to have a rugged texture. When the chocolate has melted, fold the biscuits and other ingredients into it and stir gently. Spread the mixture out on a sheet of waxed paper. Leave it to set in a cool place, or leave for an hour in the fridge. When set to a crisp, snap into large, jagged pieces. If you are giving this as a gift then wrap the pieces up in cellophane and tie with ribbon. They will keep for a few days in a cool place.
Email Nigel at nigel.slater@observer.co.uk or visit guardian.co.uk/profile/nigelslater for all his recipes in one place
