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How A Rabbit Taught Me to Cook
Rabbit, Lapin à la Moutarde à l’Ancienne
I was no older than the tender age of 7 when I first ate rabbit. I remember the day quite distinctly. Not only was it the single defining moment when I knew I would grow to be a chef, but they were my pet rabbits.
The day started as innocently as any other. I awoke early and enjoyed a bowl of hot cocoa as I listened to the birds singing. We lived in an old stone house that butted up against a wheat field with a small stream running through it. I liked to play at the edge of the field, especially while waiting impatiently for my mother to finish her coffee and get dressed.
It was a widely held belief that the ground near the stream was quicksand. My friends traded anecdotal stories about some unlucky animal or person that died a slow gruesome death in the sand. Despite the perils, I knew playing near there would make my mother very anxious so she dressed quicker.
My mother and I walked up the hill to the family auberge where the real fun was to be had. The air around the auberge was infused with an intoxicating mix of boxwoods and simmering stews. My daily routine began by going into the kitchen to ask one of the cooks for a few carrots to feed my rabbits. I usually stood in the middle, kind of obtrusively, hoping to get a taste of an apple sorbet…
