Recipe: Rabbit ragu - by Dominic Preston
This is not, to be clear, a regular weekday supper.
Even at my poshest, I can’t say that cooking — or even eating, for that matter — a rabbit has ever felt routine, and nor should it. No-one’s yet cracked the economics of factory farming bunnies, for better or worse, and so they’re unlikely to feature too often in anyone’s kitchen.
There are a few ways to cook a rabbit: roasted, stewed, and I’m told even grilled all work out great. So far I’ve only ever used it for ragu, a dish I tried on a whim once and have since fixated on a little. This is a light, delicate pasta sauce, with just a little citrus and white wine to contrast the gamey meat.
In our house, this is a dish broken out for birthdays, celebrations, or, in this case, the need to impress Vivian’s visiting parents (with a welcome, if a touch macabre, Easter connection to boot).
One day I’ll find the will to turn a rabbit into a different dinner, but until then this sauce will do just fine.
I get my rabbits from my local butcher, which is one of the most Islington sentences I’ve ever written.
You might be able to, too — my butcher has them in stock pretty routinely, though I’ll admit that at roughly £20 a pop the price is part of the reason I don’t cook a rabbit every week.
If you can’t get hold of one, or want to try and do this on the cheap, this is really a pretty standard white ragu, so you can substitute in chicken, turkey, or pork mince and get a fairly similar end result. If you use pork, you might want to omit the added bacon/pancetta/guanciale however — the meat should be fatty enough as is.
If you can get a rabbit, your butcher should offer to portion it for you. I like to do this myself, with the help of this soothingly voiced man from Jamie Oliver’s YouTube channel, but there’s really no reason to unless you’re curious.
Just make sure that you keep the whole carcass either way — while some parts are too bony to bother braising, they’re perfect for the stock you’ll need to make this properly. For that, boil the head and the bonier parts of the body with some of the same vegetables and herbs used in the recipe, and simmer for a couple of hours, skimming regularly. This should get you more stock than you need, so freeze the rest. If you can’t or won’t make the stock yourself, any good (or bad) chicken stock will be just fine.
The offal is less essential. I like to throw the heart in with the meat, but that’s strictly optional. The liver and kidneys I keep separate, since they have a much stronger flavour — but if you’ve got the stomach for it, they’re wonderful pan-fried in butter with some fresh herbs and garlic as a nibble. Or go one step further, and blend those cooked bits with even more butter for a tiny portion of rabbit pâté.
As I’ve said, this is really a pretty straight-down-the-line white ragu, so there’s not too much to worry about here.
The herbs in particular are flexible, though you do need some. I always want sage and rosemary with my rabbit, and seem to have unending bunches of parsley on the verge of going off, so that usually goes in too. Feel free to use whatever you prefer.
Where I am a bit more particular is the lemon. This is a recent addition to my recipe, inspired by the rabbit ragu at Brutto in Farringdon, which is served with a fresh grate of citrus. I now consider it all but essential, though make sure you get an unwaxed lemon or the effect will be lost entirely.
The only other note is on timing. Like most ragus, this one really is at its best after it’s had some time to sit, so I strongly recommend you make it a day ahead. This isn’t necessary, but really is worth it.
I’ll keep this bit simple. Since I just made this to impress my girlfriend’s visiting parents, I went all-out and made fresh pasta too. Naturally, with the pressure on, I completely hamfisted that, so instead these photos are of the next day’s leftovers with the nearest shop’s finest tagliatelle.
Tagliatelle, pappardelle, mafalde, and other similarly ribbon-y pastas are my favourite for this ragu, though shorter shapes like rigatoni or conchiglie should do just as well.
To serve six
1 rabbit
50g guanciale, pancetta, or bacon
1 medium onion
1 carrot
1 stick of celery
2 cloves of garlic
150ml white wine
150ml rabbit or chicken stock
1 tbsp tomato paste
A small handful each of sage, rosemary, and parsley
1 unwaxed lemon
Olive oil
600g pasta — tagliatelle, pappardelle, rigatoni, or conchiglie
Parmesan to serve
Heat a few tablespoons of olive oil in a large saucepan, over a medium heat. Add your guanciale (or equivalent) and cook until the fat renders and it crisps up. Using a slotted spoon, remove the pork and set it aside.
Add the rabbit pieces to the pan and brown them on each side, taking care not to crowd the pan — you may need to cook these in a few batches. Once each is crisp and browned, set it aside along with the bacon.
While the rabbit is browning, dice the onion, celery, and carrot as finely as you can bear to — the finer the better, though I’m unfortunately too lazy and impatient to ever do this properly.
Once all the rabbit is cooked, add the diced vegetables to the pan and lower the heat. Sauté for ten minutes, stirring regularly, until softened. Towards the end, dice the garlic and herbs and stir them in.
Return the rabbit and bacon to the pan, and gently stir through.
Mix the tablespoon of tomato paste with your stock until it turns reddish, then add that and the wine to the pan, taking the opportunity to scrape at the bottom a little and loosen any crispy bits.
Bring the pot to a boil, then cover and reduce to a low simmer. Let it bubble away for 45-60 minutes, then turn off the heat. Allow the sauce to cool before storing it in the fridge overnight.
About half an hour before you want to eat, remove the ragu from the fridge and shred the meat from the bones, breaking up any larger pieces and returning the meat to the sauce.
Reheat gently while you cook the pasta, taking a last chance to reduce the sauce or add more liquid if it seems dry. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Once the pasta is cooked, drain it while reserving some cooking water. Combine the pasta and the ragu, stirring vigorously while you slowly add some pasta water and the odd splash of olive oil.
Serve with a generous grating of fresh lemon zest, and a little parmesan if you like.
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