The first time I had rabbit, I was 19, visiting a friend’s grandparent’s ranch in Cuernavaca, Mexico. They raised rabbits, among other things, and I was asked to go outside and pick out a few from the hundreds in their pens. Not knowing why I was asked to perform this task, I picked out the cutest ones I could find. An hour later I was mortified when I went in the kitchen and saw those rabbits, skinned and sticking out of a huge steaming pot on the stove. The menu for lunch that day was rabbit stew, and we were having a feast with my friend’s extended family. White linens, silver, fine china, 20 people assembled at an impressively long dining table. Out of politeness, and my complete lack of fluency in the language (if I had been more fluent I might have found a way out of this situation) I took a bite. It was absolutely delicious. From that point on, I loved rabbit.

Continue reading "Rabbit Cacciatore" »